Off topic: A father's fears ...
RGL
Posts: 3,784 ✭
The following column will appear in tomorrow's edition of The Columbus (Ohio) Dispatch, for which I work as a reporter. Just a little fodder for thought from a father ... may God keep them all. Randy.
I spot an odd-looking box in the trash and, curious, pop it open.
Inside, discarded, rests a 2-year-old picture of my son.
A white hat with gold Eagle, Globe and Anchor. A deep-blue dress
blouse with bright-red piping and shiny brass buttons. The stars and
stripes as the backdrop. His features hard. It would be unfitting for a
newly minted warrior to sport a smile in his graduation photo.
Pfc. Derek Ludlow, U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island,
South Carolina, Platoon 2020, H Company.
Upset beyond reason, I question my wife and discover the wallet-
sized picture accidentally was tossed during a cleaning spree of the
stuffed dining-room hutch. We have others of the same pose, including a
much larger point of pride framed on the mantle.
But this picture, one of many, suddenly is irreplaceable.
With my son at war nearly 7,000 miles away, I am broadsided by a
sentence I never saw coming. When it boils forth before my wife, I
recoil, as if speaking the words somehow might make them real.
``He could be dead tomorrow.''
In that instant, a father's facade of bravado gave way,
liberating fears until then thought tamed in darker corners of
the mind.
Derek now is a corporal assigned to the intelligence section
of the Marine Aircraft Group 29 ``War Eagles,'' Marine Corps Air
Station New River, N.C. He reported to boot in August 2000, well
in advance of the still-numbing terrorism and frightening fallout
of 9-11.
This -- a month-long trip with his unit's helicopters and
Harriers aboard the USS Saipan from the coast of America to the
Persian Gulf -- is not supposed to be part of the deal. This --
another month waiting in Kuwait while diplomats debate,
politicians posture and a lunatic laughs -- is unthinkable.
This is war. And, my man-boy is 20 years old.
He should be a college junior worried about term papers, not
Scuds. He should be toting texts, not an M-16 and gas mask. He
should be in a dorm discussing and dissecting war, not fighting
it. But he wanted to be a Marine, creating an unsettling mixture
of parental pride and fear.
Derek should be comparatively safe, if such a hope can exist
amid war. As an intelligence specialist, he should be behind the
front lines, out of harm's way. He should be plotting the danger
poised by the enemy from afar while steering pilots to safety. He
should be at HQ, not aboard a helicopter.
But with a son at war, ``should'' is a scary word.
Like hundreds of thousands of others, I wait, wonder and
worry, not knowing today how my son is -- where he is, what he is
doing -- until he travels that road home through Baghdad, a road
on which some families will pay an unbearable toll.
The Iraqis hurled missiles Thursday at Camp Commando in
Kuwait, where I imagined my son working in a tent in the desert,
possibly forcing him to scramble to a bunker while donning his
mask. I reveled at the news the Scuds did no harm. My son was
safe.
That night, a repeat of worry. A Marine helicopter crashed in
the desert, claiming the sons of a dozen families as the first
casualties. After an anxious hour, the Pentagon, in a prayer
answered, reported the fallen Sea Knight chopper was not from my
son's unit.
Fathers and mothers share a collective concern for all daughters and
sons who serve, but prayers, of their nature, are necessarily selfish
at sign-off.
It's a hell of a thing finding relief in the death of others.
Mine's alive. I'm sorry about yours.
Randy Ludlow is a reporter for The Dispatch.
I spot an odd-looking box in the trash and, curious, pop it open.
Inside, discarded, rests a 2-year-old picture of my son.
A white hat with gold Eagle, Globe and Anchor. A deep-blue dress
blouse with bright-red piping and shiny brass buttons. The stars and
stripes as the backdrop. His features hard. It would be unfitting for a
newly minted warrior to sport a smile in his graduation photo.
Pfc. Derek Ludlow, U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island,
South Carolina, Platoon 2020, H Company.
Upset beyond reason, I question my wife and discover the wallet-
sized picture accidentally was tossed during a cleaning spree of the
stuffed dining-room hutch. We have others of the same pose, including a
much larger point of pride framed on the mantle.
But this picture, one of many, suddenly is irreplaceable.
With my son at war nearly 7,000 miles away, I am broadsided by a
sentence I never saw coming. When it boils forth before my wife, I
recoil, as if speaking the words somehow might make them real.
``He could be dead tomorrow.''
In that instant, a father's facade of bravado gave way,
liberating fears until then thought tamed in darker corners of
the mind.
Derek now is a corporal assigned to the intelligence section
of the Marine Aircraft Group 29 ``War Eagles,'' Marine Corps Air
Station New River, N.C. He reported to boot in August 2000, well
in advance of the still-numbing terrorism and frightening fallout
of 9-11.
This -- a month-long trip with his unit's helicopters and
Harriers aboard the USS Saipan from the coast of America to the
Persian Gulf -- is not supposed to be part of the deal. This --
another month waiting in Kuwait while diplomats debate,
politicians posture and a lunatic laughs -- is unthinkable.
This is war. And, my man-boy is 20 years old.
He should be a college junior worried about term papers, not
Scuds. He should be toting texts, not an M-16 and gas mask. He
should be in a dorm discussing and dissecting war, not fighting
it. But he wanted to be a Marine, creating an unsettling mixture
of parental pride and fear.
Derek should be comparatively safe, if such a hope can exist
amid war. As an intelligence specialist, he should be behind the
front lines, out of harm's way. He should be plotting the danger
poised by the enemy from afar while steering pilots to safety. He
should be at HQ, not aboard a helicopter.
But with a son at war, ``should'' is a scary word.
Like hundreds of thousands of others, I wait, wonder and
worry, not knowing today how my son is -- where he is, what he is
doing -- until he travels that road home through Baghdad, a road
on which some families will pay an unbearable toll.
The Iraqis hurled missiles Thursday at Camp Commando in
Kuwait, where I imagined my son working in a tent in the desert,
possibly forcing him to scramble to a bunker while donning his
mask. I reveled at the news the Scuds did no harm. My son was
safe.
That night, a repeat of worry. A Marine helicopter crashed in
the desert, claiming the sons of a dozen families as the first
casualties. After an anxious hour, the Pentagon, in a prayer
answered, reported the fallen Sea Knight chopper was not from my
son's unit.
Fathers and mothers share a collective concern for all daughters and
sons who serve, but prayers, of their nature, are necessarily selfish
at sign-off.
It's a hell of a thing finding relief in the death of others.
Mine's alive. I'm sorry about yours.
Randy Ludlow is a reporter for The Dispatch.
0
Comments
Mark
Come on over ... to The Dark Side!
Stay calm, he will be back before you know it!
That is a very moving story. One that in some ways I can relate to. I just left the Marine Corps about a year ago. I pray every night for my brothers that are over there in harms way. Please know that your son is among the finest group of men and women ever assembled. He will return to you a hero! You should be very proud of what he has sacraficed for the sake of the very people who hate him. I was in Kuwait for 16 months and totally understand the perils they are going through, but can not fathom their bravery.
Just know that what he is doing is for the right reasons!
God Bless America!
Chris