Sunday, September 11, 2011

In a World. . .


Action flicks from the 80's would often have a scene where the protagonist spent time with his family before leaving for combat. Kissing his wife, ruffling his son's hair and/or picking up his daughter and kissing her on the cheek, the hero would head for the exit, more determined than ever. This scene gave the audience a sense of who the hero was as a human being. It also gave a sense of perspective as far as what he was fighting for, on a personal level. The worried look on his family's face as he departed rounded out the vision of this person as a the "good guy". My childhood was mostly made up of the parts of the movie that were never shown, the scenes involving the family prior to and following the treatment I just described.
Year after year, my father put his life on the line, flying missions in the Air Force. My sister and I inquired about whether or not he was coming back for at least the first couple of years that I remember being aware of what he did for a living. Professionally, He became a very big deal, receiving all kinds of accolades and, above all, a tremendous amount of respect from his peers (and many of his superiors). Unfortunately, all of this meant that he had to sacrifice a lot of his time, often living away from home for weeks at a time. He was never truly allotted the time to be with us during those years.
I don't remember having any thoughts in the front of my mind concerning my father going on his missions. I do have recollection of being physically aggressive to a point of it being disruptive to my otherwise exceptional elementary school career. This pointed to some kind of subconscious turmoil. I recall well coming home to find my teary-eyed mother sitting at the kitchen table, shakily telling me that the vice principal had called. He had informed her of the fact that I had been in several fights. She was feeling helpless. I didn't know what to tell her. I was 10! My father could only deal with the situation partially. It was time and change of location that ultimately calmed me down. We moved to North Carolina when I was 12, thus changing the balance of power between me and my peers (from the bully to the bullied).
The thing that I learned watching my father was that any job that leaves you with dashing stories of heroics also requires hours of preparation and planning, both on and off the clock. Families often suffer as a result. There is nobody to blame, it is just the nature of the beast. A price is paid by all. Unfortunately, It took me several years to realize that my father wasn't just an arrogant glory-drunk douchebag (although some of that was forgiven as a requirement to put ones self in harms way), but a soldier with a responsibility to his buddies. I now can remember that as my main thought when my Dad half headlocked, half hugged me while embracing my sister and kissing my mother, preparing to head off on another adventure. It makes me wonder if there is some truth to the idea that we never actually learn, only recall. Anyhow, the cheesy synthesizer driven soundtrack would play, my dad would get into his sports car. He would slowly slide on his aviator sunglasses and speed off, tires squealing. I can't be mad at that.