Ever wondered why?

I have been asked a lot of questions since I found out that I was comming to Iraq. Are you scared? What does your wife think? Who did you piss off? What are you going to do? I can't honestly say I know the answer to most of them, even still. But the question that seemed to me to be the hardest to answer was..."Why?"

I thought I had my reasons before I got here. It was easy to just say, "That's where the Army needs me, so that's where I'm going." Of course there was, "I want to do my part." Also, "I want to serve my Country." But all those answers come out of a box. (I think if you give all three of those answers in the same day, you get a bonus prize...)

Honestly, when I was first approached and told that I was one of the soldiers that could be going, I did not jump up and say yes...although I may have wanted to. I had to go home and talk it over with my wife. In this situation, it's not just my life that gets turned upside down...it effects my whole family. I think when I approached my wife and told her that I may go, she knew somewhere deep inside...somewhere she tried not to think about, that I wanted it. But WHY?

I had just come off Recruiting duty, where I sat behind a desk for three years not doing the job that I was trained to do...Military Intelligence. Then I go to Ft. Meade and am supposed to report to the Pentagon...when a paperwork issue stalls my progress. This issue can take upwards of a year or more to resolve in some cases, so my chain of command was going to put me in an office...sitting behind a desk, not doing the job I was trained to do. At least here in Iraq, I can do the job.

Once I arrived here, I quickly began to wonder WHY as well. (And not the way you think...although I still do cry out "WHY GOD? WHY" when the air goes out in my trailer.) No...I began to wonder why others were out here. The military personnel can answer that question a little easier..."That's where the Army (Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps) needs me, so that's where I'm going." Of course there is, "I want to do my part." Also, "I want to serve my Country." (sound familiar?)

Then there are the civilians. Contractors...contractors...contractors! I understand the military being here...and servicemembers that are here even if they don't want to be...can blame their service for sending them. It's a legal obligation. For these contractors, though, I needed to know what motivates a person to leave their families and come to a warzone where the people we are fighting have such a lack of respect for human life that they will use the bodies of thier enemies as boobytraps, and justify the killing of women and childern with "at least one American died...it was worth it."

The first, most predominant, and probably easiest answer that I get from the civilians...MONEY. I am not going to sit here and say that every soldier, sailor, airman, and marine in Iraq is here for noble reasons. I've heard them say "I can't wait to get back and spend all the money I'm making out here." Granted, Money is the great motivator in our society...I got that...BUT THIS IS A FREAKING WAR ZONE!!!

I asked one contractor why he was here. He told me he was here to teach and train the Iraqi police forces. Then I asked WHY he came here...considering he had the choice. He told me he was former Special Forces, and had been doing similar work in the service for thirteen years. Then he got out and taught in the US. He said, "I guess you just miss it, you know?" No. I don't think I'll ever miss these kinds of conditions...but his intentions are commendable. (At least he didn't shout "MONEY" as soon as I asked.)

Another person I asked simply told me that they needed a break from their spouse, and after the arguments and fights they would go through...Baghdad seemed like a good place to get away from it all. (Sheesh! Paging Dr. Phil...Paging, Dr. Phil...I need a psychiatrist over here, people...STAT!)

I sit every morning and listen to the big briefing that we give the Commanding General here. (He is the big cheese...the guy...head honcho...the boss...he makes Shaft look like Barney Fife...he took on Superman, Batman, and the Green Latern, and laughed....he...well, he's pretty important.) Durring that briefing I hear about how the electricity situation has improved in a certain area, or how the oil pipes are down here and there. I listen to the numbers of car bombs that have blown up in the last 24 hours, the number of bodies found murdered execution style, and the number of suicide attacks that were conducted against Coalition Forces. Then, throughout the day, I read all the reports that make up that brief and get it ready for the next day. I hear about all the plans the bad guys have to shoot rockets, launch mortars, shoot guns, and even blow themselves up just to kill one or two of us...(Yeah...tell me about it.) So it's no wonder I ask "Why am I here?"

Then, one day when I was getting familiar with the computer network here, I found an answer. There was a folder on our "Shared Drive" that had all kinds of pictures that people have taken while they have been here. They range from the mundane pictures of their trailers (Which admitedly I took one...what can I say?) to the dramatic sunsets behind the Palace. It was amongst these pictures that I found a way to 'vocalize' why I am here.

Here are just a few of the reasons WHY I am in Iraq...

So that her tomorrow will be one of peace and calm, and she will know no more violence.








So that she never has to lose another brother in a random bombing attack on his way to the market.









So that his next "Sunday Drive" is more relaxing than his last.











So that she has a safe back yard to play in.















So they don't have to fear being thrown out of their home, just because of the religious sect they belong to.







So he won't have to check around every corner as he grows up.











So they can finaly wrap their arms around their loved ones, not just a picture.





So they never have to pray together over a fallen friend again.














So he never has to miss another important day in her life.














These are some of the reasons I am here now. My PERSPECTIVE has changed since I've been here. But the most important reason WHY I came over here...is my children...



...So they never have to.

SSG Newman,
Out

Change is...bad...?

One of my biggest concerns with coming out here is that I am going to change. Now, that's not to say that I think I can come back from a year long deployment EXACTLY the same as I left. Change is inevitable. We all go through changes with the different stages of our lives. Some change is good and some bad...but if it is significant enough, it all shapes who we are as a person.

There is a term that has been coined which can easily be used to describe what I am going through with this tour. It is called a SIGNIFICANT EMOTIONAL EVENT. They say that a Significant Emotional Event is one of those character changing events in our lives. Getting married...having children...the death of a loved one...a traumatic car accident. The list is as varied as the people who experience them.

One such event stands out in my mind. My wedding? The birth of my children? Finding out my Grandfather has Alzheimer's disease? While they ALL are very SIGNIFICANT, they are not the one I am thinking. No, this one is a bit more relative to the current situation. Basic Training.

Being away from home for the first time is quite an experience for any young person. The College freshman is nervous and excited that they are about to experience life as an "Adult" for the first time. The young man or woman entering the workforce out of high school is about to quickly learn why they call what you make before taxes "Gross income"...(because it makes you sick once you see what they take out in taxes.) The high school sweethearts that have decided to tie the knot and start a family...well, they are about to have quite the wake up call, no?

As for the young man who was tired of part time jobs that he didn't really like anyway, but he only took because his parents made him pay rent unless he went to college (which he wasn't about to do, because it was school and he hated the last twelve years of the stuff...so why PAY to do more?) Well...his options were getting more slim by the day. With an exhausted sigh, he shrugged his shoulders and headed off to the lumber mill/photo studio/water park (life guard)/UPS loading dock/carousel (YES...a merry go round....)/Pizza Hut/whatever to earn his $5.25.

It was on the way home from one of the above listed jobs that his life was about to change forever. His route home took him past the Armed Services Recruiting Center. For reasons still unknown to even himself, he pulled his 1978 Ford Fairmont (AKA...that red piece of crap...) into the Recruiter's parking lot. Getting out of the car, he looked up at the sign. With a deep breath, he opened the door and boldly walked in, declaring...

"I want to fly jets."

You're confused now...aren't you? They don't fly jets in the Army. I decided that IF I was going to join one of the services, I would do the coolest job out there...I'd be a fighter pilot. After about six and a half minutes of solid, non-stop, hysterical laughter from the Air Force Recruiters...I walked out. Shaken, but not defeated..I stepped next door. Yes...this time to the Army Recruiter. (It should be noted that the 'other two' services were not really an option for me...I knew a few Marines and that was more than enough motivation to avoid the Corps. And as far as the Navy...If I am on a boat, I want to be able to see land. That way I know which direction to swim when it starts to sink.)

SO...I boldly walked into the Army Recruiter and declared...

"I want to blow shit up."

Again, there was laughter. (I attribute this, in retrospect and now having been a recruiter, to the fact that...at the time...I had multi colored hair that came down to my chin, wore a black trench coat, jeans with holes in the knees, a tie dyed T-shirt, and two different colored Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars...one black...one white.) After only about two minutes of laughter, Staff Sergeant Walker had me take a test, asked me some questions...and made me feel generally good about my decision to join the Army. (He was pretty good at what he did.)

Skip ahead a few months to January 3, 1996. This is where the SIGNIFICANT EMOTIONAL EVENT occurs. This was the day I met Drill Sergeant Gonzales, Drill Sergeant Pedraza, and Drill Sergeant Swift...(Who's first name, I believe was DAMIEN!!!!!) The whole process of Basic Training at Ft. Benning, GA was part of what molded me into who I am today. My Mom commented after they picked me up that she was impressed at the change. She noticed that I said "Yes, Ma'am" and "Yes Sir" to strangers (waitresses, hotel receptionists, etc.) I was also told that I walked differently...(I told them it was from all the ass chewings I got in Basic...)

Here's the point...I would not be me if I didn't go through that a decade ago. I was scared. I was lonely. At times I thought I would regret my decision. Today, however, I honestly feel it was one of the best choices I have ever made.

So...here...in Iraq...It's a lot of the same. I'm scared. I'm lonely. Sometimes I think I'll regret volunteering to come over here. I have seen friends come back changed. You hear the stories of PTSD...post traumatic stress disorder...and you wonder..."What's going to happen to me?" When my brother came back after four months...he was different, for a while. (Loud noises bothered him, and he had nightmares for a while...) But, he's OK now...at least he's back to being the same old pain in the ass that left.

What I worried about most, was losing what made me...me. I kissed the most wonderful woman in the world goodbye, and left the two most precious children in the world for a year. (That's not that long...but it is still a third of my daughter's whole life.) I fear that they won't know me...or like me...when I get back. I fear that they will get too used to me not being there.

Then I think about Ft. Benning, GA. I think about all the fears I had there...all the worrying that I did about coming home changed...and it hits me. This situation is just like that all over again. I have to learn from the suck...grow from the uncomfortable...Centralize the positive...and use the miserable to make me a better...me.

It is said the we are the sum of all our experiences. If you add up just what I have the opportunity to experience in the next year...well, I'll need a calculator, but it's a pretty impressive figure. I think I'm alright after basic training, several less than ideal duty stations...oh, yeah...and having grown up in a trailer park. So I think that I'll handle this change just fine.

Looking at it, and keeping an open mind, just shows me that not all change is bad.

SSG,
Out

An Example...a Hero

I feel bad for not posting it yesterday, and actually saying Happy Father's Day on Father's Day. I did call the family, and the kids said Happy Father's day. Called My Dad, too...and we talked for a few minutes. I thought about him a lot yesterday, though.

I forget, sometimes, now that I'm grown and have my own life complete with hectic schedule and all that comes with it...that I'm someone's son. Sounds strange to say that you forget something like that, I know. But, honestly, aside from Father's Day and Mother's Day...when do we focus on the fact that, despite how grown up we inevitably become...we are still someone's child?

So, I'm over here, a Dad separated from his kids on Father's day. Not an uncommon sight in this situation...most of the guys I work with have children. The Major I work with has three, and my room mate has two. Misery loves company, or some such cliche. Anyway, someone told me that you get used to being gone, and not being around the kids or the rest of the family. I told him he was crazy...that my family was my life...and I'll never get used to being a world apart...

Then, I got sad. It occurred to me, shortly thereafter, that I am my father's son...and therefore his family..and it must be horrible for him on a day like this as well. Here I am in Baghdad...which I already know my Dad hates...and my brother left yesterday for Korea (for a week...but the fact that he was leaving on Dad's day is the point.) If I miss my kids as much as I do...how does my Dad feel?

I don't think I have ever explained who my Dad is to ME. It's simple, really. He's my Hero...my role model...my friend. He came from a small town in Colorado. (When I say small, I mean...it had a dirt road and a stop sign, I think...they may not have had a stop sign...) Everything he is and has today...he worked hard to become and to have.

He joined the Army when he was 17 years old, and did what most young soldiers did at that time...he went to Vietnam. He was in the aviation corps...a door gunner in helicopters in Vietnam and worked his way up through the ranks to end up running entire motorpools. He worked hard for the Army and achieved the Rank of Sergeant First Class before retiring. For twenty three years, he served his country selflessly to provide for his family.

What strikes me about it all, is his humility. My Father has done some very "Cool Stuff" in the Army, and in his life, but he remains humble about it all. I always wanted to know about his time in Vietnam, but never asked him...until recently. I wanted to hear some stories....'war stories.' He told me a couple of tales of what life was like in the Army for him. I sat and listened in awe. To think that MY DAD did some of the stuff you see in movies was just one of the coolest things in the world to me.

What was even cooler that what he did, was how he handled talking about it. He didn't even realize that the more he told me, the more of a Hero he was becoming in my eyes. He seemed so down to earth about it all. He was not boastful about his 'adventures,' nor did he make any attempt to make himself seem like more that what he was in his mind. What he couldn't hide, was the pride in his eyes when he talked about what he did. He tried to play it all off as 'no big deal.' It didn't matter to me. He was the guy I want to be.

I've always tried to make my Dad proud. When I was young, I would see him work on the cars out front, or build a clubhouse in the back...and I said to myself, "I want to be able to do anything...Just like my Dad." Yeah...I wanted to be just like him.

So, I joined the Army. And for the last ten and a half years, I have hoped that all I have done has made him proud...becasue I am proud of him. One of my goals was to reach the same rank he did before I get out. As I stated in an earlier post, I did make the Sergeant First Class list. I also remember one of the things he told me a long time ago about being a leader in the Army. He told me that it is all about the soldiers that you are in charge of. "Don't do things for yourself, your troops come first." His words have become embedded as part of my leadership and life philosophy. He was great at what he did...and I hope that I achieve half of what he has...he is truly an incredible man.

So growing up where I did and being who I was, led my parents to feel that at times they had made some pretty big mistakes. I try to tell them differently...I mean, what parent knows how to really handle a teenager anyway? (Other than Dr. Phil...but he's a strange freak of nature...) Has it been a perfect ride? No. But what family can truly say that it has? Through all the mistakes that have been made, large and small...I think it comes down to the end result. I believe that you can measure your success as a parent by your children's' success as adults. I think My brother and I turned out alright...(well, I did more so than my brother...but that is a whole different posting...)

It boils down to this:
I hope and dream that my kids feel the same way about me that I feel about My Dad. I want to do well enough raising them, that they turn out feeling that I did a good job.

Happy Father's day, Dad...Ya' done good. I love you.
Thanks for being an Example...and a Hero.

SSG Newman,
Out

Had a bad day?

Under the best circumstances, I can function...(and have, on occasion)...for forty eight hours straight on just a few hours sleep. (Hey...I've got two kids.) Granted, it is not an ideal situation, but if circumstances dictate, I find myself able to function. That's great at home, when I have a project I want to work on, (like writing one of my stories or an online class, etc.) and I don't want to sacrifice family time. I can stay up and work on it for a few hours after the wife and kids go to bed, and then still function just fine the next day.

Now...let's take this same guy and send him halfway around the world. The jetlag itself is difficult to deal with. (I was so off on my schedule that I didn't know how tired I was until two days later, when the tired found me sitting in my room. It walked in and said, "Oh...there you are. Miss me?"...and then I passed out.) Add the stress of living in a combat zone, plus the weirdness of working from midnight to noon...sprinkle in a little disorientation, and add about a cup and a half of homesick, and what do you get? A miserable guy to be around...if you're not careful.

Fortunately...we are talking about me. I have this irritating habit of trying to make the best of whatever situation in which I find myslef. This has been a challenge in this particular case. I've told you about the heat...not fun. It is pretty high stress...combat zone...again, not fun. And then there's the smell. It's not an "in your face, obvious, disgusting 'I have to leave now or gag,' nasty," kind of smell. It's more subtle than that. It's like feet...that have been in leather shoes all day, and then someone takes those shoes off. But, they are on the other side of the room. You can tell that there is something in the air, but you aren't sure what it is. It gradually gets worse...then the owner of the feet steps out for a moment. That's better, you think...but then you realize that they left their shoes... and the whole process starts over again. (But I digress...)

I know what you are thinking. "But you said you find the good in everything, and all you seem to be doing is complaining." Well...yeah, I'm complaining. That's the good thing. Stop scratching your head, and listen. The good thing in the situation is the observations that I'm making. I'm seeing a whole new world over here, and I'm realizing that we have it pretty damn good for all the complaining that we do.

Americans are spoiled. Yeah. I said it. I'm also looking in the mirror as I say it. Listen, no matter what you think your problems are...

SHUT UP.....YOU HAVE IT PRETTY DAMN GOOD!!!!!!!!

I went on a rant the other day about coffee. Now...any one who knows me knows that I am beyond addicted to coffee. (One particularly popular franchise in the states literally claimed a fifth of my paycheck one time...My wife saw the bank statements...now I drink Maxwell House...that I make myself...at home.) The reason for this rant was the lack of a decent cup of coffee here. I was cranky. The coffee was bad...(this is the understatement of the year. This stuff tastes like it is half road tar, strained through one of my boot socks at the end of the day.)...and my spoiled little self thought it was the end of the world.

Time to gain some perspective. When I'm at home, I can go get my coffee (I mean make myself a pot, Honey...really...) whenever I want. Here I can't do that...and I complain...because it's inconvenient and I'm spoiled. The people of this country live without electricity twenty hours a day. For two hours at a time, they get to have power in their homes...then it's off for four. And a cup of coffee is putting me in a bad mood?

I told you last time that I would expand on the living situation here...namely, my trailer. I like to call it my cell. Four gray walls. A bed. A wall locker. That's about it. I have a TV. We get about twenty channels, and that's awesome...if you like watching re-runs of 'The Golden Girls' or Animal planet's monkey documentary all day. I do have internet...it's so slow, that by the time this blog actually gets posted...I will have been home on my R&R. The air conditioner works hard to keep the room at a chilly eighty six degrees...at night....after the sun has gone to the other side of the world.

Well, just when I'm starting to get into that 'rant groove'...here comes PERSPECTIVE again. There are soldiers in other places...(forward operating bases...we call them FOBs...) who are living in tents. They eat prepackaged rations (the army calls those MRE's...Meals Ready to Eat) twice a day. They get up, put on their uniforms and all their gear, get in armored military vehicles, and go out into the streets and deserts and confront danger every day. THEY are MY heroes. And I complain that my internet is too slow?

Then I start thinking about my family. It has been almost twenty four hours since I have spoken to them...and it has been twenty six days since I've seen them. I think it's horrible that I don't get to talk more often...and that it will be a long time until I see them again...but I will see them again.

Here comes that pesky Perspective again. Those guys on the FOBs get to use the phone maybe once a week...if the lines are up and working. And every time they get in that vehicle and go to work...I don't have to say it...you've seen the news. And what about the People here in Iraq...the local population? The news reported the other day about a car bomb that exploded in a market and killed several civilians. That is a daily reality for the Iraqi people. That is an hourly reality for many of them.

I hate brining down my own 'light hearted' look at a year in Baghdad...but I just wanted you to think. The next time you have an argument with a loved one, realize this...at least you have the opportunity to have that argument. The next time you get mad, because you are running late...or are having a bad day and need that cup of coffee that you didn't get...there's a Soldier in Iraq that hasn't had a hot meal in a couple of days. The next time the cable goes out, the air conditioner is on the blink, or the power goes out...take a deep breath and relax.

The next time you get up and say "Man, I don't want to go to work...I hate this job...can't wait till I get off..." think about what the guy manning the machine gun on top of the Humvee is thinking about his job.

When you think you've got it bad...take a second to think...and just know that someone...somewhere...probably has it a little worse.

It's all just a matter of perspective.

SSG,
Out

What day is it anyway?

Well, I've been 'In Country' now for about a week. What an easy and pain free experience that was. Seriously, I think I've seen surgeries on the Discovery channel that were less complicated than what I have been through in the last week. But, hey...I'm just a Soldier in the desert, right?

So it all actually started a couple of weeks ago, in Texas. (which is a whole other country anyway, right.) That's where the Army makes sure I am physically and administratively ready to suffer the travesty of being thrown into a strange land and experience the culture shock of a lifetime. (This is a nice thing for the Army to do, since I had already run all over Ft. Meade, ensuring that I was physically and administratively ready to suffer the travesty of being thrown into a strange land and experience the culture shock of a lifetime all on my own.)

After a week of poking, proding, and generalized group agitation, we boarded the plane for IRAQ. After a quick 24 hour flight, we landed in Kuwait, the first stop on my magical mystery tour. I'm not going to tell you how hot Kuwait is...as I'm sure you can assume for yourself. I will however comment that I did not know it was possible for weather to supply its own sweat.

Most people spend a couple of days in Kuwait, waiting for a flight into Baghdad International Airport...heretofore know as BIAP. Fortunatel I had an assertive First Sergeant in my group, and we were on a plane for BIAP within six hours. (This is good, because the tent we were placed in to wait for the flight thought it was a convection oven, and tried to cook us...I beleive I am now medium rare.)

The flight itself was OK...we had to wear all of our gear for the first time. This is a great method for making yourself very tired and often less hydrated than one would normaly like to be. (All my gear weighs about the same as my daughter...I'd much rather give her a piggy back ride, than wear that vest.) Flying on a Military C-130 Aircraft is not like hoping on a coach section of American Airlines and flying nonstop from D.C. to L.A. No, it's not quite that comfortable.

The "final aproach" to BIAP lasts about 3 seconds. The actual landing is more like a ride at Disney Land than an airplane ride. The good thing is, it's over quickly...very quickly. We went from Eleventeen Thousand feet to about two hundred feet in about three and three quarter seconds. (It was pretty cool...don't tell my Wife I said that.)

Once we landed at BIAP, it was time to get us to our final destination within Iraq. This is where the newcommer feels a bit overwhelmed and frankly...scared. If you've seen any newscast in the last three years, then you understand why.

I was scheduled to hop on a helicopter and fly into my area with four other soldiers...all officers. (It should be noted that flying is the prefered method of travel, as the insurgents have yet devised a method for suspending an IED {Bomb} in mid air...) As they were calling out the names on the manifest I could not help but notice that they forgot to call off mine.

This begins our lesson in politics and the enlisted man...Basically what happened was that approximately five minutes prior to my boarding the helicopter and taking a relatively safe flight into the city, I was bumped so that another officer could take my nice cozy seat. Military Mathmetics is as follows:

Colonel/O-6 + (4x LT. Colonel/O-5 x4) + SSG Newman/E-6 divided by 5 seats on the Helocopter= My ass on a convoy into the city.

So, it was the Rhino for me. What is the Rhino? It is a Winebego...on steroids. They try to make it seem better by painting it all black...which clearly states "Security" more than having the original 'Pierce Arrow' paint job of course, but when you break it down to the nuts and bolts of the thing...it was like a summer camp day trip down a possibly bomb ininfested road. Good times were to be had by all.

Despite all the trepidation...There were no explosions. That's a very good thing. It was after my arrival that I was ushered into a fifty man. This tent would serve as my home for the majority of the week. That's not a bad thing, except that it is virtually impossible to have any type of privacy in that situation. And again, this was an example of a tent having an identity crisis and trying to serve as an oven.

What's worse...no one here seemed to know that I was supposed to be here. However, no one wanted to let me go back home, regardless of the fact that I seemed to have no purpose here. (Hey, you can't blame me for trying...besides...it's hot here.) So after being shuffled from place to place for a few days, and sleeping in between movements...Here I am. I am finally in a permanent trailer...(I'll explain more about that next time!!!)...I am gainfully employed, and I've started to get some sleep. My schedule is not too bad...it's only half days. (12 hours is half of a day, right?) And seven days a week is normal...for prisoners.

What day is it anyway?

SSG Newman
OUT