This bumper sticker is either a brilliant bit of satire, on the “Santa as god of war” level, or, well, given what I know of the person who owns it, it’s just bloody stupid.
The United States officially concluded its military mission in Iraq late last week, and the last U.S. troops left over the weekend.
Except for all the ways we’re still in.
I’m not going to write about those.
Nor am I getting into the cost.
Or the cost.
I’m just going to share something, an old newspaper column from 2003.
Mostly it is exactly what it appears to be: a montage of my thoughts from the early days of the Iraq War, as I collected them on one particular day when a very important phone call came in.
It is also something else, though: a painful reminder of a time when I believed it would all end well, and soon.
I’ve since been wondering whether that belief was sincere or whether I was just lying to myself.
Certainly I was smart enough then to know better, but … sometimes I duck the hard truths, not that doing so makes them go away, or makes acknowledging them later any easier … still.
The last line of this one haunts me, and I think that’s as much because I failed to admit what I knew then as it is because of what I know now.
“These Last Few Months, in Pieces”
(Published May 4, 2003, in The Houston Home Journal)
I was waiting by the phone, so it hadn’t fully rang when I picked it up.
“Her plane just touched down.”
Dad, and a sense of relief, a feeling of one less thing to worry about.
Months of half-expressed fear and frustration began to subside.
It was a few weeks after a handful of fanatics had turned passenger jets into
weapons when she brought the subject up.
“I’m thinking of going back into the Army.”
She has always been a seeker, my elder sibling.
For years: Different jobs, life spent across several cities, classes in assorted
colleges, her inner sense of place never quite satisfied. Now that questing voice within was telling her to retake her place in armed service, convincing her this was how she could make a difference in a nation suddenly as unsure of itself, as ill at ease as she had so often been.
My parents expressed concern and worry, but offered no resistance. Our paths have always been our own to seek, and while they have advised, warned, cajoled, suggested, and implied, they have never forbidden.
“Jon, what do you think?”
I think you’re an optimist, more the dreamer everyone accuses me of being, if you believe this is the way to peace and recovery for our nation.
“I think you’re doing what you have to.”
In time we came to almost forget. We watched her fit seamlessly into an old place, heard tales of new friends, rejoiced with her as she married an old one.
Then the man at 1600 began sending troops across.
“She’s in a maintenance company, drives a fuel truck. They’ll be behind the
I can tell when he’s worried because while his tone hardly changes, and his face is as impassive as ever, he speaks ever-so-slightly slower, as though considering the words carefully, tasting them for believability.
He went to war, knows as well as anyone that “safe” has no place in sentences about armed conflict, understands that the lines are all too often redrawn, erased, colored cross.
The thing about working sporadically and via computer is that it leaves quite a lot of time for other things.
And someone says, “The truck was from Fort Bliss, part of a maintenance group.”
Which truck? What company? Who? Who? Who?
No news is not good news. No news is the absence of bad news. The absence of bad news is hope in a box.
“She’s fine. They were in a different part of the convoy.”
I can tell when he’s scared because this is the first time I’ve ever heard his fear.
And I hate myself because the relief I feel is bought with someone else’s tears, because the war goes on, because the bill is still being calculated and I have to hope I’m going to be covered by others until this is over.
“Her plane just touched down.”
I can tell when he’s been crying because he and I are sometimes all too alike.
I wipe my face and worry for the others, all those yet to receive their own calls.
So, I’ve been bad at this lately. I’d run down my excuses*, pledge to do better, etc., but that’s all so blog-cliché that I shan’t. I shall, instead, just start posting again and leave it at that. Cheers.
* Okay, just one excuse, but it’s a good one: I got married, which was a happy event but one that also took an extraordinary amount of time and brainspace, neither of which I seem to have in great quantity these days.