My buddy Doug is heading out overseas shortly. I’ve known Doug since elementary school, and although we lost contact for a number of years, the almighty Facebook (of course!) brought us back in touch.
It was great meeting his family (and only slightly disturbing that he has children in high school). It was also very, very strange – meeting his children and having vivid memories of their father when he was much younger than they are now.
It would turn out Doug and I have another connection – my VFW post adopted his Army Reserve unit that just deployed. While they are gone on deployment, our post will be helping the families as best we can and doing events for them, as well as sending supplies to the soldiers (if only scientists would invent a way to keep Ben & Jerry’s frozen during the trip overseas!). I’m hoping to be in regular contact with Doug and his fellow troops over the coming year, doing whatever we can to keep their spirits up.
That’s one way the military has vastly changed – I remember standing in line for hours waiting to use the phone for ten minutes, giving up desperately needed sleep for the chance to hear my mother’s voice. But in an age of Skype and WiFi, communicating with soldiers is much easier.
Yet Doug is going to have it so much harder than I had it. For starters, the invasion of Panama lasted 30 days. With the exception of a few riots, and ONE lone act of terrorism, I faced less danger than your average police officer. Granted, the risk was a little higher sometimes – I patrolled through some pretty terrible sections of Panama City and Colón, and the barfights on our bases would often involve Navy Seals (believe the hype, folks – one seal vs a bar of soldiers? Bet on the Seal, EVERY time!). But at the end of the day, there was always a cold beer to be had, and dinner downtown held very little threat.
But Doug’s not going to taste the “evil alcohol” his entire tour. There won’t be any cold beers at the end of the day to unwind. And it won’t really be safe for him, ever. Even the most secure base overseas now holds a very real possibility of being attacked by terrorists (or insurgents, depending where he is). While that threat always existed, it’s so much more real today.
It’s a very sobering thought.
And speaking of sober… I’ve hung up my beer mug. Those of you that know me know that while I’m not heavy drinker, I do loves me a cold beer now and then (and now). But as the tiniest show of solidarity for my comrade and friend, I’m giving up drinking until he and I can share a beer together again. I even have the home-brewing kit ready – under my brewmeister-friend Darve’s careful tutelage, I will begin brewing a “Welcome Home” batch that will hopefully be ready for us to share when he gets back.
Also I’m hoping it will not give us food poisoning…
In the grand scheme of things, it’s a small, pretty meaningless gesture. But when I was overseas, I felt so disconnected from my friends and family – there was so little we had in common. When I talked to them, I didn’t really know what to tell them. I couldn’t tell them what I was going through on a daily basis, and their day-to-day life seemed so alien to me.
But when Doug and I email back and forth? We’re going to talk about how much we miss beer. Sure, there’ll be some other small talk about family and friends – and I certainly don’t mean to elevate my importance to him over his family or other friends, and I DEFINITELY don’t mean to say I’m going to be suffering as much as he is! Frankly, I consider it a heat wave when the temperature reaches 80, and I think that would be considered hypothermia over there. So I have absolutely no idea what he and the other soldiers will be experiencing, and I certainly will not pretend otherwise. Yet I wanted something that would keep Doug in my thoughts often, and give me a chance to reflect on a regular basis of what he and our other soldiers are fighting for. When I’m tired and drained after a long day, I can stop and be thankful for our all our soldiers and the sacrifices they (and their families!) are making on our behalf.
Instead of drinking that cold beer, I can pause and put them all in my thoughts and wish for their safe return. Some day we will raise a pair of frosty mugs together, recline in comfortable chairs, and tell each other wildly exaggerated stories of our own greatness. Some day his unit will be back and I will find how far I can stretch the small batch of beer I’ve brewed. Some day all of us old vets will welcome the next generation of brave men and women that put everything on the line and know the value of a quiet moment with a cold beer.
But for the time being?
Man, I can’t wait till we share that beer.
