A Prayer for a Lieutenant

His family moved to Cambridge when we did. His mom was one of the first women I met. She was immediately friendly, a hands on hugger. We socialized as couples and our fifth grade sons became friends. Jim with his toothy smile and gangly gait had manners and charm. Was it his midwestern roots or was it his upbringing? His older sister always looked out for him; I imagine she still tries, but now he ventures very far from home to war zones where no one can protect him.

On September 11th, Jim was a college senior who was riveted by the attacks on our country and galvanized to somehow serve. After graduation and basic training, he was battle ready. Last April when his dad, a Vietnam vet, told me that his son was in Fallujah, I was speechless. He couldn’t have been in a more dangerous place; I knew that father and son were the best of friends. This was certainly one of his dad’s worst nightmares. When word came a few weeks later that Jim had been wounded, I caught my breath as I wondered how bad it could be. I phoned his mom who sounded upbeat. His wounds weren’t critical and even though he was languishing in a fly-infested Baghdad hospital, maybe now he’d get to come home.

Eventually he did get to come home. His shrapnel wounds began to heal, as did his ear that was now missing a piece. He would earn a Purple Heart. Yet he always said that there was still a job to complete. So when his mom called recently with an impromptu Sunday invitation: “Can you guys come over for a drink and a hug?” …I wasn’t surprised. It was Jim’s last weekend at home as he is being deployed imminently. He looks dashing in his lieutenant’s hat and is resolute that he has more work to do. He is in charge of a battalion of sixteen men. Their two tanks and four humvees have already been shipped ahead. He towered over me as I hugged him goodbye. Everyday, I will say a prayer for his safety and the safe return of all of his men.

Young Women in a War Zone

on the banks
I was at the eye doctor yesterday...time to check that five year-old prescription. In the waiting room was a copy of US News and World Report...an October 2004 issue, pre-election when we still thought it possible that enough people would wake up and vote for change. There's an interesting article about what it's like to be an urban teenager in Iraq, specifically a female adolescent. Any notion that US forces would bring them a better way of life has been disspelled as they live in a war zone where it's not safe to go to school, to socialize with friends, to leave the house for that matter. Many sleep much of the day in between watching reruns of American sitcoms. If they leave their homes, they are heavily robed and veiled. Parents worry about kidnapping, rape, murder. They vigilantly protect the safety and honor of their daughters. One young woman chillingly commented that she can understand how this extreme frustration and desolation leads to females her age becoming suicide bombers. How unbelievably frightening for all of them, for all of us.