A Veterans' Day Challenge

November is always a busy month for my husband Colin. A former Army infantryman and Afghanistan vet, now a college professor, veteran advocate, and award-winning poet, he spends the weeks around Veterans’ Day engaging with veteran and non-veteran audiences to raise awareness, increase understanding, and encourage support—his efforts, to borrow a popular tagline, to “bridge the gap” between the communities.

Since I’m not as awesome or poetic as Colin and I’m not joining in on the whirlwind, I’d like to propose a Veterans’ Day challenge: 

The Halloran family collection of war literature

This week—or this month, or whenever you’re able—engage with three veterans’ stories. Choose any format: read, watch, listen, interview (some suggestions included below); with any veteran, of wars past or present.

Why three? Because no two veterans are the same; a single narrative can’t possibly capture a comprehensive portrait of what it’s like to be a veteran. Neither can three, but my hope is that your perspective will expand ever-so-slightly in different directions. Hopefully, too, you’ll like what you see/read/hear, and continue to seek different narratives far beyond Nov. 11.

In the next few days you’re bound to get word of local Veterans' Day readings, lectures and discussions; radio and TV features and interviews; and commentaries online or in your local paper. Take the time to check out one (or three!)

Here are a few other suggestions (this is by no means a comprehensive list—if you have a favorite veteran narrative or know of a good resource, please share in the comments):

TALK

• Do you have a veteran friend or relative? Ask about his/her experiences. I could sit cross-legged on my grandparents’ floor all day (or at least until my legs fall asleep) listening to their World War II stories (they were married right before Grandpa shipped off with the Navy; their brothers shared a foxhole in the Battle of the Bulge!). Keep in mind, though, not everyone is comfortable sharing. Be respectful. Don’t pry.

• There are nonprofit veteran organizations all across the country, many which rely on volunteer support. Here in Boston, for example, the New England Center for Homeless Veterans seeks volunteers for serving meals and job skills advising/mentoring. Spend a couple hours providing tangible assistance while also getting to know a local veteran.

READ

• As you can tell from the photo, Colin and I have a rather extensive collection of war literature. Whether your interests are fiction, biography, memoir or poetry, historical or contemporary, drama or satire, there’s something (or many somethings) for you. Have you been meaning to read Tim O’Brien’s classic The Things They Carried or Phil Klay’s National Book Award-winning short story collection Redeployment? What about books-turned-blockbusters like Unbroken or Black Hawk Down? Interested in female veteran stories? Check out memoirs by Kayla Williams, Tracy Crow, or Jane Blair; Ashley's War: The Untold Story of a Team of Women Soldiers on the Special Ops Battlefield; or the anthology Powder: Writing by Women in the Ranks, from Vietnam to Iraq.  

• Several other military anthologies feature a wide variety of writing by male and female veterans and family members: Fire & Forget: Short Stories from the Long War, Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors, and Red, White & True: Stories from Veterans and Families, World War II to Present.

• Aside from tackling a full book, there is TONS of wonderful veteran writing available online. Publications specifically for military/veteran writing include the New York Times At War blog; O-Dark-Thirty (the literary journal of the Veteran Writing Project); War, Literature and the Arts; Military Experience & the Arts; Warrior Writers (links to individual artists and their work, as well as for purchasing anthologies); Veterans Voices; and so many fabulous blogs and individual pieces that I couldn’t possibly list them all. 

• SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT: Sample poems from Colin’s books are available online here and here, and you should read his awesome interview in The Rumpus (in which he discusses war lit and veteran/military writers).

WATCH

• Hollywood loves war films—the combination of physical and emotional drama is ripe for the big screen. Though many obviously have a degree of Hollywoodization, they still provide a powerful, engrossing window to war. From classics like Apocalypse Now to contemporaries such as American Sniper and Fury, there are oodles to choose from. Colin and I just finished the absolutely stunning mini-series Band of Brothers, and I can't recommend it enough. Despite the different jobs, locations and eras, we both found elements we related to—that's the mark of a great war story! 

• Check out a documentary like Restrepo or Korengal, Sebastian Junger’s accounts of a group of soldiers at a small, remote Afghanistan outpost and their return home; the HBO production Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1; The Invisible War, an investigation of the epidemic of rape in the military (no it’s not pleasant, but it happens and we can’t ignore it); or the PBS documentary Debt of Honor:Disabled Veterans in American History, which premiers Tuesday, Nov. 10. This list offers other selections as well.

• The Telling Project, an organization that brings veterans together to tell their stories for a live audience, just released a documentary. You can watch online or see a live production.

• Carthage University is wrapping up performances of the Afghanistan/ Wisconsin Verbatim Theatre Project, a theatrical production created from word-for-word veteran narratives. You can view a recording of the performance here. (Full disclosure: I was interviewed as part of the production process.)

LISTEN

• Historians, journalists and military families throughout history have made an effort to preserve veteran narratives through interviews, and many are publicly available. The Library of Congress Veterans’ History Project has an extensive searchable digital archive. Your local archives, libraries and veteran/war museums also likely have oral history collections available in-person and/or digitally (consult the Archives Library Information Center or use your good friend Mr. Google—there are resources everywhere!).

• NPR has several great veteran interview broadcasts available, like this World War II collection. Be sure to browse through the Related Stories at the bottom of the page.

• The Veteran Artist Program recently launched a podcast of interviews with male and female veterans from a variety of services and specialties working in all sorts of artistic fields. Learn about a Marine comic, an Army Special Operations musician (who played with Nirvana!), a Cultural Support Team soldier now working as an art therapist, an Apache pilot/author/singer, and many more! 

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

A Brief Rant

I was going to post this on Facebook, but figured I owe this neglected thing some attention. Plus, if someone googles “assholes” or “douchbaggery” maybe they’ll stumble upon this little blog.

#BeginRant

I have a veteran friend who’s in grad school. She just started a new semester with a new crop of students who don’t know about her veteranness, and, like many vets, she doesn’t necessarily advertise it when making introductions. So she enters the classroom and kindly expresses her need to sit on the perimeter of the room—a need driven by deployment-related anxiety—and another student points to a seat in the middle and rudely suggests, “Why can’t you just sit in that seat?” My friend says she can’t and moves that desk to the perimeter. And the other students laugh and make fun of her

Really, people? In grad school, where everyone is supposedly at least a somewhat mature, mostly completely brain-developed adult? 

Lack of veteran context aside, so someone has a quirk—any quirk—must you be all Douchy McAsshole about it? 

I was recently a guest in my husband’s college freshman English classes, talking about narrative distance and empathy in writing memoir/personal essay. I said something that’s applicable here—a super sophisticated and eloquent analogy along the lines of: “Everyone has shit. Some people’s piles are just bigger or more smelly.”

 

People are different. Sometimes people are weird. Sometimes people have things bubbling under the surface that you know nothing about. Get over it. Or at least have the decency to save the laughter and gossip for behind closed doors

#EndRant

Response to American Sniper demonstrates vast spectrum of war experience

I’m cleaning, like I do when I’m anxious. My husband Colin is thinking about shoes.

“Women and children,” he says. “You determine their intent by their shoes.”

We saw American Sniper earlier. All through the movie I fidgeted, like I do when I’m anxious. Colin sat rigid. Now he’s thinking about shoes.

“Women have no cause to wear shoes with tread,” he says. “So if they are, they are far more likely to blow you up.”

I say something like, “that makes sense,” because it does, and because I don’t know how else to respond. I often don’t know how to respond when Colin’s brain is in Afghanistan. I know his mind needs to dwell there for a while. It bounces between mountain passes and desert, between quiet conversations and the rumble of Humvee motors, or gunfire. Often it fixates on the suicide bomber who rammed his truck into Colin’s convoy. The young Afghan boy caught in the explosion. Colin’s gunner, his friend, engulfed in flames.

My brain goes to Afghanistan sometimes, as well, but to another time, another location, another mission. Colin served as an infantryman in 2006. My role in 2009-2010 as part of a nation-building Provincial Reconstruction Team was largely bureaucratic. However, when we met in 2012, Colin and I connected through our disparate war stories. We talked. He lent me his then-unpublished manuscript of war poetry. I shared an essay about redeploying. Our writing, our experiences, were drastically different. But they were also the same.

I discovered this connection, too, with my mother, who served as a nurse in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm. When I came home from Afghanistan, despite the decades, borders, and job duties that separated our wars, Mom and I found common elements weaving through each deployment, and the aftermath.

In the weeks since its release, American Sniper has generated heated discussion of many colors: respect and admiration for what Chris Kyle and his family endured, attacks on his character, praise for the film’s raw and intimate portrayal, admonishment for lack of political context, rebuff for the use of the mythical/hero formula and appreciation for the same.

Perhaps the most impassioned debate comes from within the veteran community. I’ve seen numerous articles and social media posts from veterans proclaiming that the movie did not accurately represent their time in the military or in Iraq. Many express the valid concern that this contemporary war film will become the contemporary war film and will shape (or perpetuate) public opinion. Others rejoice that the movie has spurred conversation, regardless of the nuances.

The response mirrors war itself. War is a spectrum. Or more accurately, war is a complicated graph of various separate but related spectrums: of danger and comfort, of excitement and fear and humor and absurdity and friendship and guilt and shame and pride.

Veterans easily point fingers at those who had it worse, or better, or different.  We elevate some to the top of the heroism hierarchy. The rest are left muddling somewhere in the middle.

Kyle’s war certainly more closely resembles Colin’s war than it does mine. Still, Colin never engaged in urban combat (“urban” isn’t a term associated with most of Afghanistan). Colin worked directly with the local population, rather than viewing them solely through a rifle’s scope. He didn’t deploy multiple times. He didn’t leave a family at home.

But the movie left him thinking about shoes.

“I shouldn’t be sad,” Colin says. “I didn’t even come close to doing what Kyle did. But I did more than most, so it’s not like I feel insufficient. I don’t feel depressed. I just feel sad.”

I feel sad, though for different reasons. I’m remembering being on the other side, when my mom deployed and left me behind. I’m thinking about all the things I might have done differently in Afghanistan, all the things I might have done better. I’m trying to figure out what “better” would have been.

I’m also worried about Colin, because I’ve seen his sadness spiral deep and dark and lasting.

No, Kyle’s war was not Colin’s war. It wasn’t my war, or my mom’s war. It wasn’t anyone’s war but Kyle’s. Yet his narrative contains threads Colin and I, and many other veterans, can latch onto.

For the general public, American Sniper provides one perspective. One perspective, from one man, in his unique personal circumstances—and filtered through a Hollywood lens. One perspective cannot come close to a full representation of war.

But it helps.

As long as we have war, we need discussions of war, stimulated by literature, film and other mediums. The public bears responsibility for consuming and engaging with this art, in all its forms, from all its sources: veterans, journalists, civilians, Iraqis, and Afghans.

However, the onus is on veterans, too: for producing it. In order for the public to listen, read, view, veterans must speak, write, create. If we hope to achieve an environment in which veterans can have comfortable dialogue with non-veterans, where discussions of war are candid, not taboo and not sensationalized; if we hope to bridge the oft-referenced “civilian-military divide,” we, the veterans, must lay the groundwork. We must stop the finger-pointing and heroic hierarchies. We must put aside the pride and stubbornness and self-sustaining ideas that one type of soldier has more right to tell his or her story than another. We must welcome all narratives: familiar, traditional, and not. 

More narratives facilitate both a greater public understanding of war and increased opportunities for each individual veteran to find a story—or a thread—to which he or she can relate.

“I’m sad,” Colin says again. “I don’t quite know what to do with that.”

Eventually, he settles on sleep. The next morning he decides to join a support group at the VA.

#GivingTuesday (yes, it's a thing!)

Happy Giving Tuesday! Apparently that's a thing. (A good thing, obviously, I just feel very old and uninformed not knowing about it until now.) If you, like many, plan to supplement your holiday consumerism with some good old fashioned charitable contributions, let me point out a few military/veteran-focused nonprofit organizations worthy of your consideration:

Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA)

The largest organization for Post-9/11 veterans and their supporters, with membership topping 250,000, IAVA also boasts a stellar 5-star (93.32/100) rating from Charity Navigator. Unlike many veteran organizations, IAVA doesn’t charge membership dues; their funding comes through fundraisers and donors. They’re a community for veterans to connect, hosting “Vet Togethers,” parades and other events across the country, but much of IAVA’s impact comes from legislative initiatives. Every year they “storm the hill” to bring veterans’ concerns straight to congress. They were the driving force behind the Post-9/11 GI Bill and other game-changing enterprises. Currently, IAVA is pushing to enhance veteran mental health care and end the suicide epidemic, lobbying for Clay Hunt Suicide Prevention for American Veterans Act. **You can help FOR FREE, by signing the petition here.

Got Your 6

I wrote a post about Got Your 6 two years ago when they first got started, and I'm excited to see how they've grown! “Got your six” is a military term meaning “I’ve got your back.” This organization has our backs with an unlikely ally: Hollywood. You may have seen their star-studded public service announcements, like this one:

…or noticed their snazzy “6” pins on the lapels of your favorite entertainers (which would make great stocking stuffers...hint, hint!). Got Your 6 is working to bridge the civilian-military divide by changing the conversation about veterans and shifting perception from “victims” or “charity” or even “heroes” to empowerment and potential. Like it or not, the entertainment industry has a lot to do with that. Portrayal of veteran characters on TV and in movies, in songs and literature, works into our collective psyches. (Got Your 6 recently published a fascinating—and disturbing—study on the topic, which you can read here.) In addition to PSAs and swag, Got Your 6 partners with 30 leading veteran non-profit orgs supporting their “six key pillars of veteran reintegration”: Jobs, Education, Health, Housing, Family and Leadership.

Team Rubicon

Team Rubicon epitomizes the idea of veterans continuing to serve. Trained and organized with military proficiency, their primary mission is as first responders following natural disasters, deploying to ground zero to provide immediate relief before conventional aid arrives. Efforts have ranged from small community service projects, to clean-up after Midwest tornadoes, to sending teams on humanitarian missions to Haiti and the Philippines.

More than just providing services to others, Team Rubicon also supports veterans with, from their website: “three things they lose after leaving the military: a purpose, gained through disaster relief; community, built by serving with others; and self-worth, from recognizing the impact one individual can make.” I have several friends (veterans and non-vets) who are active in Team Rubicon, and I’ve seen how the program has enhanced their lives. If my word isn’t enough to convince you, Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz wrote highlighted Team Rubicon in his new book: For Love of Country: What Our Veterans Can Teach Us About Citizenship, Heroism, and Sacrifice.

PHOTO from teamrubiconusa.org: Team Rubicon members in action in the Philippines in response to Typhoon Haiyan. Focusing on the hard-hit city of Tacloban and the surrounding towns, TR treated over 2,100 patients with immediate medical care.

Writing/Artistic Organizations

A cause close to my heart is using writing or art to work through trauma and intellectualize military experiences, and to share those experiences with others. What better way to create an engaged, informed and supportive community? Along those lines, I recommend the Veterans Writing Project, Words After War, Warrior Writers, Military Experience & the Arts, and the Veteran Artist Program. The missions are similar, but programs, mediums, teaching methods and operating locations vary. Donate and/or check out their artistic projects (more stocking stuffers!).

There are many more worthy military charities, as general or niche as you want, as diverse as veterans themselves. For other areas, Military.com offers a comprehensive list, as does Charity Navigator.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, and happy giving!

Welcome, Veteran Poster Boy: Aaron Alexis

I should be polishing the essay I turn in to my workshop class tomorrow, or starting the research paper due next month, or chipping away at that looming thesis project. But sometimes there’s something that needs to be written before anything else can be. Today, that something revolves around Monday’s shooting at the Washington, DC Navy Yard. 

It’s been a violent week. Last weekend, three separate shootings rocked my home city of Boston. The Navy Yard incident, though farther from home, hit me hardest. Not because of the scale—though how can you not balk at the gruesome facts: at least 12 killed and eight injured in the “single worst loss of life in the District” since a Boeing 737 crashed into the Potomac River in 1982, killing 78 people.

No, the Navy Yard shooting hit me hardest because the shooter was a veteran. 

Aaron Alexis, the new veteran
Poster Boy
UNCREDITED/AP

That makes it personal. That adds Aaron Alexis to a list of high-profile poster boys who represent what the public knows to be a veteran. He’s in the company of Army Staff Sergeant Robert Bales, who recently pleaded guilty to killing 16 Afghan villagers in March 2012; Iraq veteran Benjamin Colton Barnes, who shot and killed a park ranger at Mt. Rainier National Park almost exactly a year ago; and Army veteran Wade Michael Page, who fatally shot six people at a Sikh temple in Wisconsin in August 2012.

Of course, any shooting death is tragic. But a perpetrator with military connections makes it doubly tragic for the veteran community. Cue the ripple effects of reinforced stereotypes.

Additionally, this situation is hard for me because I know that as a veteran, Alexis had access to a support network.

The military and VA certainly don’t lack for negative press, especially in light of shocking statistics like in 2012, the number of military suicides was higher than the number of American soldiers killed in Afghanistan. Still, the military community comes with an inherent support network that includes not only official mental healthcare channels, but also chaplains, family support centers, supervisors who are trained and charged with their soldiers’ well-being, and, of course, peers who have “been there, done that.” So many resources—if Alexis had reached out to one, could this tragedy have been prevented?

And is it really that simple? Of course not.

Seeking help requires a degree of self-awareness and an emotional vulnerability that goes against military culture and training.

The military thrives on an ethos of hyper-masculinity. In war, you can’t afford to be emotional. I am by nature one of the most emotional people I know (I still have to fast-forward through Mufasa’s death scene), but in Afghanistan, out of necessity (and somewhat unwittingly), I built barriers around my emotions. It was a defense mechanism that enabled me to do my job—one which keeps war-fighters focused and alive.

But emotional dullness doesn’t translate back to “real life.” I recognized that on some level—that’s what spurred me through the doors of my base’s Mental Health Clinic when everything in me wanted to turn around. My military mentality told me I was weak. A failure.

In hindsight, I realize that incredibly difficult, controversial decision was one of the most important choices I’ve ever made. But can a veteran be faulted for not making it? Is there an element of institutional failure as well?

Right now, the details of Alexis’ military career are sketchy. There's no information on whether he deployed. Reports say that during his service as a Navy reservist he had a “pattern of misconduct” but ultimately received an honorable discharge. The New York Times also reports that Alexis “exhibited signs of mental illness” for many years. 

Surely, there were people who interacted with Alexis and noticed red flags. Surely some such interactions occurred during his time in the service.

In response to the shocking suicide rates, the military has become, in theory, hyper-aware of mental health issues. One of my annual Air Force training requirements was a lengthy Suicide Prevention presentation that was so cheesy and mind-numbing that we all joked it made us want to commit suicide. Each unit took “training days” to discuss our individual and group concerns. We filled out questionnaires about our mental health. We were given flyers with a hotline number.

Mental health was a hot topic for discussion, but too easily clashed with the aforementioned culture in practice. A change in culture starts at the top, and takes more than handouts and PowerPoint. And ultimately, each person is responsible for his or her own sphere of influence. How many paths did Alexis cross where he could have been turned? How many people were too busy, too distracted, too disinterested, too self-absorbed, too scared, too lenient to act?

As a 2^nd Lieutenant, my second year in the Air Force, I got a call in the middle of the night that one of my Airmen had been put on suicide watch. The Airman was someone I directly supervised, someone I interacted with on a daily basis, someone I was responsible for. I had failed. It can be so easy—and so terribly costly—to fail.

I could never justify or rationalize the killing of innocent people. I’m not making excuses for Alexis’ actions. I imagine there are a million factors that combine to make a person commit a violent act. And I imagine that no matter how strict our gun laws or how strong a person’s support network, if someone is dead-set on committing violence, he or she will find a way to do so.

I can only hope that in the wake of this tragedy, we can all take stock of our potential for failure—as individuals, as institutions, as a society—and be hyper-aware in practice of prevention.

Food for Thought on National BBQ Day

Last year was the first time Memorial Day really affected me. 

I’m ashamed to admit that. 2012 wasn’t my first year with military association—my mother served in the Army and deployed to Saudi Arabia when I was seven. It wasn’t my first year as a veteran myself, or my first year with a connection to a military comrade killed in action.

Memorial Day 2012 was, however, the first time I gave the holiday the consideration it deserves.

Previously, I’d bounced between opposite ends of the spectrum of observance. Before I served in the military, I flitted past the final Monday of May without much thought. There are so many distractions in civilian America: work, family, friends, school, health, groceries, cleaning, sports, hobbies, politics . . . With holiday weekends come travel, traffic, sun (or complaints about rain), relaxation, barbeques and beer . . . It’s easy to overlook the meaning of the holiday; or to simply acknowledge, but not honor the purpose.

In the military, it’s impossible to forget. Reminders are everywhere, every day of every year.

My base in Afghanistan had a memorial wall with portraits of each of the 17 fallen comrades of Paktya province. I stared at those photos daily; proud faces of young men who had died in the space where I lived and worked. My base in Florida had names chiseled into a memorial outside the base chapel. There were plaques in the airpark commemorating those lost in aircraft crashes. Streets shared names with fallen Airmen. I attended memorial services; I wrote profiles on their subjects. Every day was Memorial Day.

I don’t remember how I spent Memorial Day 2011, my first year out of the military. Maybe I was stuck in limbo on that spectrum—at once too separated from the military, cozy with my family in my childhood home in Seattle; and too close, my war still fresh and raw and unprocessed.  

As Memorial Day approached last year, my mind went back to the faces in Paktya and the names at Hurlburt Field. It lingered for a long time with memories of Randy Voas, Ryan Hall and JD Loftis. I didn’t tell my mind to go there, but I didn’t try to redirect it either. I let those names and faces and memories form a backdrop to my time with family, to my sun and relaxation, food and drink. I toasted them. Then for one minute on Memorial Day, at 12:01pm Eastern Standard Time, I closed my eyes and cleared my head of everything but the names and faces I knew, and the countless others I didn’t, who made the ultimate sacrifice.

On some level, those names and faces are always with me now. They are part of who I am as a veteran. I can already feel them pushing a little harder as Memorial Day weekend approaches, and like last year, I won’t push back. I will again bring them to the forefront for a minute of silence this Memorial Day, and I hope you will do the same.

12:01pm EDT Monday: #GoSilent for one minute to honor the men and women who have given their lives for our country.

Then enjoy your weekend. That’s what they would want.

Good Samaritanism

Summer 2010:

It was a dark and stormy night . . . Actually, I think it was warm and clear. But it was dark and stormy inside my head. I had finished a long day of work, in a series of many long days, and was en route back to my new condo. Which wasn't really my condo; I was house-sitting for a friend who was deployed. Before that I’d been in a short-term corporate apartment, before that I’d spent a few weeks in a friend’s spare bedroom, and before that I’d been in Afghanistan. All my belongings were still in storage.

I had recently started seeing a social worker at my Air Force base’s Behavioral Health Clinic for the depression and anxiety that had been nagging me since my deployment. At work, I was good at pretending I was okay (hence the long days, time is always a good substitute for motivation), but not far below the surface, I was stressed, tired, and unsettled, teetering on the verge of falling apart.

And, as I drove “home,” I was hungry.

I wasn't in the habit of stopping at restaurants in my uniform. I was always anxious to leave base and put on “normal” clothes (ie. pajamas), to de-militarize as quickly as possible. But that night, I needed some comfort food and couldn't fathom the energy to scrounge up dinner from the meager contents of my borrowed kitchen.

The green glow of the Olive Garden sign beckoned me from the side of Highway 98. I placed a To-Go order for something creamy and smothered in cheese and slumped onto a bench in the waiting area. All around me, people were laughing and chatting excitedly. Just listening to them made me tired.

When the hostess brought out my order, I had my credit card ready. She shook her head and smiled warmly. “It’s already been paid for. The gentlemen thanks you for your service.”

Shocked, I mumbled a “thank you,” took my food and returned to my car, where I immediately burst into tears—not because I was tired or stressed or frustrated or missing my cats that were still in Seattle with my parents, but because I was appreciated.

January 2013:

As we begin this new year, a lot of people seem to be looking for a fresh start. For many, the last few years have been soured by a tough economy, political bickering and countless other personal and financial problems. Whatever you’re dealing with in 2013, I wish you strength and perseverance.

And I issue you a challenge: Sometime this year, take a moment to step outside your own crazy, busy, frazzled life to make someone else’s day. Buy coffee for the customer behind you at the Starbucks drive through. Carry groceries for the older woman in your building. Thank those soldiers at the airport, the cops directing traffic at your 5K, the firemen on break outside their station.

The Olive Garden Good Samaritan didn't know I’d had a rough couple months. Maybe I wouldn't have been as touched by his gesture if I’d been in better spirits. If he’d gone on with his meal and not given me a second glance, he’d have an extra $15 in his pocket, and I’d probably be just fine.

I don’t know the story of the soldier sitting by himself at the Conn. Red Robin last month. I don’t know what his job is in the Army. I don’t know if he’s deployed once, multiple times, or not at all. I don’t know if he saw me slip the waitress my credit card to cover his check. I don’t know if it made him smile.

I just know, for me, it felt good on both sides.

**Photo from the Flickr Creative Commons: “Buying dinner with Change” by Flickr user “Juli Crockett” (Licensed by CC 3.0)

If the world ends, at least I'll have been in a book

A while back I wrote a poem. Or, I wrote something that maybe kinda sorta a little bit resembled a poem. (Hey, I write nonfiction. The extent of my poetic knowledge is Where the Sidewalk Ends. But sometimes content just begs to written in a different way.) On a whim, I submitted my poem-ish thing for publication in an anthology of veteran writing. And to my surprise, it was accepted!

Look! My name's in print!

Just before Veterans Day, my poem, as well as a short essay, were published along with the work of 60 other veterans in Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors. I may be slightly biased, but it's a pretty amazing collection, featuring writing from both veterans and their families, spanning from World War I to Iraq and Afghanistan, covering the experiences of medics to infantrymen to staff officers.

I'm still reading through the pieces—I have to take war literature in small doses—but every essay, story and poem hits me in a deep, intimate way. Regardless of the era or the battlefield, there's a thread through each; a raw, emotional something I can relate to. It's once again a testament to the veteran connection. And to the power of art to bring people together. 

It's easy to feel isolated by your unique experiences; we need reminders like this to show that we're not so alone, after all.

Veterans and non-veterans alike, I encourage you to check out Proud to Be. It's available from the Southeast Missouri State University Press, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

Since the rights revert back to me (and since I'm a shameless self-promoter), here's a sample of the content, my first published poem:

          The Soldier’s Two-Step

Barely five feet tall, she does not hunch under sixty pounds of body armor and supplies.The girls in rags run up to her, tell her she is strong. “No,” she says, “You are strong.” And she is right. And so are they.

She cries into a pink pillowcase she brought from home. For a son’s broken heart, a daughter’s birthday, an anniversary, missed. Dancing between two worlds; her partner the cold barrel of a gun, music the hollow tones of war and hollow, cheerful voices on the phone. This is the melody of loneliness.

The women ask why. Why the risk, the sacrifice? Why do you care? “All mothers are the same,” she tells them, “It doesn’t matter what language you cry in.”

The men don’t ask, they demand: more buildings, more money, more time. She carries the promise on her small shoulders; sharp-edged expectations of two countries. This is the burden of hope.

 In her absence, the broken heart mended, birthdays and anniversaries were celebrated. She is haunted by all that she missed and all that she left, unfinished, behind. The little girls’ faces in her little girl, the purse where armor should be.

From boots to high heels, from gun to spatula, from Humvee to minivan, she keeps dancing. Because they need her to. And because she is strong.

To celebrate the launch of the anthology, several contributors read their pieces for a packed house at a poetry center in St. Louis. Watch a video compilation of the event:

Check out these news stories, reviews and posts by contributors:
The Missouri Humanities Council publication announcement
A review that quotes my poem! Legit!
Thoughts from the fiction contest winner Monty Joynes--who wrote his winning story, chronicling a medic's first days in Vietnam, 34 years ago!
Reflections on the anthology and launch by contributor Jan Morrill, who wrote about her uncle's World War II service

Proud to Be is the first issue of an ongoing anthology series. Submissions are now being accepted for Volume 2 in poetry, fiction, nonfiction, photography, and interviews with warriors. All military personnel, veterans and military family members are eligible. Send in your work now!

Proud to Be is published in partnership by The Missouri Humanities Council, Warriors Arts Alliance and Southeast Missouri State University Press.

Welcome Home, veterans! . . . wherever you are

Way back in January, St.Louis became the first city to host a Welcome Home parade honoring veterans of the Iraq war. Six hundred vets turned out to march for a crowd of an estimated 100,000 supporters. That was the good news.

Then came the bad: despite the obvious success in St. Louis, politicians – and even military leadership – denied the requests for a national Welcome Home parade in New York. They voiced concerns that a national parade would be “inappropriate” and “premature” with troops still deployed to Afghanistan and other regions. (Then the city hosted a parade for the New York Giants after their Superbowl victory two weeks later . . . don’t even get me started.)

Without national endorsement, the Welcome Home movement was left to rely on grassroots support from local civic leaders and veterans organizations like the Iraq andAfghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA). It has been snowballing . . . slowly . . . with many of the obliging cities expanding the effort to honor both Iraq and Afghanistan vets. Yesterday the snowball rolled through Portsmouth, NH. Since it’s showing no signs of coming to Boston, and that Portsmouth is just a hop, skip and massive liquor outlet away, my veteran-boyfriend Colin and I made the trip.

There was a decent turnout. The main downtown streets were lined two or three spectators deep. Business owners stepped outside to cheer as we passed, and families waved from porches and balconies.

Among the marchers were three bands, three (four?) honor guards, two beauty queens, a motorcycle-riding American legion contingent, The Shriners (complete with clowns and mini convertibles), a sizable group from the Boston chapter of the Veteran’s for Peace, a handful of local National Guard soldiers, and behind a banner near the front, those the parade was hosted to honor, the Iraq and Afghanistan vets . . . all 10 of us.

That’s right. The only forecasted parade in the entire New England region was able to draw a whopping 10 people.

Photo by Nathan S. Webster
http://waronterrornews.typepad.com

In Nov, 2010, I joined IAVA for the national Veteran’s Day parade in New York City. Hundreds of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans marched, along with thousands more from World War II, Vietnam, Korea and Desert Storm. Hundreds of thousands of spectators crammed the sidewalks along 5^th Ave. The parade was broadcast nationally. Still new to my “veteran” status, still fresh from my deployment, the turnout, the sentiment, everything left me awed. It felt good to be appreciated.

It was good to be appreciated in Portsmouth, too, but the feeling was more complicated. (Blame the cynicism that inevitably moves in when the deployment haze wears off.) I can’t help but be disappointed by the veteran turnout. Granted, New England is one of the most underrepresented regions in the military, but I know for a fact there are at least 11 of us out here. I understand not everyone could make it to Portsmouth, not everyone knew about the event, and certainly not everyone is the parade-marching type. Parades are awkward (to wave, or not to wave?), especially with such a small crowd of marchers – yesterday, I felt uncomfortably spotlighted. As a collective, though, I like to think the 10 of us represented thousands more. Maybe we helped put faces and names to a generation of veterans, to paint a picture for a community that otherwise would be left to paint their own (or to leave a blank canvas, as so many do).

Most veterans don’t seek attention, because most veterans don’t see themselves as heroes. For them, parades may seem glitzy and unnecessary. Many veterans rightly feel they’ve given enough; no need to waste precious hours parading through a community that hesitates to offer support beyond a handshake or a wave.

But if no one lends their face, their name, their story, we will remain but a string of policies and numbers. If civilian acknowledgement goes unacknowledged, we risk negating the effort, however ostentatious, however small.

Those were my thoughts yesterday, until I returned to Boston to learn that while we were marching, sevenU.S. soldiers were killed in Afghanistan. And I wondered how many of the Portsmouth spectators would see the headlines, how many would picture the faces behind the names, how many would feel a pang of grief – the ripples of lost innocence, lost potential – how quickly they would go back to their own unscathed lives.

I wondered how I was any different, when I had spent the day getting sunburned, networking, and drinking beer.

Now that 24 hours have passed, the cynicism has faded, as cynicism tends to do, and I’m left, while not satisfied, at least grateful.

I’m grateful for New Hampshire Governor John Lynch for supporting a parade on his soil, and to all those who took the time on a beautiful Sunday afternoon to stop and wave, make signs and holler “thank yous”. I got chills when an older gentleman in a Vietnam Veteran hat issued us a crisp salute. He was never welcomed home, and he personally made sure that we wouldn’t suffer the same disgraceful fate. He knows the last thing this nation needs is another generation of disenfranchised veterans.

I’m grateful for the young people who represent the 99% of this generation that hasn’t in any real way been affected by war, for taking a moment to acknowledge the 1% who have.

I’m grateful for the parents who, in some small way, helped show their children what it costs to be free, and how to be thankful for those who pay.

I’m grateful for the handful of my fellow Iraq and Afghanistan veterans, who collectively could piece together a jagged history of a decade and two theaters of war.

I’m grateful for the three bands, three or four honor guards, beauty queens, motorcyclists, clowns and mini cars, the Veterans for Peace, and everyone else who marched along with us.

I’m grateful for the bagpipes. Bagpipes are always cool.

Perhaps I’m giving everyone too much credit. Maybe I’m not giving them enough. I just hope that someday I can stand along a parade route, bitter and crotchety though I may be, and welcome home a new generation of veterans with a crisp salute.

Because there will be a new generation of veterans. As much as I’d love to – and do – join my fellow veterans who advocate peace (that perfect, idealistic, utopian state), I know that war is inevitable. Sovereignty, freedom, life is a constant shifting of power and control. Whether foreign or domestic, there will always be a call to serve. Whether by volunteer or requirement, there will always be an answer.

We can only hope there will always small tokens of thanks, like parades, to acknowledge the sacrifice that will always come with it. 

View additional parade photos by Nathan S. Webster here.