A Military Families’ Story and To All Those Who Have Served and are Presently Serving...Thank-You!

When I read An Anonymous Family Story I began to think about my family story. I was born into and come from a military family. My father was a Lt Colonel and a B-52 pilot, Squadron Commander in the United States Air Force. We moved to and lived in more Air Force Bases than I can recall: Atwater or Merced California, Minot or Grand Forks, North Dakota being just a few examples.

My father served in Vietnam as a B-52 pilot Squadron Commander. He was a man under orders and a man giving orders – the chain of command. He was a man of authority and responsibilities. He was a leader of and a member of a group. And every time they flew people’s lives were in the balance. After the war he was a Commander in SAC (Strategic Air Command) Offutt Air Force Base located next to Omaha Nebraska. While in Nebraska we lived in Bellevue just a few miles from Offutt.

For the most part I always felt like we were always moving from one place to another just like a group of Gypsies. What I really enjoyed most about the moves was how dad would change the moving process into vacation time. During our vacations we went to the Grand Canyon, to the place in Arizona where a meteor hit the earth leaving a huge crater, or the Four Corners which is a geographical arrangement of one corner from each of the states Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico touching one another.  In fact on the very corner where the four states intersect one another there is a large metal ball embedded into the ground for anyone who wanted to step on all four states at the same time-which I did. During those travels especially around the Grand Canyon we would enter into and drive through the Indian reservations, stop at a trading post, buy a few mementos, eat something and move on. What hit me the hardest was the profound poverty in which they dwelt-they were a displaced people not so different than the Palestinians in Israel.

During his time in SAC my father often flew with nuclear bombs in the bombay of the B-52. I remember how on one occasion I asked him if he was given the order to drop the bomb would he? And without hesitation he replied “Yes.” Somewhat taken back I asked him how he could do such a thing. He explained to me that if given the order, at the approval and command of the President of the United States, and personally knowing the generals who would have communicated the command, that it was an order whose intent was to save lives. I had never thought of such an event as saving lives.

Growing up in and coming from a military family intellectually I understood and still do understand my father’s response, the notion of a just war. But still I can’t even begin to fathom deploying a weapon of such mass destruction, even though it happened once with the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima-Japan. As a boy growing up in military I met peoples and families of all races and color who came from many different places and walks of life not only in the Unites States but as well from other countries. 

When my father retired from the military – at the protest of several high ranking generals - mostly because of my mother (of American decent yet born in the Philippines with dual citizenship) wanting a more stable family life (she was tired of always moving), we went to and lived in Missoula, Montana-welcome to the Wild West. While there I helped my father build his two homes; a Spanish Ranchero style and the other a Western Ranch style. We also began a construction business with my father’s younger brother. When the economy collapsed and construction work came to a slamming halt, the family business came to an end and I went back to school-college.

During my college years at the University of Montana a good friend of mine from high school was always asking me about my sister. When they finally met my sister started to tell everybody that she had just met the man she was going to marry, and they did get married-my friend never had a chance. Not long thereafter he graduated with a Computer-Science degree. Within a very short time he had a job with the Hughes Cooperation writing programs for radar systems and their installation/activation. He was later transferred to Belgium where he wrote the software programs for some very sophisticated anti-ballistic radar systems.  About a year later my other sister married a young man who I also knew from college. After graduation they moved to Tacoma, Washington. My sister’s husband went to work as a lawyer in a law firm and I graduated from college with a double major Political Science/History. As a graduation present my parents decided that we would go to Europe and visit the Cases in Belgium.

We stayed with the Cases whose home became our base throughout all our traveling. As we toured  historical places of Germany, the gardens and Palace of Luxembourg. We went to Belgium and enjoyed their world famous Belgium Chocolate. We toured the Netherlands and we also traveled throughout France visiting some of the most well know areas such as Paris and the Louvre. We stood atop the Arc de Triumph, the Eifel Tower, Notre Dame, Sacra Cur, and not to forget we saw Napoleon’s Tomb. My father being a military man we also went to some of the more historically significant World War I and II battle sites and cemeteries. I will never forget the striking differences between the two cemeteries: one for the fallen American soldiers and nearby less than a hundred yards off to the side the cemetery for the fallen German soldiers. The cemetery for the fallen American soldiers and allied forces was spotlessly clean, had a spacious open feeling, adorned with trees, murals, statutes, and roman style columns with an expansive view of the ocean. The cemetery for the fallen German soldiers was small, hedged in with overgrown large tress whose fallen leaves and broken branches covered the grass. Because the tress were tall and wide, blocking out the sunlight, the cemetery was full of heavy dark shadows, felt closed in, damp, and the air was foul. This I thought was a statement. I will never forget the sadness that I felt at the loss of life I saw there. From there we crossed the English Channel and spent some time traveling around England, its castles, its museums, especially London, the London Tower, and not to forget the Royal Palaces of her Majesty the Queen of England Elizabeth. But nothing competes with seeing the White Cliffs of Dover while crossing the English Channel.

In the years that followed I and in the company of friends and as passengers on a train we passed by the French Riviera in route to Spain. While in Spain we passed through Barcelona one time host to the Olympics, and Madrid where we watch a bull fight and the flamenco dancers. What I remember most about Barcelona is how they said: “Yo soy de Barcelona” with an overly extended tongue accompanied by a heavily accented s sound. From there we dropped down crossing through the Straits of Gibraltar and disembarked at the port city of Tangier. From Tangier we drove to and stayed the night in Casablanca, Morocco-an oasis in the desert.

On one occasion I traveled with some friends first to Rome, the Vatican-St Peter’s and St Paul’s outside the walls, the Roman Coliseum, and so much more. Then we set off onward to the Middle East. We went to Israel and its holy sites. While in Israel we had several experiences with nearby car bombings in Jerusalem. After having visited many of Israel’s historic, archeological, and religious cites, we started our trek across the deserts of Jordan. During our passage we walked past the remnants of castles destroyed in the Crusades, entered into Iran, and finally arrived at Petra in the Wady Mousa. We stayed a while in Petra walking through the ancient ruins of a once thriving metropolis. When finished with the tour we left for Turkey where we watched women weaving carpets, many of them silk carpets. And not to omit, we did see the holy sites of Istanbul and Ankara in Turkey.

I’ve been to more places (some I forget) and had more adventures, some dangerous, even life threatening because I unintentionally misspoke, or on one occasion captivated by her mystic I admired a little too long a beautiful Muslim woman veiled with a hijab delightfully complemented by her burka, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just recently, while I was in Costco I overheard a woman talking with a distinctly Middle Eastern accent. I turned around and saw a very distinguished looking elderly woman, accompanied by a likewise handsome elderly man. I said: “excuse me and not to be rude, but are you two from the Middle East?” The lady ever so slightly lifted her head and said: “We are from Persia.”  I commented, “Oh, Iran and the Shaw – I’ve been there!” She gently but firmly and with great dignity repeated herself: “No, Persia.” I stood corrected, smiled all the while recalling my history lessons, and said: “But of course.” We talked a while but not to long. They mentioned how nice it was to meet us. My wife (a lovely Mexican woman now an American citizen) and I responded in kind. As I watched them leave, I thought: “I’ll bet that if allowed, those two would have a very interesting story to tell.” Because of their gracious demeanor I suspected that they might even have an aristocratic background. They went their way and so did we.

For some reason unknown to me and because of my encounter with them, I began to think about a presentation on Afghanistan given by a dear friend and her husband. Though I have never been in Afghanistan I know some of its history and how its location has been for centuries a nexus, a crossroad of trade, commerce, and war. Many past and present conquerors have passed through that crucible in search of wealth and power to find only despair or death sometimes both. Even today many powerful and influential peoples from different nations think that below Afghanistan there are vast oil fields-black gold waiting to be tapped. I have also talked with other peoples who had escaped from such terrors. They often talked about what we would call posttraumatic syndrome. At times in the conversation they would manifest a traumatized persona (the face possessing a gaunt haunted appearance) much like I saw in her husband especially so in and around his eyes and cheekbones. How they cope with the loss of home, extended family, and country often referred to as the motherland, their heritage, their culture (and a very noble one at that) is beyond my understanding. They are the modern immigrants-misplaced persons fleeing war and terror in search of a life of peace and prosperity. Though not necessarily a prosperity defined by the accumulation of money often referred to as wealth, but the wealth which comes forth from family, friends, and priceless memories captured in the proverbial Kodak moment; pictures, a documentary, a biography of their lives more precious than black gold-oil.

I always tell people yet in jest but still serious, I have but one home. Though I may live in or travel to different places at different times this world is my home.