Down Time, Clips, and a Doh!

I was cruising through the MC Times the other day, when I read this.

Pretty nifty, huh.

Especially nice when they talk about service members and loved ones being able to communicate about babies first steps, birthday parties, and the like.

Obviously, this memory isn't about such wholesome and family friendly things. Heck no, this one's about what they don't allow on the family friendly channel...

I might've mentioned before that some of the guys would take digital video and pictures out on patrol. I don't remember this ever being something that was officially sanctioned, but the fact was that it was eventually commonly accepted as part of the information gathering process. For the most part, all knew when it was appropriate to have a camera out and when it wasn't. Also, it was much, much easier to pass over a memory card at the debrief rather than try to describe familiar tattoos on bodies or suspicious drawings and arabic writings. We'd much rather take personally owned equipment rather than take what would have been the military issued, gen 1, 25 pound, rarely functioning, often assed-up, Camera: Picture, Polaroid, 1.

Heh, '... for the most part...'

I remember one stop we made to the guys up north. If I remember correctly, we were delivering misdirected mail and dropping off a repaired hummer. We pulled into the staging area, got all the vehicles topped off, and I sent the guys to grab some chow while I checked in with the CO. After a fairly uneventful debrief and a little chewing of the fat with some of the staff, I grabbed a bite and wandered the area looking for some buddies I hadn't seen in awhile. I poked my head into one of the squad rooms.

"Hey, anybody know where y'alls squad leader is?"

Their eyes were rooted to the tv show they were watching. One guy pointed vaguely 'upstairs', another grunted something sounding like 'farther back down this hallway', and one guy farted.

Good times.

As it turned out, they weren't really watching a tv show, but an episode of Combat's Funniest Videos. Not familiar with that program? Lemme 'splain...

When I mentioned that most guys knew when to have the camera in their hands and when to have a rifle, well, that was correct. See, after all the hoopla has passed is the time to bust out the cameras for the record. Angles of approach, maps, id, uniforms, weapons, vehicles, anything and everything that can possibly help the intel weenies should be noted, and in detail. When the enemy is attacking well, let's just say not the best time to record, unless...

Apparently one of the guys in the squad I visited had hit on an idea. He had a fairly lightweight camera and a number of spare batteries. He was a Lance Corporal, so he managed to 'acquire' an extra helmet cover and a bunch of zip ties. He trimmed some helmet cover material with his bayonet and used his sewing kit to fashion cammo covers for his camera. He then affixed his camera to his helmet. Other than taking a little extra care getting into and out of his vehicle, he was good to go. No hands necessary after pushing the record button.

What resulted was a little bit documentary, a bit of COPS, and a whole lotta funny.

There was a passable Aussie accent when recording a pair of mutts going at it, some shaky footage of a Marine taking a deuce, and a short while later, the ambush. It was pretty standard as far as ambushes went back then, a bunch of amateurs with beat-to-hell weapons and questionable tactics, but his voice during the attack was what made it memorable. While narrating the video, he was grinning and chuckling as well and trying to explain his thoughts during his hasty nose dive out of the vehicle (not tripped, 'hasty vehicular dismount'). His running commentary of, 'ohshitohshitohshitohshit' as he ran to a building (talking to himself whilst trying to keep attempting to gain personnel accountability, not freaking out), and his high-pitched "Aiiiieeee" was a rallying cry/way cry (and most definitely NOT a 9-year old girl shriek).

It was a 9 year-old little girl shriek - trust me, I kno... - er, I'm pretty sure...

Hey! Who's laughing in the Back? Rambo? Well, ok then... the rest of y'all, tell me how you do the first time downrange!



Anyways, fast forwarding to a half-dozen months in the future, and I was sitting in my parents living room, my assorted bags scattered around, and my mom's toy poodle humping my leg.

Ah, the good old days...

Dad was really keen on getting ahold of all of the pictures and clips that I had collected on my all expenses paid trip to fun in the sun for his collection and for distribution to family. I don't think I had yet confessed that the one collection of pictures I had sent of a hummer hit in an IED attack was actually my hummer, but it was coming, I'm sure. Anyways, we were both on the couch, his laptop on his lap, and mine on mine. I was pulling discs from the pouch, inserting them into my laptop, getting a rough idea what was on it, and handing it over to him for copying. My part of the process was quicker than his, so he had a nice pile of discs waiting to be copied. He still noted when I subtly slipped a few discs back into the pouch. "What're those discs?" "What discs?" "The ones you just put back." "Oh, those. Those're nothing, just some ah,... recreational stuff." "Recrea... sure...."

Eventually, I got kind of lazy and began relying on the label details of what was on one of the discs. During the deployment I had eventually gotten detailed about what was on the discs, dates, names, and all of that. The last two discs weren't actually even anything I had taken, but some discs that other Battalions had handed out. Our Battalion had approached the end of our tour at the same time as some others, and during the inevitable down time that always happened back in the rear, we managed to trade a number of discs back and forth. Gave each other a rough idea of what else was going on in the greater AO while we were each in town.

I asked Dad if he wanted 'em, he said 'sure', and I handed 'em over.

It was only a couple of hours later that I remembered what one of those discs contained. The Battalion Disc in question had compiled a bunch of video sources together on one disc, voted on by popularity by its Marines. There were the standard combat ops, down time funny stuff, and some miscellaneous stuff towards the end. There was no question in why one clip at the end was hugely popular; apparently, one lonely soldier (female type) had decided to make a clip of herself... er, dancing around to Marvin Gaye's 'Lets Get It On', I seem to remember. I guess it was pretty warm in the can, 'cause she was pretty scantily clad at the end of the clip, you could say.

Very nice.

Wonder if Dad ever got that far in the disc...?

A Lesson Learned from My Father

First of all, a Happy Day to all the Fathers out there...

Been thinking about my own Dad, naturally, the good and the bad. I know that he wasn't perfect, but I seem to have realized an interesting thing. Even in the 'bad', there were lessons for me to learn.

Lemme 'splain...

Dad, like a lot of the guys on his side of the family, had a highly developed sense of work-ethic. It's not an uncommon thing at all to see the men of the family wake early, go to the shop, plant, base, station, office, etc, work twelve, thirteen, -and many more- hours, and come home only after late night meetings, training sessions, dinner with potential clients, showing the visiting managers around the town, etc. This would go on pretty much the entirety of a man's working life, slowing down only when he did, due to age. A good, strong work-ethic is a valuable thing, especially in this day and age, but it can lead to some issues. When ethic crosses the line into something approaching obsession, well, that can cause some problems.

The problems it caused in my own family was that Dad was so often gone from the house, it got to the point where he was missing out on the family life. His professional career was booming, promotions and raises were there, when he left a company employment offers were usually promising, but he was missing out on everything else.

This did cause some friction between him and Mom.

One of the things that I especially liked about my high school, new as it was, was the swim team. Basically, because the school was in its first years, all the teams pretty much sucked, and walk ons were encouraged - hell, they were desperate for any talent they could get. I had some ability in the pool (read; I didn't loose too much time that couldn't be made up in the relays), and I even made the team in a couple of solo events. To make practice before school, I would crawl out of bed at the butt-crack of 0 dark 30 and sleep-walk to the car where Dad would drive me to the pool. I enjoyed the swimming and the competition, but I enjoyed what time we had during our drives.

When the swimming season ended, I would continue to ride with Dad to the pool. Coach liked the dedication, I liked the rides.

The thing about his 'workalcoholicismicity', he - like others in my family - saw their jobs as a vital point in supporting the family. The more you worked and earned, the more worth that you had, something along those lines.

That idea does have some merit (to a point), but what really impressed me came some years later.

See, he realized what his commitments to work was doing to his family. It wasn't something that came around all of a sudden, it was very much of a gradual process, but he did learn it. About 10 years or so ago, he found out that taking a Sunday off wouldn't kill the business, and even now and then [gasp] a Saturday home from work might be in order as well. Calling home to check in with the folks became a little more spotty now and then, because Mom and Dad were occasionally out to dinner and a movie, even. He would email more and more often, sending funny clips, bad jokes, and stuff that would probably get most folks in trouble for viewing at work (very funny, but kinda naughty).

He started to end his calls and emails with the ever constant, 'be good, li'l boy'.

Damn, I miss that.


It didn't just affect the immediate family, but the extended as well. He made more trips down south to visit his Mom and Dad in the past 5-10 years, and for longer periods of time, than the previous 20. He took us to little towns that he grew up in, saw his old haunts, and met some of his old friends.

It was on a trip to visit his maternal grandmother on her 105th birthday (yeah, really), and afterwards, when he traveled to the mountains to visit with his father, that he died.


So, while it might sound like a sad post, and I guess it is, a little, the point of this post is more about thanks that there really is so much that I'm still learning from the man. I can only hope that I provide similar examples and lessons, building off of those of my father, to my own children, one day.



Love you, Dad. Miss you like hell, love you more.

Murphy Was A... Lion?

Dad used to send me a bunch of emails, interesting clips, funny jokes, and updates on family news. I was going through my old emails the other day and saw a few that made me chuckle.


I wish I had saved more of them.


He sent me an email with the following pics sometime after I came home from Iraq and we had a conversation about Marines that I knew before getting married and while married (and for some, after marriage). Doesn't necessarily apply to me (riiiight), but it's funny as hell.

Men

Before marriage...

Look at him. Virile. Powerful. King of the Jungle.

During marriage...

"Yes, Dear. No, Dear. I'm sorry, Muffin."

After marriage.

Ouch.

I'm back home (my house) now, again, thankful that all the festivities are over with for now.


Wouldn't you know it, a fresh look at the computer issue enabled me to stumble through fixing it. Not exactly sure how I fixed it, but I'm happy I got it done. Word on the street is that the chickens I was planning to sacrifice to the mischievous gods of the Internet are enthused as well.

Wait 'till they hear what I'm planning for dinner later this week...

As bad as I might be interneticallastically speaking, is it wrong that I feel kinda good about my relatively huge base of knowledge when speaking with my grandma? She asked me at one point what was an e-mail. I thought she might have been kidding, but when she asked about postage for the letters, I realized that she honestly didn't know. I hope my future grandkids think of me fondly as I do to my grandma when I ask them some techocrappie question 50 or 60 years from now.

Nah, they'll probably think I'm a goober & off my meds, or something.


I'm kinda looking forward to getting back to work again, feeling like I've been out for a long, long time. I figure about 3 days of actual work should take care of that.

One of the things I like about the current work situation is the number of former military guys there. Always good to hear old war stories from the other services, and to compare and contrast jacked up missions, situations, and whatnot. One of the things that I've told many people is that in some ways, I think it's easier for the guys deployed than the families that are left behind. Whatever the situation, however messed up, outrageous, or humerous, you can bet that someone else has gone through the exact same thing, or worse. This was demonstrated in conversations from some of the guys who had lost some of their own family members.

How they came across in the conversations was kind of touching, in its own way. I think my favorite talk (in just about its entirety) was something along the lines of, "It's a kick in the nuts, huh." from, of course, a former old & salty sailor.

Indeed.

A sad twist of life, I suppose, when I heard about another death recently.

I don't suppose that it'll come to too much of a surprise that I'm not terribly in the Christmas spirit this year, my thoughts have been much more into sad reminiscing, bitter-sweet happier memories, and concerns about others. In my thoughts of my father, one of the things that I come back to often is music. Dad wasn't much for actually playing, heck I'm not even sure that he even knew how to read music. I do know that he played a little guitar in his youth, but he occasionally commented while looking at my sheet music that the notation was like another language to him.

He of course, supported my musical learnings, and would comment on different songs, which of course, I would immediately hunt down the music for and learn to play.

He introduced me to some different sounds such as Eva Cassidy, The Ventures, Piero, Los Iracundos, John Denver (?!), Abba (!?!?), Roy Orbison, and the like (if 'and the like' could apply here).

"Thank you for the music, and your stories of the road.
Thank you for the freedom when it came my time to go.
Thank you for your kindness, and the times when you got tough.
And papa I don't think I said, 'I love you' near enough."

--- Dan Fogelberg, Leader of the Band


Te quiero, viejo.

I miss you. so. much.

A Thank You

... for all of the kind and thoughtful comments, e-mails, and blog posts over the past week or so. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around this situation, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I just wanted to convey my thanks to all, for all.

To my lazy Monday afternoon conversationalist, a special thank you, I needed that.

I'm back home now, all the initial details have been taken care of, and now it's just time to wait for the last of the paperwork, payments, notifications, etc. to come through. I suppose that this is where the getting over/through/on/whatever is supposed to take place, as well. Truth be told, it has already started, but with a frustratingly sense of slowness. It'll come...

Blog stories are still on standby for the immediate future, but I'm already getting back around, cruising the blogroll, and getting back into the swing of things.


Thank you, again.

Hiatus

My father has died.




This blog is on hold indefinitely.