My Veterans!

Yes, I WILL list off the men and women I have in my life that are veterans:  I have left a voice mail for my boy Derryl Belknap, Jr.; talked to each of my dads, Jim Caley and Dick Dooley; texted my man Andy Alderson; left a voice message for Anthony, who's married to my girl Kelly; left a FB wall post for my childhood buddy, Ms. CJ Moutray, currently stationed at Ft. Riley in KS; left a message for my homey Don Secrest; called and talked to my home group member Louis; left a message for my buddy Andy Doyle; left a message for Kevin Henley to pass to his son Riley, that we just shipped off last summer; and cleared it with my boss to take my two technicians here at work, John Reed and Phil McGlothlin, to lunch.  These are MY veterans and I've thanked each one for their service. 

My boss didn't want to make a big deal out of our two techs, in case it would piss off the other guys in the shop that they were getting special treatment.  I say, too fuckin' bad, they should have served their country.  These people, in times of war and peace, have done something that the majority of American citizens do not do and I for one could NOT do.  The physical training alone would probably kill me outright!  I owe these veterans my appreciation and will use this day to celebrate them and remember the fallen.  It only takes a moment.  It's not too much to ask of myself when their country has asked so much of them.  Whether I believe in "the cause" or not, I support these men and women, so therefore I MUST support the reasons we currently fight.  May their God's watch over and keep them from harm, whether they're currently serving or have fulfilled their duty.  Riley and CJ who are currently serving, and Phil who just go word this week that he may be reactivated, my heart and prayers are with you.

The picture is of my stepson Derryl Belknap, Jr. (o.k., not anymore, but I was with his dad for 12 years so he still calls me his stepmom and he will always be my stepson).  That picture and that cross have traveled together since he went into the Marines in 2001 at barely 18 and has spent the last 5 years since I've been back at work, taped to the right side of my monitor here.  The worn edges are proof.  I love this boy/man.  I couldn't imagine not having him and his sister Kelly having been a part of my life.  I was so blessed to have been in their lives since they were 7 and 5 years old.  They're both amazing people now and I know from them both telling me, that I played a part in who they have become. 

Derryl, Jr. was not the type of kid I would have ever imagined in the military.  He was a slob and pretty damn lazy, wanting mainly to work on his car and watch tv, not doin' so hot in school all of his life.  He had started to get into bits of trouble here and there and I thought, well here we go, this kid is running totally off track.  Then, out of nowhere in the latter part of 2000, he let his parents (including me) know that he had decided to join the Marines.  We were all completely shocked.  I remember asking him, "The Marines?  Really?  You know that's like THE toughest branch don't you?"  His statement to me was very matter of fact, "If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna be a part of the best."  Well, all right.  He was determined.  He started running and training and pulling his grades up, completely turned himself around.  He graduated high school the end of May, turned 18 in June and was tearfully put on a plane by all of us on 08/13/01.  He'd never been away from home.  He'd never flown.  Watching this boy walk away was one of the most painful, yet hopeful moments of my life.

Notice the date he left for basic.  08/13/01.  We had no way of knowing that less than a month later, the entire world would change in an instant.  The morning of 09/11 was made even more frightening for his mother Hazel and I.  We had MULTIPLE calls back and forth.  Hysterical.  Powerless.  Scheming on ways to get our boy OUT of the military.  We were petrified.  As citizens of a country under attack, we felt as eveyone else did, but as mothers who had sent their boy off to serve, thinking he'd never really be in any danger, we had a little extra sense of doom.  EVERYTHING had changed.  We wanted to talk to him but it wasn't allowed in basic training.  We wanted to drive out there and see him, but it wasn't allowed either.   We wanted to call and tell them he was gay so they'd send him home.  We were coming up with all kinds of plots, let me tell ya!

We each received pretty much the same letter from him within days.  "I am fine.  I am not afraid.  I am here to do my job and defend my country."  It SOOO was not anything OUR kid would say and it did little to nothing to assuage our fears.  (We found out later that, those were indeed NOT his words.  They had given them all paper and pencils and told them exactly what to say.  They saw ZERO coverage of what had taken place.  He didn't see pictures of the events of 09/11 until the day we picked him up.)  We would just have to wait until we saw him at basic graduation in California and by God we were ALL going.

The first time we saw him was in formation for their final run.  He was barely recognizable to us with his new haircut and physique.  The slightly overweight and flabby child that had left us, was now a slim, chiseled soldier.  A man in just a few short months.  On the video I took that day, scanning to find him in the lines of identical men, you see me shaking and then breaking into hysterical tears as I shout to his mother, "Oh my God Hazel!  There he is!  He's right there!"  And then you hear her start bawling as well.  Then you see this young man glance our way and his chin start to shake and his eyes start welling up and I say, "Oh... Don't cry baby.  We love you so much."  And eyes forward again he snaps back out of it.  Our baby.  Our boy.  Still ours, no matter what the military says.  That quivering chin and those tearful eyes are ours, not the Marine Corps. 

We had to wait several more hours to get to touch him.  Watching endless marching and listening to one speech after another, the beginning of which was one we did not want to hear.  This was to be their first graduating class where the men had enlisted to serve a country at peace and were now graduating into service of a country at war.  It was heart wrenching.  When they finally released them, we tried to stay in one place as the hundreds of young soldiers swarmed to find their families.  We kept an eye on him as he jumped up and down like a gopher making his way across the field of men to get to us.  The hugs and kisses and hugs and more kisses was what we'd all been needing so badly since 09/11.  Just to put our arms around him and tell him how much we loved him.

We took him home with us, driving across country in our conversion van.  He got deathly ill from the Anthrax vaccine they'd given him.  We had to stop at the VA to get him treatment, as his tongue swelled up and his fever spiked out of control.  What had they done to our child???  But he recovered pretty quickly and spent the remainder of his leave going around and seeing old friends that he was no longer like.  He was a perfect gentleman now, respectful in all areas of life.  A neat freak, ironing his jeans and constantly smoothing out his shirt.  He ate so fast I thought he'd end up choking.  He was a changed man and definitely for the better.  I was extremely proud.

We knew when he left that he would most likely be deployed somewhere we didn't want him to be and that's exactly what happened.  I woke up on a January morning in 2003 to a message on my home phone that he had left in the middle of the night.  "I'm leaving for Iraq.  I love you very much.  Don't worry about me.  I'm going to be o.k.  I'll see you when I get back."  I cried as I played it over and over, wishing I'd been awake to talk to him.  I haven't had a home phone in YEARS, but I still have that phone with that message on it.  I will never throw it away.

He sent an e-mail to his mom on March 17, 2003, the night before we declared war on Iraq.  I have never read anything so poignant.  This man, her son, expressing his fear, his bravery, his love of his family and his country, taking a moment to send a message to let us know his thoughts of us and what he was doing, in case he were to never return.  I was living in California and read it two days later at work.  A temp job on Wilshire Blvd. kitty corner from the Los Angeles Federal Building.  That night, 3/19/03, I wasn't allowed to leave my building until almost 11 p.m. as the authorities handled the HUGE protest in front of the Federal Building.  Being from Kansas City, the closest I'd seen to protesters was the few picketers at intersections, holding up "Honk if you're against ... whatever" signs.  THIS was surreal.  Riot gear.  Helicopters.  Cops dragging people out of the streets.  Water cannons.  SERIOUS shit, the likes this Mid-Western girl had never seen.  I was torn as I stood at the windows watching from above.  Understanding the protesters, yet needing in my heart to support my son the soldier.  No.  I did not agree.  No.  I did not want us to go to war.  Yet, we had and my baby was THERE and he was afraid and he was doing what his country told him to do.  I believed in him; therefore I believed in the war.  I would watch for awhile and then I'd read that e-mail again to remind me who was fighting for their right to be out there voicing their anger.  We were ultimately all on the same page of different books.

He came home safe.   He went back two more times.  He is proud of the service he did.  He speaks of the children and the schools and books they were given, not of the horrors he undoubtedly witnessed.  He has hung on to hope and in turn has made me do the same.  He will suffer for the remainder of his life with the injuries he recieved to his neck from driving the fuel tankers across the desert and slamming his helmeted head into the cab of the truck with no shocks.  He has a twitch that looks like his shirt tag is scratching the back of his neck.  He is being treated well at the VA and recieves his disability check for serving his country.  This young man of 26 who slept on the hood of his truck to stay warm in the frigid nights of the desert.  This soldier that speaks of the lack of weaponry and how completely out gunned we are there, still loves his country.

So, today, I give thanks to him and my veterans.  For the love, the hope and the sacrifices, I honor them.  Thank you for your service.