Showdown in San Antonio

It was a battle that he never wanted. Face to face. An old school, high noon town square standoff. The music of the old Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns played in my head. There would be a winner and a loser today and everyday thereafter. There was a staredown,then a smirk. The tension was palpable. Like the unexpected crack of thunder, the first move was made. It was over before it started. My one year old had successfully grabbed my beard and gave it a yank whose strength knew no bounds. As I let out a yell akin to a stuck pig as she belted out her cute laugh, victory in her eyes and a light misting in mine.

I am the 2013 version of Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom. I was not fired from my job,I had no Gedde Watanabe to turn to or softball games with the lovable lunks who I had bonded with, but I was medically retired from the Army, due to my PTSD. I had served for a little over 16 years, and the two times in Iraq and my last deployment to Afghanistan had taken their toll, a toll that made me someone that had utilized all the mental health care that the Army had to offer and was not able to continue on. My doctor thought that I would benefit from focusing on reintegration for the next year if it was financially possible so I could become a productive member of society. My wife and I quickly agreed. I have 5 girls, ages 15(who is in WA with her mother),11,10,5 and the baby. Being home,as in the Country and not deployed or somewhere on temporary duty or at an Army school would be an experience only the baby would be privy to. My other girls never got the full dad. There was always a deployment,preparation for a deployment or some other detail that kept me rotating out of the door. The baby is getting the full dad,beard and all. When I was in the Army there would often be discussions about how big our beards would be when we got out, how much beer or whiskey we would drink or how much pot we would smoke. I am proud to say that I  grow a beard pretty quickly. I am on month 3, which would be a normal persons month 6. I treat it like its one of my kids. It has its own shampoo and conditioner,it gets taken care of and I make sure its nice and combed before I go out.

Our daughter, Emily is my little shadow. She is different from her sisters because she has me 24/7 and she is different in our eyes, because her sister, Melissa Louise before her passed away at birth. It was the worst day of our lives. We were so excited to have our first Texas baby(my grandfather and mother are native Texans) and everything was fine until that morning. Everything felt perfect. Every ounce of love that we had saved up for nine months  was met with heartbreak and the love was double that when Emily was born, happy and healthy. I make her breakfast tacos(She is a native San Antonian, after all), take her on walks in her stroller through the neighborhood, take her shopping at HEB or Wal Mart with me, often to the confused stares of the stay at home moms who haunt the aisles looking for something miniscule while waiting for that mid morning nap to take hold.  She is growing by the day, first it was another tooth,then it was some semblance of a word, then walk and fall, and finally a walk. She is my little buddy.

As my beard grew, her hands grew stronger. First it was a rub of the growing beard, then it was a little tug and finally it was a grab that  could only to be matched by the handstrength of a bullrider. There are many places to grab a full beard. The cheek is much ado about nothing, just like the mustache,the face is tough there and can handle quite a bit. The painful sweet spot in the world of bear grabbing is just below the jawline. I am not a beard scientist so I cannot for certain explain why, but I can tell you the pain is somewhere between getting poked in the eye and kicked in the junk by a large farm animal. 

This showdown happens everyday. Sometimes it even happens in her sleep. Yes, I let her sleep in the bed with my wife and I. More often than not she falls asleep in my arms, which is prime beard grabbing range and that quiet time is secretly my favorite part of the day. During her waking hours, I carry her wherever I go, unless there is a shopping cart involved. Sometimes she does it just to do it. Because she has baby hands with her vice like grips and when kids discover something new with their hands,these interesting little tools at the end of their arms, thats all they want to do. Grab it and never let it go.

Why do I put myself through this torture? I often ask immediately after what I call a “grabbing”. My 250 pound frame quivering as I try and rub the pain out of my face. The answer is simple. One day she will grow too big to carry everywhere,too old to want to have dad hold her all day and too cool to admit that the bearded,bald headed guy is her dad. So I tolerate the yanking and tugging of my beard because I know one day that there will be no sweet miracle baby to grab my face, and while my beard won’t  be going anywhere, she will be. She will go to college,move out and find her own way in the world. She will one day have her own family, and then her children can grab my beard and I won’t complain. Their mom toughened me up for them, and thats alright with me,Grab it and never let go.

You.Them.Me.Us

We are the expendable and the forgotten. I want to be your voice, but I wish I was able to be someone elses voice. I loved him like a brother. Deployed with him. Slept five feet from him. Taught him to surf. Laughed my ass off when he came down to the beach from the parking lot with Scottish, both with their wetsuits on backwards, looking like they lovingly got each other dressed without their grranimals for the first time. What could have been saved with the ringing of a phone and a hello instead ended with a gunshot in Warner-Robbins without the chance to say goodbye. 

When we leave the life we know and try and build something new for ourselves, we miss the brotherhood, the way that your life depends on the man or woman to your left or right. We miss the hugs that the family we were thrown into and grew to love are now replaced by empty memories of better times and the jokes that only made sense to the people who were closer than family could only get away with telling. We miss shenanigans. I miss the look on your face when Bobby told SFC Vernon that he was going to take a piss right in the middle of a class in the field, and how he then told him that he didn’t know how to low crawl, because they never taught him that in basic training. I miss running to your truck when we were deployed and pissing on your tire because you called me fat. Its what brothers in arms do, and when that time is up those who put the weapons in our hands,trained us and sent us off to the God awful situations in Baqubah,Fallujah,Baghdad,Mosul,Kandahar,Baghram,Khowst or Mas I Sharif and then turned their backs on us just as quickly as they shook our hands when we finally made it home. We are all that we have.

One veteran dies by their own hands every 65 minutes. That is  22 a day. One active duty Soldier kills themselves every 25 hours.  I do this for them. I do this for you.

 I met my friend in 2001. I had just gotten to Ft. Lewis and he had just arrived from Korea. Blue eyes, thinning blonde hair that he thankfully ended up shaving and an ability to quote the Big Lebowski on command that instantly made us friends. We went to Ft  Meade, Maryland right after 9/11 to provide installation security and our friendship grew. Fortunate enough to be in the same platoon we would spend more time than I can recall telling jokes, wasting time and waiting to go home. We went to Iraq, our Gypsy caravan of an MP Company together, joined by our new brothers, Scottish, Brian, Bobby, Eli, Jesse, Ryan, Fish,Travis and Steve.We ended up living together in what we dubbed the “Hotel California”. You were the honorary Californian, because Warner-Robbins and California don’t have a damn thing in common. We would always get excited when you got a package from “your special lady friend” and that excitement turned to gruff profanities when we found out that she sent you all that bullshit organic nuts and dried fruits. We wanted beef jerky, porn and candy,damnit. I remember Eli jumping on you on when you were in your cot and your voice, suddenly octaves higher screaming “Stop the gayness,man!!” and we will never forget throwing bottlecaps in the fan and seeing who would get hit. These were some of the best times in our lives.

I failed you, brother. I talked to you right before you got out. You just returned from a brutal deployment. I had moved over to another Company leaving my brothers for new ones. Travis and Steve made the ultimate sacrifice and some others I never got the chance to meet. You were going home, done with the Army, tired of the bullshit,we could see it in your eyes. I remember getting your message right before Christmas. Our communication had been fleeting as you tried to build a life away from your friends and working for the railroad. Tell Kelly and the girls Merry Christmas. That was it. I wrote you back and told you Merry Christmas too, but I don’t know if you ever saw it. I remember Scottish telling me what happened. Brother, we were all still in Washington, a phone call away. There isn’t one of us that wouldn’t have come running for you if it would keep you on this earth. I know that and  we live with it everyday. We are all still in touch. These are bonds that can never be broken,regardless of the moves or the strains of time. You are still with us. In those quiet moments when I can’t sleep. Every time we have a baby and I want to name them after you. Every time I throw a bottlecap into the fan and piss my wife off, but will throw out your name, saying that you would want me to. 

The Army failed you. They fail us all. We are the expendable and once we decide to leave or the decision is made for us, we are the garbage that our parents always bitched at us to take out. Why are we dying by our own hands in larger numbers than by the hands of the enemy? Multiple deployments, seeing the worst that humanity has to offer, black spots that used to be people before explosions and the constant waiting for something to happen, that turns into “fuck it, were gonna die today”, but live to see tomorrow,only to repeat it next time we go out. This is what we do, it is who we are and when it ends we are alone and unimportant to the big Army. They care now because the numbers are so large. They gave us half a day to talk about it. Half a fucking day. Half a day to come up with something that could help prevent this, but I still had a Company Commander who told me not to look at him with my “crazy eyes” and compared me to the guy at Ft Bragg who shot his Battalion Commander and he didn’t want me to do the same to him. This is what the Army has become. The Army I love, bled for,cried for and gave my mind and body for does not care about me.You.Anyone.They throw Xanax at us, but don’t teach coping mechanisms. They don’t care what we have done in the name of freedom and won’t even shake our hand when we leave. This is why we are looking at a dead Veteran every 65 minutes. Toxic leadership is a great combination of buzzwords within the Pentagon walls, but they are just words if you don’t do a damn thing about it. We are failing those who did  the hard,unforgiving work that you may not have agreed with, but we don’t have that luxury and the first time you shoot at my brother, I want to fucking kill you. I wish you had called. Cried out. Done anything so you could be a physical presence in our lives. You were the glue that kept us strong, the jokes that kept us laughing and the person we all wished we could be. Your day is getting close. Painfully close. We think about you all the time, more so as the day gets closer. Let these words strike someone with the power to actually get something done. War will be over soon and we are not feeling any better. I do this for them. I do this for me. I do this for Ashley Kennedy.You are my brother and the boys and I will not fail in your name.

If you are in need, you are not alone: http://www.veteranscrisisline.net 

Veterans and their loved ones can call 1-800-273-8255 and Press 1, chat online, or send a text message to 838255 to receive confidential support 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year    

                                                                             Lost Vegas

I am out of my element. Kind of like a monkey flapping his arms in the middle of an ocean, with no rescue ship in sight, I am a victim of where the current takes me. Not because I have come here to go on some Nicholas Cage “Leaving Los Vegas” inspired journey, it’s much stranger than that. I am experiencing something that I have not had in 13 years. A vacation with my wife, without the kids. So exciting, so much potential, so many things to get into, gambling chips to throw on the table, slots to pull and money to make. In reality, i’m sitting in our hotel bed at 10 PM with a breathe right strip on my nose, hoping I don’t wake up in a panic again, because I think I need to let my dogs outside before they go to the bathroom in the house. 

It has taking some adjusting in the short few days that we are here. We have eaten some amazing food, courtesy of a Gordon Ramsay restaurant, but I have also eaten food that hits the toilet just as quickly as it hits the bottom of my stomach. I have seen fanny packs, sandals with inappropriately high black socks and people who reek from the sweet stench of desperation,cigarette smoke and body odor all rolled into one as their hollowed eyes are transfixed on the poker screen,fingers dancing between drags of a cigarette and the deal again button. This is my reality for the next 5 days and I need to adjust or die.

I have taken a taxi cab ride that is tantamount to a robbery. A 3 mile journey that cost me almost $20 just to have lunch with my wife, who is stuck in a two day nursing seminar at a hotel that looks like a carpet store threw up in it. As I was sitting in the lobby,waiting,waiting and continuing to wait for her to break for lunch, I count no less than 5 different carpet styles in a 50 square foot area. This place needs an upgrade. Desperately. I am not here to give the place a makeover, I am here waiting for my wife to break free from the throngs of the hard working nurses who hold her hostage. Given a break, we hustle through the casino to get to a restaurant. Passing the poker table where I blew my gambling budget just an hour ago, a disgusted smirk across my face, those dirty sons of bitches have taken this Texas sucker for what he had, and spit him out. 

This trip is as much for the children I write so much about as it is for us. Left in the loving care of my brother in law, they needed a breather from mom and dad and we needed a breather from them. Its not to say that we don’t miss them,we surely do, but as selfish as it sounds the silence is deafening in our hotel room and it is a welcome lack of screaming and dogs barking that is causing us to get the rest we need, whenever the hell we want. We began our journey far too early on a San Antonio Saturday morning. First flight out, arriving before 10AM. We sat in the hotel lobby as the cleaners worked on our room, engrossed in Netflix and stomachs uneasy from the overcooked complimentary breakfast sausage. We wanted to go to our rooms as much as we wanted to meet up with our vacation partners, my sister and brother in law. These two people, who I can say indiscriminately are two of the kindest,most loving people in the world are the ones who secured the beds we would be sleeping in. They drove up from Los Angeles, arriving around 3PM, several hours after we got in our hotel room, and not long after we attempted to hatch a plan to steal the chaise lounge that was in the living room of our suite. It was far too comfortable to stay here and our meager means will simply not allow us to purchase one. The only sticking point was how do we get it back on the plane? This would require some serious planning. 

We spent our time wandering the hotels, their gaming tables their overpriced food and the constant dank smell of stale smoke. Breaking free was the easy part, but the way it sucks you back in is almost too hard to escape. I cannot justify spending $20 on one sandwich that had neither gold flakes or a bump of cocaine in it. Vegas aches for my money and my wallet is like a drunk that has had one too many and happily vomits it up. This journey was not about worrying about money or rushing to see things that we deemed necessary. Vegas is a 24 hour show, there is always time to see it. This was about spending time alone with my wife. The last time we had this opportunity was 5 kids and 6 dogs ago. It feels better to use those terms instead of actual years. We had uninterrupted conversations, never fearing what state of dress we were in because no little hands would be unexpectedly opening doors and we got to just simply sit there and hold hands and remind each other why we were so in love. This was why we came here. The airport is calling us and we are waiting to get on board our flights. We savored the last moments on the ground alone with each other. An airport lunch,bookstore jaunt and a stop at Starbucks, because frankly i’m addicted. In 6 short hours we will be back to the madness that is our daily life,but we are refreshed and will make it through the reintegration together. We have enjoyed our time in Vegas, regardless of the high prices or bad luck gambling. We have found what the new age folks call our center. All it took for us to find it, was to get lost in Vegas. 

From doorkicker to diaper changer: My strange journey from full time Soldier to full time dad

Jon Nunemaker

Life is full of change. Some good,some bad and sometimes unexpected. I ended up in the spectrum of the unexpected life change. My life for the past 16 and a half years was ending and I was moving into a new career. A career that I had only fleeting experience with, to the detriment of those who it effected most, my children. It was not my choice, but a choice that was made for me, as it was beneficial to all parties involved, as painful as it seemed my life was out of my hands. 

I joined the Army in 1997 as a Military Policeman. I had only intended to serve out my initial 5 year enlistment and then move on. By 1998 I had a little girl that I saw on the weekends and being a single new dad, I had no idea what the hell I was doing. The relationship between her mother and I failed, its what happens when you’re young and both of your hearts aren’t in it. I tried as best I could to make the most out of the time I had with my daughter,which was for a couple of hours during the week and on the weekends. I remember when she would wake up at night I would give her a bottle like most normal people but I didn’t realize that its ok if she fell asleep drinking it. So here I am, lost in the sauce as we used to say, keeping a baby awake so she could drink her bottle,when all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. I have learned since then.

By 2001 I was newly married, had a very pregnant wife and was looking forward to leaving the Army and starting a fresh life with my new family. All of that changed on September 11th. As everyone in Americas life changed that day, I was not immune to it. My life had a purpose and that purpose was to stay in the Army and fight like hell. I was always a bit of a brawler in my youth, one of the latchkey kids who was quick to put a pounding on whoever thought they were tougher than me and once they put a name to the group who did it, I had the next opponent on my list. I went to Iraq in 2003 and missed the birth of my third daughter and volunteered to go back again in 2004-2005 where I was wounded and lost my father, but my hatred for those who killed so many innocent people, who came from a host of different nations and backgrounds to our beautiful American melting pot is why I stayed in the fight. When I came back in 2005 I had three sets of eyes that looked up to me and it scared the hell out of me. I wasn’t a very competent dad and I had started to exhibit some signs of PTSD, but I internalized my rage and my almost constant anger. All  I wanted was to get back into the fight.

The next opportunity for that took place in 2008. Another beautiful baby had graced us with her presence, but I was a half ass dad because I was fixated on the greatest high there was. War is addictive, the adrenaline is addictive,the fear is addictive,the lifestyle of a warrior is addictive and that risk is the sweetest dope of all. I ached for it. I had my fix, I was in Afghanistan, this time with a Military Working Dog, running around with a small group of men, finding bombs,getting bombed,getting shot at and so high on all the addictive effects that war can have on you that I didn’t realize just how much was wrong with me. I volunteered to stay for another year, but was denied. I knew that I loved my family, but I also knew that I loved war just as much. It was being ripped from me and off I went back to a world of a loving family and a society that I had no idea how to relate to or emotions that I could not control or understand.

I came home angrier than before. The family I missed got less of me than I ever realized. I didn’t know why I felt the way I did, I couldn’t control it and I tried to ignore this confusion that began tormenting the new me as I lost the grip on who I once was. It was like a scab that I wouldn’t let heal, not because of the boredom,but I found comfort in the rawness of the  wound. I spent my time begging to deploy again, begging to feel that adrenaline again and when it wasn’t coming, that sadness about a love lost, turned to a deeper anger and almost constant aggressive posture that was there for everybody to get a piece of. PTSD manifests itself on so many different levels. Some try and drink it away or snort it away, or ignore it altogether until it all exposes itself in its rawest form. I dealt with it how I knew. I wanted to fight, anyone, myself included. I had a blackout where I tried to open one of those older Yamaha acoustic guitars on my forehead and I couldn’t justify to anyone how I was wrong in doing it. It was an anger that I had never felt, anger I couldn’t control and I could not hide it anymore. I was Command directed(which is essentially when your leadership takes you into an office and directs you to go talk to someone.There is no option). I went to Walter Reed(I was stationed in Washington,DC at the time) and talked a little and was given more pills than substantive solutions or coping mechanisms. Life was changing for my family and I again. I was being sent to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio,Texas to train future Military Working dogs. I knew that this is where I wanted to be, but it was too early. I wanted another deployment, but it wasn’t coming, so I took the family down to the Lone Star State. 

I realized by the time and probably before, that I really needed to focus on my mental health. I had been embarrassed to admit it, but I was also more embarrassed about my behavior when I had a flare up and did not want to end up like a very close friend of mine who lost his fight with PTSD and ended his life. So with a family of 4(3 of the girls were with us, my oldest was in Washington State with her mother) we set out to Texas. My wife was pregnant with baby number 4 when we arrived and being the son and grandson of native Texans, I was excited about having our first Texas baby. I was in treatment and with more time at home, I had more time to be with my family and more time to show them that I was not getting very much better. 

Our lives were not only turned upside down but crushed when the daughter(Melissa Louise) that we looked forward to so much was stillborn. I have lost friends in war and I could at least have an effect on the lives of the people that they were affiliated with. When you lose a child, there is no outlet for that anger,that pain,that anything. I had to grieve,I had to be there for my family but I did not know how. I was a totally different person than my wife had married and I did not know how to constructively help or deal with the pain that I was feeling. I was a piss poor husband,a piss poor dad, but I was good at war and when there is no war that I can get into, I slipped further down the ladder,culminating in me having rage blackouts.

The Army and my Psychiatrist had taken notice. I had exhausted all the help they could give me, so it was time for me to go to a medical board. In the Military when you are sent to a medical board, they determine your ability to continue to serve. My PTSD was severe enough that the medical board decided that I could in fact, not continue to serve and I would be medically retired. My doctor had suggested that if we had the financial ability to(which we really didn’t), that I take the next year off of any type of work to focus on a true reintegration to not only the civilian world, but the world of what truly being a husband and a father was. We had another little girl, our miracle baby that we named Emily Rhys. I finally had taken the time to notice what a sweet gift a baby is. Not only because of the loss of Melissa, but because I never had the time and was frankly too scared to give my all to the experience of being a father. It was a mindset that I put myself in when I first deployed. I made peace with death,with killing and with the fact that I may not come home. There was no more running from that. This sweet little baby would be my new job and I would not short her.

My day starts with a diaper change and ends pretty much the same way. My wife, who is a NICU nurse works nights, so from 7PM until I put my other girls on the bus or drop them off at school, I am the end all,be all of a parent. I wake them up and with an 11 year old, a 10 year old and a 5 year old, who all stumble out of bed at various levels of grogginess I have no cut and dry way to wake them up,as I like to say, its a very fluid situation. I try and have tried different ways and being fairly new to the full time game, I am still learning. The baby is pretty easy. All I have to do is pick her up. She either stays asleep or is in baby groggy mode. That part I have down. I am in a new world, but I have a routine and it seems to work pretty well. The girls are off to school and the guy who was once obsessed with deploying has a new obsession, finding the best jogging stroller on our small budget. That Military mindset of checking,rechecking and checking again is how I treated this search. Instead of briefing on how I would search Qalats and the surrounding areas with my dog, I would brief my wife on how important it was to have a front wheel that can both spin and lock. My “go bag” that used to be filled with extra ammunition,medical supplies for my dog,Night vision goggles and extra batteries is now filled with baby wipes,diapers,diaper bags,a gatorade for the baby just in case there is no water source when we are out,3 extra outfits,some snacks and two extra bottles. 

Being an everyday dad with Emily has brought me so much peace. Sometimes I check on her when she sleeps and her breathing is so innocent and pure. Like the floating clouds in my beloved Texas sky, she does not know the troubles that the world has,the troubles I have been through before I was as stable as I am now,or the bullying that her sisters face at school, she only knows what its like to be held and unconditionally loved by our entire family. Her sweet smile can fix my broken days and when she runs around in her new little Nike shoes I see a  girl who has no problems in this universe, only concerned with how fast she can move those little baby feet,giggling the whole time.

Life has changed 180 degrees,from the time when I ran off the tailgate of a chinook to a bad guys compound with my dog to find his bombs.Now my fight is making  sure that I have the extra stroller in my truck tool box(thats what they are for,right?) so I have a way to effectively get around with the baby when we go on errands, or walks.The new “go bag” is replenished as need be,just like the one in my former life was. It sits in my truck,packed up and ready for whatever diaper emergency awaits. The lesson of “If you fail to prepare,prepare to fail” crosses boundaries of the life that I used to live and the one that I am currently living. I still am and will continue to live with my PTSD. My greatest regret is that my family still has to live with it too. We have our good days and unfortunately our bad days. What has changed is now I am present. Im not going anywhere and I cant lie, I miss it sometimes. I have missed so much more and I have to make up for it,sometimes by the seat of my pants. My kids love Starbucks and sometimes its a nice surprise to drive over with them so they can get a drink. My 11 and 10 year old are more concerned about the gossip at their schools that any life lesson that dad can impart on them while we sit around and enjoy our drinks. My 5 year old listens to me intently, but the pull of her older sisters and the way she looks up to them,she will soon follow suit. The baby is all ears. She listens to my off key singing, my little stories and whatever else comes out of my mouth. I learned in the Army, that when I leave someone will take my place.Its the nature of the business. The lesson that I learned now is that these girls only have one dad. I am theirs, not replaceable and I have so much to teach them.They also have so much to teach me, and that may be the most important lesson of them all.