Choppers, sneakers, and a solemn remembrance

The land of The Free and the home of The Brave

The land of the free and the home of the brave. The Free. The Brave. They are heavy titles! We as a people wear them like a crown.

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I was in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea one time on a cruise ship. My father woke me up to go on deck so I could experience the wind out there. We were in the middle of a significant storm and were traveling at full speed. The combo presented such an intense environment that if you faced the wind directly, it pushed the air out of your mouth and you couldn't breathe. Fascinating! Like that scene on the front of Titanic for me, but nature and science. This was my old man. I recall another time he had me walk between a full division of semis all with their motors running at a highway piss stop. The vibration of them all together was like nothing I had felt then or since. Apples actually do fall straight down; then they bounce.

As we were walking back in (it was probably 1 or 2 in the morning and mega quiet on the ship), we saw some commotion at the very back where work-related stuff occurs and passengers don't go. We of course went to see what it was and realized something big was going down. We then noticed a light way out on the horizon where it met the wake of the ship under the little moonlight or starlight that was making it through the wind and clouds. It was an aircraft! I don't even know how it was staying in the air as I couldn't even breathe, but that light got closer and closer and it became clear it was a chopper. It also became clear they were preparing something (or someone) to be taken off this ship… in the middle of the night, in the middle of an ocean with land nowhere around, all under conditions so intense my pops brought me up for a NatGeo moment!

As the two of us watched in awe, this Seahawk fought its way back and forth across the stern of the ship until it was right above us. Miraculously, the pilot then largely held that position even though he was rocking all over the place. The sounds of the rotors on top of the pounding wind and crashing waves was overwhelming to the senses. I'm not sure more than 5 passengers witnessed this. A rope came out; one bad-ass mofo repelled down that rope in the same conditions we were marveling at; they connected up to a stretcher on the landing pad; thumbs-up go!; that rope pulled them up into the belly of that incredible machine; and they slowly peeled off the ship and very quickly disappeared into the darkness. I remember being stunned. Standing there just stunned by what I had seen. It took me a bit to fall asleep after we got back to our cabin. I stared at that close roof as my head filled with thoughts… filled with wonder!

It was an American passenger who had a medical event and would not have survived port. I assume a heart attack and don't know if he made it. That's the really amazing part of this story, of the courage of our servicemen, they do it the same whether it ends up being a success or not. That mindset, that willpower, makes the whole machine a success. (Side note: a chopper just flew over on a training route from NAS JAX I was writing that line. Awesome! Still training every day.) This event left such an impression on me. As I've mentioned before, I was a base brat and basically my family's culture or almost ethnicity was American military. I use that second term because my family wasn’t built around another. That's the world I knew, the banners I hailed, the traditions I was raised around and understood - and therefore have an innate desire to uphold. What I witnessed in that dark miserable sky half way around the world was the ultimate reinforcer of how powerful and magnificent that culture is. Yes, how exceptional we are as a country. Just consider the totality of it. Consider the complex web of systems and information/response and human capital and machinery and bravery and willingness to go do it all required for that single act. A heroic act that very few people even know about. I can promise it meant a lot to the family of that man. I doubt he was even “somebody”. His “somebody” that gave him royal treatment that night (and that’s a “literally”; this was ‘multiple lives put on the line to save you’-shit) was simply that he was an American. In its simplicity you also find its importance, it’s value, why it’s such a bedrock line to those who understand how and why we were made. Once American sovereignty is lost, this will be a very different planet. What we formed forever shifted our world, and it still does today.

I don’t want this writing to trail into the thoughts from my 4th of July essay a couple years ago, though it’s hard not to. The ways in which these critical fabrics of our nation were villainized is something I still can’t fully process. “Nationalism”, the national spirit itself, became a bad thing. “Patriotism”, pride in one’s nation, became associated only with “far-right hate” and “white supremacy”. Our nation’s banner, which so many of our countrymen and forefathers fought and died for, became a beacon for only oppression. The country which fought a war to end slavery became the nation most associated with it. Our respect-worthy Founders were shamed for owning slaves in that era of global slavery. Even our national anthem came under withering cultural fire from the same top-down positions. Kneeling for the flag became as trendy as Che Guevara tees.

All of that is such an obvious attack on who we are, what we’re about, our greatest strengths. I will never forget what I witnessed on that ship’s deck in the middle of the night way out at sea. There isn’t another nation on Earth that would have done that for one of its citizens. There is barely any which possess the capability, and the last few years have shown how different we are from our western companions.

The experience made me so amazed and proud to be an American.

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It was the summer before 7th grade when my father came down to the basement where I was doing my usual leaned back on a bench crunched over a PC thing. I was doing shit with 1200baud modems and an IBM 80386 before I was in middle-school than most adults could even understand logically at the time. We were riding that first wave, man! I could have been one of the tech elite wealth-wise, but a couple of years later I became drawn to weed, women, wine, and song instead. Lol anyways, my old man tosses an envelope on my lap and says “You’ve always wanted to see this place. This is your chance.” It was an application for something called the People to People Student Ambassador Program. I had been nominated by a previous teacher in some sort of secretive process. This was just the “Are you interested? Come meet here” notice, but many things would lead to another and I ended up on the trip of a lifetime. My parents will tell you today that I left as one child with a couple dozen peers and a handful of chaperones, and came back a totally different person about a month later. Of course! Not only did we have to take care of ourselves the whole trip, from setting alarms and packing to doing our own laundry by hand in a sink, but I was exposed to the world and to culture like I had never been before. I’ll share some of those experiences one day; they not only make some good stories, but as I’ve thought back to them in these crazy times, I’ve realized they contain a lot of rich lessons. But there is one I want to pull for this piece…

One of the many amazing things we did during this sojourn was get placed at a “home stay”. They literally dropped my 11 year-old self off on the other side of the globe with a family I had never met and knew nothing about. They had a boy my age, and were very kind and welcomed me in for the night. It was a nervy night for me though, definitely one of the more challenging legs in a challenging trip for my mighty gang of wide-eyed pre-teens. We attended a school day with them the next morning. We all arrived at class with our family-kid, but by the 3rd or 4th period, a significant portion of us had bounced and united outside at their recess area. Beyond that, we had hooked up at the basketball court and a pickup game had broken out. I was a pretty good player by then, and so were several of the boys on the trip. This was the era of MJ! “Sometimes I dream, that he is me… ” We were smoking these Aussie kids and starting to talk some legit trash USA-style. Out of nowhere, an Aboriginee showed up. He was tall; Manute Bol-tall. His presence changed the game quickly. Once 3 or 4 of his buddies had joined, the trash talk swung as fast as the score and we got the hell out of there! Humbling lesson in perspective and culture and being siloed on that playground in the Outback. But that wasn’t what I meant to share…

One of the heaviest moments on that entire trip happened in passing as I was walking to the playground after learning of the group jailbreak. I was wearing Air Jordans, which were my favorite item. Not just apparel, but item. Every year for my birthday or Christmas I would ask for new Jordans. They were mega expensive! $135 which was insane for sneakers back then. My parents bought me numerous pairs of those over my school years, bless their heart. I say that because my father was a man who bought his at Payless even when he could afford to pay much more. I wonder if he regrets buying us Jordans. I think about that - especially as my own daughter nears the same age. But returning to the past, clearly the kids in this school did not possess that level of material wealth. In fact, based on my reception in that hallway, I don’t think they had seen those shoes before IRL. Several kids begged me to trade them; I got basically mobbed at my feet as I walked down the hall. Students touching my kicks. It was wild! I knew the shoes were pricey, but I just didn’t have the right appreciation since they weren’t uncommon back home. This is the era of Starter jackets, another over-priced (and common) style item. Perspective rules everything and I had little. That short walk slammed it home!

That trip made me humbled to be an American.

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It was an honor to be raised by my mom and dad. I don’t use that term lightly. I talk about my father a lot because I am a man and I hope I’ll end this run as solid of one as he showed me. The way he WAS, I mean; how he displayed and role-modeled with his being as much as commanding with his words. But my mom was a lion of a mother! Yeah, she was the soft hand and the heart’s touch (I said I am very fortunate), but she came from a genealogy built of American bedrock. Her mother achieved as much for the Air Force as a civvie can. Not just in pay rank after decades of commitment, but in how service was woven into her life and how those who understand service respected her. Her husband, a man I sadly never got to meet, was a soldier himself. His folded flag in a glass case next to his medals was omnipresent in my home. My great grandfather on that side was the mountain of a man I wrote about in this piece.

The guy laid metal into earth by hand, because it needed to be done and he had to put flour and a protein on the table. He died at almost 100 with great posture, a bold speaking voice, and big hands as strong as an ox. I never knew another man quite like him. Seems like an American fairytale to me now. Paul Bunyan. A child can’t really possess perspective when they’re young. The world you come from is all you know. I look back now and my father’s career and tenure in the Army was incredibly shaping to my childhood. There are certain things embedded in my mind which became layers of my psyche; the smell of fatigues when I hugged my dad as a young boy (nostalgia which floods back when I go in Army/Navy stores!), watching F4 Phantoms hit their afterburners to take off at night at the edge of Baer Field on the hood of his Le Car, watching troops march in cadence to sounding orders being some of my earliest sensory memories, shopping for milk at the PX, walking through the labyrinth-like halls of the Pentagon with no means of comprehending the magnitude of that around me. I was somewhat aware of this all because, again, this is the world and culture that I knew. But it took age and wisdom to fully unlock how special this upbringing was. How quintessentially American.

My parents, and particularly my dad who is the history buff I spawned from, put great attention into ensuring my brother and I understood this all the best they could. We upheld traditions in our family like standing for our anthem. We visited so many landmarks around Washington DC and the surrounding historical areas such as Gettysburg. The one that left another life-long impression was when we visited the Tomb of The Unknown Soldier. I don’t recall how old I was, even though I can picture the scene vividly right now. I was young enough that I held my daddy’s hand. He had explained what we were coming up on, so I grasped the heaviness of it as I approached. But I wasn’t ready for what would unfold in front of me. Two of the strongest and most stoic men I had ever seen IRL, in this most shining and perfectly-polished attire a gentleman could wear, stood eye-to-eye and performed a routine that sent chills down my spine. It’s utterly silent there other than the clicks and the commands. You don’t have to have served or ever been around it to suddenly have an introductory understanding of what it all means when you watch that changing of the guard. My young mind was mesmerized at the idea they never stood down from this post. Be it sunrise or the middle of the night, snow rain or cherry blossoms, a man was standing there with a rifle. Not because we actually had to defend that concrete box, but because we so honor everything that has gone into it. Damn! Goosebumps even today. It makes me choke up.

I don’t know what emotion strikes me so profoundly there. I think it’s part history, part nation. I’ve studied war my entire life and a view soldiers in a similar vein as dwarven warriors battling dragons in the D&D novels I love. The heroism that combat brings out of normal people is what legends are made from. But are they normal people? Does the war make the man or are certain men drawn to war? I’ve chewed on that my whole life. But I can share from this inside lane that I don’t see them as normal people. Not once they’ve trudged this trail. A huge part of what was so heavy for me that day in DC and what still chokes me up decades later is who I was standing next to. The man’s hand I was holding was part of this American chain. His father served in the Great Wars, as did his father. I had a relative in Paris the day it was liberated from the Germans. A grandfather who flew Red Baron-looking aircraft. The most amazing picture of him sat on my own dad’s nightstand. As a youth, they looked almost identical. Holy shit! My father is of this chain; my mother’s family is of this chain; I myself am of this legacy. It’s moving beyond words, even though I try. I don’t feel a sense of shame that I broke the chain of service (my brother didn’t serve either), although it has weighed heavily on me always. It just wasn’t for me and I have no regrets there. But I am so thankful that I came from this web, this family, this culture.

I feel so fortunate to be an American.

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What is the point of me sharing those stories? What do these three vignettes present together? Of course they tell a lot about me. Not just insights to my origin story, but how dang lucky I am in this life. I’m not just fortunate; I won life’s lottery. That’s because I was given such a strong soil to sprout from. And that’s because my parents are the embodiment of “paying it forward”. Now, that doesn’t guarantee success. Ask me how I know. “Life is not fair”. Why so many people became convinced that is the point of this all is baffling. No, that is a fool’s errand for those hellbent on being their own worst enemy. The point of me sharing this all today is that we are all very lucky here on this soil. We are all very fortunate to be Americans. That we were subjected to an open and obvious propaganda campaign making it wrong to view our nation as “exceptional” really does tell the whole story. Truly does reveal how dire our crisis. Every American should feel fortunate to hail that banner, and want to instill the same sense of appreciation into their young. For what we sow into their minds now is what they will grow to be. That’s largely why I told these stories. It’s also why our university system is so overtly anti-American now. Think about that, just consider how perverse since they are who largely mold our youth and our next. And that’s because it is captured by people who don’t like our station on this planet at all. They’ve stopped hiding that; the intentions now made clear. This is the very heart of the “decolonizing” engine. A nation that was literally formed as colonies is supposed to be ashamed of its past and demoralized around being “colonizers”. Lol wut? Nah, mate, I’m a big fan of our Founders. But I’ve been on these notes before…

What I wanted to convey today is that we’re at a moment which necessitates sentiment shift. I cracked up at seeing our own news agencies promoting anti-American Hatecraft from demoralized pussies across the pond. The writers of that garbage couldn’t be more antithetical to the heart of our lions. Our pioneers and frontiersmen were arguably the greatest men this rock has ever seen. We were Sparta with a gameplan! And that gameplan has brought us to where we are today. We are magnificent! Our machinery can save you from anywhere in the world in the darkest of times. We are rich beyond humans’ wildest dreams! Even our poor has it good compared to many other places; we’ve become so upper-class we’ve lost sight of what it even means. We are a rich tapestry of the individual stitched into a final product unlike anything the world has seen! I don’t think my family or my father or my mom were necessarily unique. I think they were awesome. They too were born to good hands, not always of the material but of the “My riches is life forever”-goods that really matter, and then most importantly they worked their tails off to preserve and enrich that castle so they could pass it onto the next generation below. THIS is the American quilt! Those of us who worked so hard and sacrificed so much to build this exceptional land that enticed all of the world to try and basically flee here for a century+. We are not an open-invitation for the world’s problems and misery to come here and demand reprieve. If we open our door to all, guess what? There would be no America at all.

Part of why the western world is wailing at us today is because they are captured and bitched. We are the only nation in the sphere that is pulling back from a life-long system capture. The state of affairs around immigration (both illegal and not) in Europe is jaw-dropping. I don’t think a few of the nations can recover at this point. They’ve crossed the Rubicon and the nations their forefathers built will now be forever transformed and fairly described by many as destroyed. Call me more names and lob your Hatecraft at me. I don’t give a shit. I live in St. Augustine, son. This is the one spot on American soil where we still wear our history with pride. That other Pride never pissed all over and eroded it. And man, now I just landed onto the greater topic didn’t I? I walk a town where the skyline is dominated by a giant wooden cross instead of towers of concrete stamped by banks and fashion labels. But let me cut this off before I digress…

Have a wonderful 4th of July today, friends. Feel proud of your nation and proud of your life! Take the Conor approach and apologize to “Absolutely fookin nobody!” about how good your life is because of how hard you work to make it that way. Who do you live for? Why do you care about the judgment of others and mandates of those who do not control you? We have always been exceptional, The American Dream!, and it’s time we wear those clothes again. Cheers and happy birthday, America!