.War Is Over — for Some
Tonight, President Obama will address the American public from the Oval Office and make it official: America’s combat mission in Iraq, he will announce, is complete. To his credit, the president has made good on a difficult promise, ending the mission as scheduled on Aug. 31, a deadline negotiated by his predecessor, George W. Bush. He will tell the nation the war is over. But what does that mean?
I recently took my seven-month-old daughter for a walk around our Brooklyn neighborhood. I wanted to stretch my legs and let her explore the world outside our apartment. Before heading out, I put on the Baby Bjorn and strapped her in facing forward. Her little head and high curly pompadour kept getting caught in my facial hair. Her hair is long enough now to brush the base of my nose. The day was warm but less humid than we had become accustomed to, a bit overcast with the slightest threat of rain.
We stepped off and as we walked, her little body bounced happily. After a few minutes, I found myself adjusting the straps of the carrier, making it tighter and placing her in a higher position. I did this without consciously thinking. Tightening the straps makes bearing heavy loads more bearable, a technique I learned in the Marines. After a few minutes, we reached our destination, the sporting goods store, and after a brief time there, began making our way home. It had begun to rain. I had packed light for our walk, accidentally leaving behind our umbrella.
On the way home, I found my self readjusting her carrier, and the thought of her weight crossed my mind. Her weight along with her carrier’s felt familiar — it was about the weight of an Interceptor with both SAPI plates inserted. These types of connections pass through my thoughts on an almost daily basis.
I often think of how fresh World War II and the wars in Korea and Vietnam are in the minds of Americans who fought in and witnessed them. I think of the World War II Marine veteran who would come and visit with one of the employees when I worked at Macy’s. One day, he and I exchanged sea stories and he began telling me about the scar that ran the length of his right palm. He had received it while fighting off a Japanese soldier in the Pacific campaign. He carried that scar along with his memories all the way from the Pacific back to Brooklyn and into Kings Plaza that day, where he then allowed me a small glimpse into the brutality of his war. We carry these wars inside of us. They tag along in our lives as sea stories and memories, dreams and nightmares, living just below the surface, raging back at times, most times living in quiescence.
These wars are part of our collective memories. These memories cut across generational and national divides and connect us, whether we desire the connections or would rather see them crumble with time. America’s combat mission in Iraq may be ending, but our mission and connection to Iraq is still in its infancy. Troops will be stationed in Iraq to act as advisers for the foreseeable future and much like in Germany, Japan and Korea, that commitment could entail a multigenerational cultural exchange, the type of exchange that could potentially lead both of our nations down the path of healing and reconciliation.
As my daughter and I neared home, it was close to noon and my thoughts of Interceptors and SAPI plates took a back seat to more practical concerns — she would soon need a bottle, a change of diaper and an afternoon nap. This time in both of our lives will likely prove the easiest. As my daughter ages, new challenges will color our lives. I’m sure we will have disagreements on household rules, appropriate clothing and friends, especially when considering young men. But soon, she will be old enough to ask about Iraq and when she does, I intend to be candid with her, much like the World War II Marine was with me. I intend to tell her what is was like and allow her a window into our war through my memories. I intend to let her know that for some people, wars are never quite over.
Home Fires
I recently took my seven-month-old daughter for a walk around our Brooklyn neighborhood. I wanted to stretch my legs and let her explore the world outside our apartment. Before heading out, I put on the Baby Bjorn and strapped her in facing forward. Her little head and high curly pompadour kept getting caught in my facial hair. Her hair is long enough now to brush the base of my nose. The day was warm but less humid than we had become accustomed to, a bit overcast with the slightest threat of rain.
We stepped off and as we walked, her little body bounced happily. After a few minutes, I found myself adjusting the straps of the carrier, making it tighter and placing her in a higher position. I did this without consciously thinking. Tightening the straps makes bearing heavy loads more bearable, a technique I learned in the Marines. After a few minutes, we reached our destination, the sporting goods store, and after a brief time there, began making our way home. It had begun to rain. I had packed light for our walk, accidentally leaving behind our umbrella.
On the way home, I found my self readjusting her carrier, and the thought of her weight crossed my mind. Her weight along with her carrier’s felt familiar — it was about the weight of an Interceptor with both SAPI plates inserted. These types of connections pass through my thoughts on an almost daily basis.
I often think of how fresh World War II and the wars in Korea and Vietnam are in the minds of Americans who fought in and witnessed them. I think of the World War II Marine veteran who would come and visit with one of the employees when I worked at Macy’s. One day, he and I exchanged sea stories and he began telling me about the scar that ran the length of his right palm. He had received it while fighting off a Japanese soldier in the Pacific campaign. He carried that scar along with his memories all the way from the Pacific back to Brooklyn and into Kings Plaza that day, where he then allowed me a small glimpse into the brutality of his war. We carry these wars inside of us. They tag along in our lives as sea stories and memories, dreams and nightmares, living just below the surface, raging back at times, most times living in quiescence.
These wars are part of our collective memories. These memories cut across generational and national divides and connect us, whether we desire the connections or would rather see them crumble with time. America’s combat mission in Iraq may be ending, but our mission and connection to Iraq is still in its infancy. Troops will be stationed in Iraq to act as advisers for the foreseeable future and much like in Germany, Japan and Korea, that commitment could entail a multigenerational cultural exchange, the type of exchange that could potentially lead both of our nations down the path of healing and reconciliation.
As my daughter and I neared home, it was close to noon and my thoughts of Interceptors and SAPI plates took a back seat to more practical concerns — she would soon need a bottle, a change of diaper and an afternoon nap. This time in both of our lives will likely prove the easiest. As my daughter ages, new challenges will color our lives. I’m sure we will have disagreements on household rules, appropriate clothing and friends, especially when considering young men. But soon, she will be old enough to ask about Iraq and when she does, I intend to be candid with her, much like the World War II Marine was with me. I intend to tell her what is was like and allow her a window into our war through my memories. I intend to let her know that for some people, wars are never quite over.
Home Fires
posted by madtom at 10:51 PM
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