Well, my transition is once again complete. I am back to being CW3 Bishop, United States Army. For the past two weeks, I’d been Dada, Husband, Brother and Son. If you have to ask which role I prefer, you don’t know me very well.
Being an Army Reservist, I get the unique opportunity to switch back and forth between my military and civilian personas, and I’ve always thought the process of doing so was fairly interesting, so I thought I'd share it here.
It’s not really a “scheduled” transition so to speak, more of a mental changeover that just sorta happens. Going home on leave, I started out in Kuwait with 300 other people who couldn’t wait to get home to friends and family. We were in full military mode at this point, seeing as we’d all been deployed for many months and been surrounded by nothing but uniforms the entire time.
Our first dose of civilian life came as we boarded the airplane to head home. The flight crew was the first group of non-contractor civilians we’d seen in many months. They treated us as people, not as soldiers (there is a difference…those who’ve been there know what I mean.) Our civilianization had begun.
The next step was getting off the plane in Atlanta, 16 hours after we’d left Kuwait. This was the first time I’d been back on US soil in 7 months, but it didn’t take long to get used to all the sights and sounds again. We also had some interaction with civilian passengers in the terminal, many of whom came up to shake our hands and thank us. It was good to be back in the US.
When we got to Dallas (the 3rd stop on my way home), we were welcomed by the wonderful volunteers from the DFW USO. There were hundreds of people lined up to shake our hands, high 5 and hug us as we headed out of the terminal, and it is an experience I will never forget. I now know what a movie star feels like on the red carpet, and it was humbling to say the very least.
Dallas was where we left the military charter flight and went on to regular scheduled airlines to our individual destinations. I was one of two soldiers on my flight from DFW to Phoenix, and again we were treated like royalty. For two rows around me, people were offering to buy my lunch (I’d eaten 5 times by this point), give me their pillows and blankets, or whatever else they thought I needed. In case I’ve not said it recently, I am so very grateful to all those who are grateful for what we do. Thank you.
By the time I got to the curb in Phoenix, I was the only one in a military uniform. My transformation was nearly complete. In a little over 28 hours, I’d gone from a sea of green suits to being surrounded by civilians, and it was rubbing off. I arrived home and within 10 minutes, was in shorts and a T-shirt that didn’t say “Army” on them. I was ready to be a civilian for a while, and boy did I enjoy it. I will try to write about all my wonderful leave experiences in the near future, but I want to make sure I have the time to do it properly, so it will have to wait until things settle down a little.
The civilian to Army transition was pretty much the same as above in reverse. It began when I put the uniform on for the first time in 2 weeks, and ended 40 hours later when I stepped off the plane back in Kuwait and was hit square in the face by the dust filled 105* heat.
I am eagerly awaiting the opportunity to write about my next transition, which will take place in about 3 ½ months. It can’t come soon enough, but I know that the time will pass quickly. We’re on the downhill side of the clock now, and to quote a popular Army phrase, I can do that time “standing on my head”.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
This Time Vs. Last
As I sit here today in the Atlanta airport, waiting on my flight back to Kuwait / Iraq, I can’t help but compare this trip to my last eastbound odyssey over 7 months ago. True, leaving home and loved ones is always difficult and unpleasant at best, but this time was far easier than last in most respects.
Last time was the first time I’d ever been away from home for such an extended period. This time, I’ll only be gone half as long. Last time, I was going into the unknown and the apprehension was palpable. This time, I am returning to a known entity and aside from the ever present frustrations of dealing with the hurry-up-and-wait method the government seems to choose for transporting masses of people, there was little or no stress involved. I was just along for the ride and whatever happened en-route was ok with me. Last time, our exact departure date and time was uncertain until the very last minute, and Jamie and Jaislyn were there with me, so it was very stressful and hectic. I didn’t want to leave them until I absolutely had to, but nobody knew for sure when that would be, so we sat by the phone and waited. This time, I knew before I even got home when I would be leaving, so we could plan our time together accordingly. Still the most difficult thing I’ve ever done was kissing Jaislyn goodbye this time. She’d just gotten used to having me back in her life, and now I was leaving her all over again. We’d talked to her about it beforehand (complete with a deployment-themed Elmo dvd...Thanks MilitaryOneSource!), and she knew that I was only going to be home for a short time, but that didn’t make it any easier, at least not for me. Last time, I’d never been gone that long so she had no frame of reference. This time she knew what it was like to have me gone for a long time. Not easy.
On a positive note, there is a definite sense of calm today that I did not have 7 months ago. Today, I am just headed back to work. Back then, I was “Going off to war”, complete with all the drama that goes along with such an endeavor. I know now that my “war” and the war we see on TV every day are thankfully, two very different things.
Something else strikes me as I sit here waiting and people watching: I can’t help but notice the two parallel and somewhat ironic realities that I’m currently straddling. All around us, people are going about their daily activities. For the most part, they’ll all return to their own homes, their families and sleep in their own beds. I’ve seen and heard people complaining about this and that. Things that 8 months ago, I too probably would have wasted the energy complaining about, but now seem far too insignificant to worry myself over. Then there is the group of soldiers I’m traveling with. We’re all headed to various and assorted unpleasant parts of the world to do various and assorted, often unpleasant jobs, yet I hear all sorts of laughter. I often wonder if the civilians around us know how much we’d love to change places with them, even the seemingly miserable ones. I’d bet most of them have no clue, but that’s ok.
Until today, I’d never seen or met any of the people I’m traveling with, yet there is a sense of “family” among us. I know that I can go up to anyone wearing this uniform, and they will help me in any way they can, and they in turn can expect the same of me. We talk to complete strangers like we’ve known them for years. That is perhaps my favorite thing about being in the military, no matter where you go or who you are, we take care of our own and look out for each other. Perhaps it stems from our common experience, or because we share a mutual respect for anyone that is willing to put on the uniform and step up to the proverbial plate, but whatever the reason, that sense of belonging is always there, no matter when or where. I can’t help but think if people out in “the world” treated each other with the same sort of respect, the world would be a much different and far better place.
Last time was the first time I’d ever been away from home for such an extended period. This time, I’ll only be gone half as long. Last time, I was going into the unknown and the apprehension was palpable. This time, I am returning to a known entity and aside from the ever present frustrations of dealing with the hurry-up-and-wait method the government seems to choose for transporting masses of people, there was little or no stress involved. I was just along for the ride and whatever happened en-route was ok with me. Last time, our exact departure date and time was uncertain until the very last minute, and Jamie and Jaislyn were there with me, so it was very stressful and hectic. I didn’t want to leave them until I absolutely had to, but nobody knew for sure when that would be, so we sat by the phone and waited. This time, I knew before I even got home when I would be leaving, so we could plan our time together accordingly. Still the most difficult thing I’ve ever done was kissing Jaislyn goodbye this time. She’d just gotten used to having me back in her life, and now I was leaving her all over again. We’d talked to her about it beforehand (complete with a deployment-themed Elmo dvd...Thanks MilitaryOneSource!), and she knew that I was only going to be home for a short time, but that didn’t make it any easier, at least not for me. Last time, I’d never been gone that long so she had no frame of reference. This time she knew what it was like to have me gone for a long time. Not easy.
On a positive note, there is a definite sense of calm today that I did not have 7 months ago. Today, I am just headed back to work. Back then, I was “Going off to war”, complete with all the drama that goes along with such an endeavor. I know now that my “war” and the war we see on TV every day are thankfully, two very different things.
Something else strikes me as I sit here waiting and people watching: I can’t help but notice the two parallel and somewhat ironic realities that I’m currently straddling. All around us, people are going about their daily activities. For the most part, they’ll all return to their own homes, their families and sleep in their own beds. I’ve seen and heard people complaining about this and that. Things that 8 months ago, I too probably would have wasted the energy complaining about, but now seem far too insignificant to worry myself over. Then there is the group of soldiers I’m traveling with. We’re all headed to various and assorted unpleasant parts of the world to do various and assorted, often unpleasant jobs, yet I hear all sorts of laughter. I often wonder if the civilians around us know how much we’d love to change places with them, even the seemingly miserable ones. I’d bet most of them have no clue, but that’s ok.
Until today, I’d never seen or met any of the people I’m traveling with, yet there is a sense of “family” among us. I know that I can go up to anyone wearing this uniform, and they will help me in any way they can, and they in turn can expect the same of me. We talk to complete strangers like we’ve known them for years. That is perhaps my favorite thing about being in the military, no matter where you go or who you are, we take care of our own and look out for each other. Perhaps it stems from our common experience, or because we share a mutual respect for anyone that is willing to put on the uniform and step up to the proverbial plate, but whatever the reason, that sense of belonging is always there, no matter when or where. I can’t help but think if people out in “the world” treated each other with the same sort of respect, the world would be a much different and far better place.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Heroes?
In the past two weeks, I’ve heard the word “Hero” used quite a bit, and often in reference to me. Each time I hear it, I feel like looking around the room to see whom the person is talking about. I am no hero. I haven’t cured any devastating illness, I haven’t saved anyone’s life, I haven’t prevented any catastrophe, I haven’t invented a way to reduce gas prices ($4.00 a gallon?? It was “only” $2.50 when I left!!), in short, I’ve not done anything to save the proverbial day. I don’t wear a shiny red cape or change clothes in phone booths, I just wear a tan flight suit and do the job I’ve been trained and love to do. Hardly a heroic deed, at least in my humble opinion. The fact that I do that job in some far off war-torn country that we see on the evening news every day is I think where the - for lack of a better term – misconception comes from.
Before I go any further, let me say that I certainly do not mean to sound conceited or ungrateful in anyway for all the wonderful support I/we have received from family, friends and even complete strangers. Knowing that we’re thought of, missed, loved and cared for by people back home means the world to me and all the soldiers I know. Knowing that people acknowledge and appreciate the sacrifices we, and more importantly, our families have made means a great deal as well. Still, that in and of itself does not make me a hero, at least by my definition.
A hero to me is the 19 year old PFC who goes “outside the wire” (off base) every day and must constantly be wary of IEDs, Snipers, Suicide Bombers, and whatever other new forms of death and destruction the bad guys have to offer today. For him/her, there is no guarantee that once they leave the relative safety and security of the base that they will return safely to the same when their patrol is over. Each day they gamble with their lives, and they do it willingly and fully aware of the threats that face them. If that weren’t enough, most of them do it for 15 months on end. They are heroes. I just fly airplanes.
A hero to me is the 22 year old who throws himself on a grenade because he knows it will save his fellow soldiers. Can you imagine the kind of split second courage a decision like that would take? Deciding whether or not to save yourself or to end your own life in order to save friends’ lives? I cannot fathom ever having to make such a decision, and I’m not too proud to admit that there are only a select few people in this world that mean enough to me to make such a decision. That young man is a hero. I just fly airplanes.
Heroes do what they do not because they want the praise, awards or spotlight, not because they are paid to do it, not because they are told to do it, but because they believe it to be the right thing to do, and know that if they don’t do it, someone else will have to be put in harms way to get the job done.
I think people refer to us as heroes collectively for a variety of reasons. Perhaps they do not fully understand what it is we do. Perhaps they feel that just because we do what we do where we do it, we qualify for the accolades. Perhaps they feel the sacrifices we make (even tho our families sacrifice far more than we do) qualify us. Perhaps it is because they appreciate people who are willing to do things that they themselves are not (As I appreciate the “grunt” soldiers who go out and do the dirty/dangerous work every day.) Perhaps they are just grateful for what we do and don’t know how else to qualify us (I’ve found that people have an innate need to label everything…) Who knows? I’m sure the reasons vary from person to person, just as I have my own definitions of what makes a hero. Whatever the reason behind it, I truly appreciate the sentiment, even if I don’t feel qualified. There are definitely true heroes in our ranks, don't get me wrong, but at least for myself, I'm pretty much just satisfied knowing that I've done the best, safest job I can. That's enough for me.
Quite honestly, I hope I never do anything to actually qualify for my own definition of a hero. There is an old saying that pilots have: “Always use your superior judgment to avoid situations in which you would have to demonstrate your superior skill.” If I ever find myself in a situation that requires heroism, something has gone severely wrong and I try my best to ensure that I avoid such situations whenever possible. Heroism is hazardous to your health, and I’ve developed a breathing habit that I’ve become rather fond of. My goal in this little adventure is not to become a “hero”, but just to return home safely to my friends and family in the same (or better) condition as I left.
Before I go any further, let me say that I certainly do not mean to sound conceited or ungrateful in anyway for all the wonderful support I/we have received from family, friends and even complete strangers. Knowing that we’re thought of, missed, loved and cared for by people back home means the world to me and all the soldiers I know. Knowing that people acknowledge and appreciate the sacrifices we, and more importantly, our families have made means a great deal as well. Still, that in and of itself does not make me a hero, at least by my definition.
A hero to me is the 19 year old PFC who goes “outside the wire” (off base) every day and must constantly be wary of IEDs, Snipers, Suicide Bombers, and whatever other new forms of death and destruction the bad guys have to offer today. For him/her, there is no guarantee that once they leave the relative safety and security of the base that they will return safely to the same when their patrol is over. Each day they gamble with their lives, and they do it willingly and fully aware of the threats that face them. If that weren’t enough, most of them do it for 15 months on end. They are heroes. I just fly airplanes.
A hero to me is the 22 year old who throws himself on a grenade because he knows it will save his fellow soldiers. Can you imagine the kind of split second courage a decision like that would take? Deciding whether or not to save yourself or to end your own life in order to save friends’ lives? I cannot fathom ever having to make such a decision, and I’m not too proud to admit that there are only a select few people in this world that mean enough to me to make such a decision. That young man is a hero. I just fly airplanes.
Heroes do what they do not because they want the praise, awards or spotlight, not because they are paid to do it, not because they are told to do it, but because they believe it to be the right thing to do, and know that if they don’t do it, someone else will have to be put in harms way to get the job done.
I think people refer to us as heroes collectively for a variety of reasons. Perhaps they do not fully understand what it is we do. Perhaps they feel that just because we do what we do where we do it, we qualify for the accolades. Perhaps they feel the sacrifices we make (even tho our families sacrifice far more than we do) qualify us. Perhaps it is because they appreciate people who are willing to do things that they themselves are not (As I appreciate the “grunt” soldiers who go out and do the dirty/dangerous work every day.) Perhaps they are just grateful for what we do and don’t know how else to qualify us (I’ve found that people have an innate need to label everything…) Who knows? I’m sure the reasons vary from person to person, just as I have my own definitions of what makes a hero. Whatever the reason behind it, I truly appreciate the sentiment, even if I don’t feel qualified. There are definitely true heroes in our ranks, don't get me wrong, but at least for myself, I'm pretty much just satisfied knowing that I've done the best, safest job I can. That's enough for me.
Quite honestly, I hope I never do anything to actually qualify for my own definition of a hero. There is an old saying that pilots have: “Always use your superior judgment to avoid situations in which you would have to demonstrate your superior skill.” If I ever find myself in a situation that requires heroism, something has gone severely wrong and I try my best to ensure that I avoid such situations whenever possible. Heroism is hazardous to your health, and I’ve developed a breathing habit that I’ve become rather fond of. My goal in this little adventure is not to become a “hero”, but just to return home safely to my friends and family in the same (or better) condition as I left.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
