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Misspent Compassion

Sometimes I hate the Army. Then I go to drill and love it again.

Sometimes I hate being a Chaplain's Assistant. Then I talk to the Chaplain and love it again.

And sometimes I get sick of being promotable but unpromotable.


I went to a training exercise this summer, and as a stay-at-home-dad I need to provide coverage for my absence. My wife hired a nanny last time, and before that I exploited my brother-in-ex (long story with the "ex" part). This time I offered the task to a young soldier in my unit, PFC (Private First Class, E3) A., and his fiance. I invited them up to dinner to meet my kids, and so my wife could meet them. I fed them, then took them on the "50 cent" tour of my town - the preschool, the elementary school, the gymnastics studio, the dance studio, the karate dojo and home again. I made maps with google. They would be using the minivan I paid 1/3 of with my re-enlistment bonus. Every thing was set, and the task was not difficult. A price was agreed upon, to be paid when my pay came through after wards.

So we go to drill. We shoot at the range, and and at the end of the weekend the Battalion separates: Most go home and the rest of us head northwest for a 2-day road trip for a training exercise. Things are going well, both at the exercise and at home. Then Friday came.

We were scheduled to depart the training at about 8am Friday and convoy back home. I woke up nice and early to the gentle beep of the alarm on my phone. As I turn it off, I see that there are missed calls logged. But no message. It's PFC A. He called several times in the middle of the night. And one call from my platoon sergeant, SFC B. But no messages. I start by calling SFC B, and he tells me A is having some kind of crisis. So I call A, and he babbles and blubbers at me that his fiance kicked him out of the house (they were living in her mom's basement) and he spent the night in his car. Whatever. They've been through a couple of laps of this drill already. I go off to breakfast, finish packing and head to the motorpool to get home.

Several hours later I'm on the road. I get a call from my wife. She's in class. The preschool has called wondering if anyone will be picking up my daughter. My wife will have to leave class early in order to drive back to pick my daughter 45 minutes late. Grr. I immediately start trying to get in touch with PFC A and find out what the deal is.

Long story short, he claims to have been too distraught to go pick her up. Gives me great sobs about sleeping in the car, not eating dinner, he's dehydrated, et cetera. I'm pretty pissed off, and I don't converse very calmly about this. I'm pretty mad that he didn't think to call my wife and let her know, either.

And he wants to know when he can get paid.

Eventually I get paid for drill and the extra trip. I have him come over to get some money. I give him the money for both he and his fiance. He's supposed to split it with her. He says he will.

That evening the calls and texts start in from her, freaked out that she's not getting the money, and mad that we gave it all to him. His version of the story is very confused and confusing. I tell him he needs to give her the money, I tell her that she needs to deal with him, and I hang up. Okay, I was pretty unprofessional about it. I told him I would "kick his ass" if he didn't pay her.

So the next drill rolls around. Before I leave the house I text the fiance, asking if she ever received money. She says no, and texts that he said she would get money only if she signed custody papers. Did I mention she's pregnant? Yeah. She would rather be a single mom than put up with this guy.

During drill I have him sign a receipt for the cash. I send her a copy along with a check for half of her half, and a note that I'll send her the rest as soon as I get paid again. I also send a letter to A telling him that he needs to repay me since I am paying her the half he didn't give her.

Oh yeah, he wrecked his car in the meantime. So he needed money really badly. It wasn't his fault, of course. Nothing ever is. Ever. And he always has an excuse for things. He shows up late to drill and it's not his fault, its all the fault of some dump truck parked in his driveway or some crap like that. But this means he doesn't have the money.

By this time I'm pretty burned out. I end drill that month depressed, feeling exploited. And I'm out another half of the money I already paid for the childcare that wasn't even completed. I talk to my boss, Chaplain Candidate (1LT) B about this. PFC A works just down the hall from him at State Headquarters - they both have day jobs with the Guard now. He tells me to write up a report of what happened and send it to him.

Next drill, I find out PFC A has been counselled by our company commander, and told he needs to repay me. At drill he doesn't go out of his way to come talk to me, but that's not his fault, he was Busy Doing Things. Yeah. I spent all day Saturday in the Chapel tent working on PowerPoint slides for a domestic violence brief CC B wants to give. I'm not hard to find, and it would only take a few minutes to talk it out.

The Captain wants to get this resolved, NOW and I'm asked several times if A has talked to me. Nope. Finally, CPT E orders the two of us to sit down and hash it out, and write up a repayment plan. Twenty bucks a month, until repayed. We all 3 sign, and fall in late for final formation.

Next drill comes. No payment. PFC A isn't around. I ask. He's transferring to another unit - one headed to Iraq in a couple months. And by the way, he's been fired from the temporary technician job at HQ. Okay, so much for that couple of hundred bucks. Sunday he shows up in civvies. I shake his hand, tell him I'm glad he finally got the deployment he's been asking for. He gives me $20.

I doubt I'll see another penny from him. Whatever. At least the fiance has her money.

I'm in an E1 - to - E4 slot at my unit. I can't be promoted to sergeant, E5, in this slot. On the current promotion list I have over 500 points. The next guy down has a bit over 300. I have more points than numbers 3 and 4 on the list combined.

The next move up is an E6 slot at Brigade.

One of my buddies in the unit had the same problem, so he has switched to the feeding section - he's going to go be a cook. I'm thinking about it. Right now I'm just tired of the job.

How I Feel About My Job, Part 2

I don't update this very often, but I go to drill every month. So I should update this every month. But I don't.

This year I went to Warrior Leadership Course (WLC), or "sergeant school." That was 2 weeks long. Then I went to Annual Training (AT) which is no longer called "summer camp" and will not be called AT anymore. It'll be called Extended Battle Training, or something. Whatever. And next month after drill I'll be going to a CERFP exercise a few states away.

The upshot is that I'm spending one weekend a month and several weeks away from my family every year. I could hate it. But I don't. Between drills I get sorta grumpy about the Army and think "I'm not gonna reenlist, I'm sick of this dumb stuff, I can't wait to get these footlockers full of uniforms out of my garage." Then I get the boots on, and go help soldiers. I love doing my job.

The year before last I was at Ft. Jackson for my MOS school. Last year was my first AT. I've noticed that we don't get a lot soldiers coming to the Chaplain with issues during an average drill. We might get one or two, and we've gotten more as the unit has gotten to know 1LT B_ , our Chaplain Candidate. But at AT last year, we had a lot of stuff. It's like people can put on the "I'm away from my trouble" armor for a weekend drill, but after a few days at AT it cracked open and the issues spilled out.

This year we hit the ground running, and stayed in motion the whole time. We received a Red Cross message before we had ourselves unpacked, and a second one came in while we were arranging for that soldier to be sent home to take care of family. Two trips to the regional airport before the Tactical Operation Center was operational.

I didn't get to do any of the training this year. I was kinda disappointed - the training lanes included an off-road HMMWV driving course. Bent frames, damaged transmissions - all kinds of hair-raising muddy driving fun, and no counseling statements! And I missed it!

But that was okay - for once I was able to DO MY JOB. I had an office (weird for National Guard - I'm used to sneaking my laptop into whatever room at the Armory isn't being used, or operating out of a tent, even at the armory) and we shared a history-funky old chapel with several other Unit Ministry Teams supporting their units. I met other Chaplains and Chaplain Assistants. I helped set up for service, I typed up Service Bulletins for several Chaplains, and I drove a soldier into town to attend his first Alcoholics Anonymous meetings ever.

I'm sorry that soldiers have issues, but I'm glad to be able to help them. That's what I signed up for.

Guess I'll keep going.

How I Feel About My Army Job, Part 1

This is a response to an email I recently received. Names and units have been sanitized for your protection.

> SPC B________,
>
> I hope this message finds you well. I am contacting you per the
> suggestion of Chaplain B___, to get an idea of what it is like to
> be a Chaplain Assistant, and a member of the Unit Ministry Team.
>
> If you would prefer to communicate either via email or phone, let
> me know your preference.
>
> I am fine with either.

> Please if you would, give me an idea of what the duties you perform
> in the Guard with Chaplain B___, and the kind of individual he is
> and how he operates his ministry.
>
> I look forward to speaking with you and meeting you some time.
>
>
> Thank you again,
>
>
> SPC V___

SPC V____:

These seem like simple questions, but this is a very "squishy" MOS so the answers can be pretty broad.

Here's how I sum up the job of CA:
I'm an armed secretary who can set the table for Mass, or Rosh Hashana, with equal dedication to the task. I'm every soldier's battle buddy. I'm a "stage hand" for the Chapel. I'm the Chaplain's Weapon System, should the need arise.

An over-simplification, but it helps my relatives and civilian friends understand what I do. I'll pick it apart for you.

Armed secretary:
The 56M MOS is technically administrative, but we have to be proficient in all the basic warrior skills, even though we may never need them. The Chaplain is not expected to be an expert in Military ways, and the Assistant is not expected to be an expert in religious matters. I'm lucky with Chaplain Candidate (1LT) B___, as he is pretty savvy. Not all Chaplains are. Many are pastors in uniform, not soldiers with a cross. The Assistant needs to be able to talk "Army" and translate between the Chaplain and the unit.

Land Nav is very important. Driving the truck safely is very important. Qualifying with your weapon and staying in decent shape are very important. You have to be comfortable talking on the radio, and talking on the phone and in person with soldiers of all ranks. (Even officers and higher NCO's need us - it's not all young dumb soldiers who can't pay the rent. Real world, no kidding. I've seen it, just in the 2 years I've been in.)

The CA needs to be a squared-away soldier. You have a high profile. Your first line leader, the Chaplain, reports directly to the Commander. Battalion, not Company. Your mistakes and eccentricities make the entire UMT, the entire Chaplaincy Corps, look bad.

You will not get NCO leadership experience as a 56M. You are part of a 2-person team. Yet, the lowest E1 or E2 might need to write an annex for the OPORD. In the National Guard, 56M is not a very good MOS for promotion. I'm stuck at E4 unless/until I move to Brigade, an E5/E6 position. From there I have to go to State JFHQ to get E7.

Set The Table:
By this I mean setting up for a formal service. We get trained in this in AIT, but I'm very out of practice. There are differences between a Catholic and Protestant service, in how and what gets set up. You have to know the difference between an Alb and a Yad, and when you would need each. Depending on the unit and Chaplain, the workload here will be highly variable. CC B____ doesn't stand at the head of a congregation and preach, he sits with us in a circle. No altar, highly informal. CH (MAJ) S_______ does the same thing, sometimes, and sometimes wants to stand up and deliver a sermon. Your mileage may vary.

In the Guard, we don't have a permanent Chapel facility the way a Garrison has. A Garrison Chapel runs like a normal church, with several services during an average Sunday. Offerings must be taken in, counted, accounted, deposited, and the CTOF (Chapel Tithes and Offerings Fund) must be managed. In the Guard, we don't even get to run a service every drill weekend, and when we do we sometimes have to shoe-horn it into the training. In my Battalion, our "Chapel" is a 16' x 16' frame tent, a dozen folding chairs, and a field desk with liturgical linens. Nobody has ever tried to give us money. We're not set up (administratively) to accept it if they did.

Equal Dedication:
There is a big difference between ministry and chaplaincy. We're not here to tell people why they should believe what we believe, but to support their right to believe. Having a belief system and faith in something, anything, greater than oneself gives people strength to persevere in difficult situations.

The Chaplain and Assistant are required to honor and respect the different faiths present in a unit. We are not required to believe what the individual soldier believes, but we ARE required to respect their Constitutional right to believe it themselves. In my Battalion we have the usual mix of Catholic and Protestant soldiers in roughly average proportions. We also have a few LDS (Mormon) soldiers, and we have one Wiccan that we know about (I suspect we have more than one, but they tend to be very private). CC B___ is Methodist, and I'm Buddhist. We cannot provide formal services for Catholics, and until he's finished with his Ministry degree and becomes Ordained, Chaplain Candidate B___ cannot provide formal Protestant services.

If a soldier is wounded or dying on the battle field and the Chaplain is busy, it's YOUR job to hold their hand. It doesn't, shouldn't, CAN NOT matter what their faith is and what your faith is. We're all on different roads to the same destination.

Battle Buddy:
Many Assistants come into the 56M MOS from a position of deep faith, and often with knowledge and experience gained from being laity in their home church. Not only is this not required for the job, in some ways it can be a hindrance. Prayer itself will not solve real-world problems, but it can give a person the strength to keep going toward the solution. If a soldier needs prayers, the Assistant can pray with and/or for them as they feel comfortable. But really, that's the Chaplain's job. The Chaplain's Assistant is NOT an "Assistant Chaplain." That's a very important distinction. If you remember one thing from this email, remember this.

If a soldier is having trouble in life, they will come to us, the UMT. Maybe. Sometimes we have to hunt them down, or encounter them at random, or the 1SG might send them our way. The Chaplain's Assistant needs be friends with every soldier, no matter how awful of a person they are. In fact, the biggest jerks probably need us the most. The worst dirtbag soldier becomes your best friend. You take over when the 1SG gives up on a young, dumb Private. Soldiers will call at 2am crying or freaking out, often because of trouble they have made for themselves. You have to answer the phone or text message and give them your full attention. If you need pass things on to the Chaplain, take notes. Shred them when you're done.

Chaplain's Assistants may not gossip about other soldiers. We are in a unique position, privy to deep personal secrets. There is a training component just for "privileged communications." If soldiers hear you gossiping, they may not trust you with their troubles.

Sometimes young soldiers will feel more comfortable talking with the Assistant than the Chaplain. We are the Chaplain's eyes and ears in the unit - if morale issues are developing, we may pick up on it in the motorpool, or DFAC, or in the smoking area. I don't smoke (quit about 10 years ago) but I take the occasional "non-smoking" break and talk to people. Last drill I talked to a guy while he was smoking, and it turned out he needed to talk to the Chaplain. He might not have come in contact with the UMT on his own, but after I talked to him I was able to give his name to CC B___ and get him pointed toward solving his problem. A small victory, but one I'll remember.

Buddhism and Christianity share the notion of Compassion - for all your fellows, regardless. They've earned it just by breathing. Even idiots deserve our love, maybe more than others. Every young, dumb soldier is a future NCO. Sometimes, they just need more guidance.

I always have extra MRE's in my gear, and I buy those "travel" or "sample" size toiletry kits. If a soldier needs a shave, or a meal, or a few minutes to sit down quietly in the tent, we can help with that. Having a box of Bibles is not enough. But don't forget to take them along, especially to Annual Training.

Stage Hand:
The Chaplain's Assistant is not the "star of the show," they support the "star" and help the "audience" have the best experience possible. It's sometimes hard work, and unglamorous. Can you pitch a tent in the dark, when it's snowing? Are you willing to load and unload a truck repeatedly with the same equipment? It's not "about you." Can you disappear and go do priority-of-work chores or KP when Bible Study starts? It's nice to be there, but not required, and you may have other things to do for that hour.

Like any MOS, the Chaplain's Assistant is required to maintain and deploy an Army asset; in this case, the Chaplain. The Chaplain will be very busy sometimes, and may not eat or sleep correctly. Everyone else in the unit will be concentrating on training events, and "notional" problems; the Chaplain will be running around dealing with Real World issues. During AT last year we had: soldiers (siblings, doubling the impact on the unit) needing to leave AT to deal with ailing parents; a soldier who fell off of a water buffalo and went to the hospital; a suicidal soldier; a soldier refusing to fire on the firing range because he decided he was a conscientious objector; a soldier suffering from PTSD from AIT (Really! And I think anyone would suffer from what he experienced!), and many seemingly small issues that were very important to the person involved. Meanwhile, CC B___ was tasked with giving daily battlefield rotation/field services to our Battalion, the Brigade, and all four companies of 3rd Battalion, AND participating in twice-daily Battle Update Briefings (BUBs) with Command.



Weapon System:
The Chaplain's Assistant is a soldier, (Stomp! Stomp!) first and foremost. Your job is to Shoot, Move and Communicate. Everything else is details, and variable. The Chaplain is a non-combatant, by Geneva Convention rules. Even though the enemy in our current conflicts do not respect the rules and guidelines of international combat, we have to. The CA is the only enlisted soldier with an officer for a driver. I recently told my 1SG "I'm sorry Top, I'm not trained to give an invocation before a Change of Command. My job is to kill people who shoot at the Chaplain. I'll call the Chaplain and find out when he will be here."


I've thought about this job a lot, as you might be able to tell. I've though, many times, about seeking a new MOS. One where I can get a promotion. Then I get a dozen text messages from someone freaking out, and realize I'm the only person that soldier feels comfortable unloading on. Frankly, E8 is not my goal. My goal is to bring "my" soldiers home. I say MY soldiers the same way a First Sergeant does. I feel a personal responsibility to every man and woman in the Battalion. If they don't need me, I stay out of the way. If they need me, I give them whatever I have to give. The 56A (Chaplain) and 56M (Chaplain's Assistant) MOS are the Social Workers of the Army. I joined the Army as a 38 year old Dad, wanting to give what I've learned as a Dad back to the country I love. I will have to drive down the road, and shop in grocery stores, with the soldiers of the Colorado National Guard for the rest of my life. If I can keep ONE of them from someday crossing the yellow lines in busy traffic or unloading an AK at King Soopers, I've done my job.

Ask me on the phone about the "one that got away."

This is probably a longer response than you expected. Feel free to call me sometime and we can talk about it further.

______ B______, SPC
###-###-#### (c)
###-###-#### (h)
==============================================
_/\_
An idea that is developed and put into action is more important
than an idea that exists only as an idea.
Buddha
_/\_
==============================================

Ending Fear

To a large extent, this blog was motivated by fear and uncertainty. I've ended quite a bit of my uncertainty by---

Reenlisting. Yeah.

After talking with the 1SG about my fears and uncertainties, I decided I wanted to try to get a new job in the Army. Mechanic or something. Turned out to be an unproductive hassle, and truth be told I really like being a Soldier.

If I fear that my children will not be taken care of in my absence, I'm showing a lack of faith in my Wife's abilities.

So I signed up for 6 years as a 56M (Chaplain's Assistant) with the unit I've been drilling with. I took the $10k (after taxes) bonus, combined it with my wife's end-of-the-year bonus, and we bought a minivan, paying 2/3 up front to get the payments low.

Things have been pretty good since then. We have a Chaplain finally - well, actually a Chaplain Candidate. The "official rumor" has changed from a probable deployment in 2009 to a probable not being deployed in 2009.

That's why it's been so long since I posted. I haven't been stressed out.

Fear of Leaving Work Behind

I'm not afraid to go to Iraq. What I'm afraid of is leaving my kids behind. I'm afraid of trying to get a temporary replacement to do my job, and what happens if they don't grip the rj-17 form firmly enough.

I'm a dad. That's my job. I don't think I'm doing this job very well, but I think I'm doing it better than others would.

Regarding Reenlistment (see previous post)

So of course I went in to talk to the First Sergeant (1SG) about reenlisting. I shared with him my fear of deploying, my discomfort with the amount of workload I would leave on my family, and my lack of satisfaction with my job as a Chaplain's Assistant (CA).

Let's address the latter first. I'm one of 4 guys doing a one-man job, and we don't really have anything to do without a Chaplain. Which we don't have. We do get occasional support from the acting Brigade Chaplain, a Major, who preaches at a Baptist church in a microscopic rural town in the middle of nowhere. He came to drill this month, meeting us at an armory in a small town near his town. We convoyed up in HMMWV's. All 4 Chaplain Assistants were drivers, earning hours toward our military driver's licenses.

We got to the armory around noon, ate TOTM's for lunch, and then had a worship service with the Major. Three people showed up, in addition to the Chaplain assistants. Two of them were somewhat press-ganged into showing by the Chaplain. Then he read to us about Abram/Abraham and fear. Fear of God, he said, is the cure for other fear. And he insisted that we should read the Bible. He also made a very confused statement about Buddhism, regarding the notion of Deity, polytheism, pantheism, etcetera, in response to a question by the new guy in the UMT.

Personally, I don't like his heavy-handed approach. I don't think his job is to convince people of the need to follow his approach to religion, and I don't think he's able to meet the needs of a broad spectrum of soldiers. But, hey, he's a Baptist preacher. What do you expect?

I rode in the convoy with a Sergeant First Class (SFC - E7). I drove and he was my senior driver, keeping me safe. He told me a story about the Major. SFC was in the field during an AT many years back, and the Major showed up with his CA. He asked the SFC what his religious background is, and the SFC said he didn't wanna talk about it. Chaplain pressed him, the SFC told him (he's almost atheist, and prefers not to be told what to think by people who haven't lived his life) and the Chaplain and Chaplain's Assistant ganged up on him, trying to convince him of the error of his ways. It became a shouting conversation. There's friction between them to this day.

So I'm not getting a lot of satisfaction from the CA job. It seems like a do-nothing job, and there's 4 of us not doing the nothing. I got caught standing around doing nothing with my guys by the 1SG a couple of times at the Armory Sunday after we convoyed back. Finally, One of my guys and I took a bag of trash to the dumpster, and then hung out behind the dumpster for a while chatting. I felt icky.

Anyway, back to the 1SG conversation.... I told him I wasn't enjoying the job, and he said "well, let's get you another one." That involved driving to (nearby big city) to get a color-vision test from the National Guard doctor. I didn't pass, but the Lieutenant Colonel (doctor) really wanted me to pass. We tried the Ishihara Plates several times. I could miss 3 and pass, but I kept missing 4. Given better memorization skills, I could have made it, but no-go. He told me to go to a civilan opthamologist or optometrist and get a different test than the plates, since he could tell I have some color vision, but with defects.

So I did. I took the Farnsworth D-15 test 3 times. Finally, the doctor came in to ask me why I wanted the test done. I said it's for a better job. We went over the Ishihara plates again. Had I been trying to get out of something (like going to Iraq), she could have given me a no-go result, but since I was trying for a job, she gave me a go. It was all about which two of the three results to put down.

Now I'm crossing my fingers. Maybe I can get Army training to become a machinist, or a mechanic. That would be good - I would like to be employable again someday, when the kids are all in school.

So maybe I'll be going away again next year to get MOS training. Then we have to figure out who watches the kids. And that's the big one. That's the big one.

Expiration, Term of Service

I can't do it.

At the last training meeting I was told I have 54 days left until my ETS - Expiration, Term of Service. I said I would re-enlist at the next drill.

But I don't think I can do it.

I'm not afraid to go to Iraq. I'm afraid of leaving my family behind.

I haven't come up with a childcare plan to even cover MUTA 6 and 7 drills next year, when we'll be gathering at the armory on Thursday evenings or Friday mornings.

I don't really trust anyone to watch my kids for me. I had a family friend watching them this summer so I could go to training, but I can't use him again. He has his own life. And besides, I don't like all the things that happened while I was gone.

I joined up so that I could train my family to let go of me, so that maybe I could do other things once in a while. But they really haven't, and I haven't been able to let go of them either.

"Noise will not cease by noise but by silence alone"

I read Brad Warner's blog, Hardcore Zen. He also writes a column for Suicide Girls, which I read once in a while when it shows up in the comments for his blog. In his latest column he says, in the context of freedom via American military might:

"our ability to walk down the streets of Akron, Ohio in 1982 in our green Mohawks and leather jackets was largely underwritten by the threat of violence by the cops against the many rednecks in the area"

An amazing insight. I wish more "counter culture" types would understand it.

Likewise, American vegetarianism is enabled (in the Freudian sense) by a strong corporate economy.

I posted most of this post as a comment on Brad's blog. But I felt the need to put it here, too.

His column was in response to an article by Stephen Bachelor

I'm Buddhist, and I'm a Soldier. I joined out of Compassion for my fellow Americans. That's you guys, even the anonymous 9/11-Inside Job freak(s).

And for the Soldiers that will be coming home and driving down the road toward me for the next 50 years, and shopping for produce near me, etc.

Remember those guys. They need your love now, and later. Not your resentment, immature comments, or fear.

The war-crimes commited in Mahmudia made me sick. I wondered where those boys' leaders were. I decided I could do my little bit of "right effort" by doing my job well, not badly.

I didn't create this war, and I can't end it. But if I have to go over, I'll make sure MY guys are fighting for good, not evil, as much as I can.

Many Americans, left and right, are calling for the immediate removal of troops from Iraq, without any sense of history, or politics, or even common sense. Bush may have started a stupid war for stupid reasons, but now we're the cops-on-the-beat in Iraq. If we leave now, Shiites will still be shooting at Sunnis and also at other Shiites.

"Give peace a chance" doesn't mean jack shit for the jihadists stirring up ancient hatred in the desert. Or for the Iraqis afraid of the Iraqi National Police.

If we just up and leave, will your Compassionate heart weep for the dying Iraqis?

Try One

Took the wife and kids camping this week. School starts next Monday, and I drill this weekend, so the middle of the week was the best opportunity. Campground was surprisingly full - other folks who figured the campground would be packed on the weekend.

So I'm sitting at the dining table chatting about the plans, and I say "a high-speed soldier would probably write up an Op-Order for this trip." And she looks at me. And she grins. And I know I'm gonna have to do it. So I did. I found a couple of template-type documents to build an OPORD with, and I filled it in (more or less, I skipped a lot of stuff) and in the end, it helped the trip go more smoothly.

We didn't pack enough clothing, and were cold in the evening. I forgot to get 9-volt batteries for the remote control trucks. Everything else went great. I brought balsa gliders, so the remote control truck disappointment didn't last very long.

I used the camping trip as an opportunity to practice some things - like the OPORD, like radio communication, like map reading, and map research, and pace-counting from the campground up to the fishing lakes. I taught the kids a bit about the radios, and we all had call signs. The boys learned a bit about reading topographic maps. We went to a different location the next day where there were less people, and shot an air rifle and BB gun at a target. We picked up other people's trash, and talked about who owns the National Forest. (I do - and so do you. Don't forget it.)

And the whole time, I kept thinking about 2009.

I'm section chief of the Unit Ministry Team, so I go to monthly training planing meetings. At the last meeting, it was mentioned that we might deploy in 2009. Might. Maybe. And if we do, it might be as a BSB, which we are, or it might be as a security unit.

I was awake from 3 am to 5 am today thinking about that.

I signed up originally on the "try one" plan - a one year enlistment. In order to get student loan repayment, I have to re-up. I couldn't get that benefit just enlisting. Also, when I signed up I liked the "if I don't like it" option.

Now we're coming up on my year. November 11th.

Gives a man something to think about at 4 am.

Compassion, Pacifism and an Army Blanket Zafu

I'm home from AIT (advanced individual training) to become a Chaplain Assistant. I explained Army training like this to my wife: It's a cross between a boy-scout jamboree and a medium-security detention facility.

During WTC and AIT, certain questions come up in conversation - "Why did you join the Army? Why did you come back in? Why did you choose this MOS?"

Naturally, during an intense Unique Shared Experience (see prior post "the 5 minute self-help seminar") a certain amount of Self-Disclosure is expected. I told people that I'm a stay-at-home dad, and joined the Army to get a vacation. Glib, and incomplete, but true.

Now I'm home from vacation. Another part of the price I pay for freedom: I came home to a yard overrun with weeds. Time to get ugly with the RoundUp.

The first thing to know about Chaplain Assistants is that we're not assistant Chaplains. Our job is to carry a weapon, since the Chaplain can't. That's almost the first thing they teach.

Predictably, the class was full of church-going Christians. One Jewish guy. And me.

I became more and more comfortable telling people "I'm Buddhist." It made them comfortable to be able to label me.

I couldn't say: "I'm deeply agnostic, almost atheist, and think religion is a tool for the powered elites to control the masses, and a method for people to avoid taking personal responsibility f0r their lives."

So I said "I'm Buddhist," and pretty soon I came to believe it too. OK, keep in mind here, I took a small stack of books with me to AIT: A Bible I've had since I was 8 (I've never read the whole thing - have you? Every word of it?); The Teaching of Buddha; Zen Mind Beginner's Mind; and Brad Warner's books, Sit Down and Shut Up and Hardcore Zen. So I'm not exactly going out on a limb here. I've been studying Buddhism for about 10 years, and somewhat deeply for maybe three.

Dogen (1200 - 1253 CE) said: "To be free from the idea of the self means not to be attached to the self" so any "I am" statement is suspect.

Just as an aside, I've found that it's harder for me to explain Buddhism now than it was several years ago. I guess it's a sign of progress. Someday, when someone asks me what Buddhism is all about, maybe I'll be able to honestly answer "three pounds of flax," and really mean it, and help the listener understand what that means. In the meantime, I just confuse people. Probably because I'm confused right now. So when people ask me "Buddha is like Jesus, right?" I don't have a good answer. "Three pounds of flax" isn't gonna help them.

It's hard to tell people that sitting in a corner staring at paint is the answer.

I talked to my dad while I was there. He's an old pacifist hippy. He didn't let me have toy guns as a kid. He got drafted back in 1967, and managed to non-cooperate long enough for the Army to give up on trying to indoctrinate him after about 4 months. So needless to say, he's not really thrilled about the current war, and VERY unhappy by the idea of me going to Iraq at some point.

What does it mean to be "against" war? I don't like war, and I think this war is a bad idea badly done. I can't change the fact that there IS a war, though. I'm not the President, I'm not running for President, and I don't have any way of affecting this or any other President directly. So what the hell can I do? Being "against" war is easy. Even the Army is "against" war. Doing something to make a change in the world is the hard part.

Standing on a street corner with a picket sign is useless at best. It doesn't affect policy, it doesn't help those who are suffering from the war, and I doubt it changes the minds of anyone driving by. "Oh, look, it's those leftists peace-nics again, telling us to let the terrorists win."

I live in a county were people still write (or call) the newspaper to inform us that Iraq had "something" to do with 9/11. The protesters aren't gonna change that person's mind. But they feel like they're doing something, so they get that little kick of accomplishment. But they haven't accomplished anything. They could have used that time to collect and mail care packages to soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan instead of standing of a corner jerking their emotions off.

I tried to explain some of this to my dad. Like all of us, he has perceptual filters. So I tried to explain my actions in terms of Compassion, "wanting others to be free from suffering." But you can't just live your life being empathetic to all the suffering in the world - that just makes you an emotional doormat. You have to balance Compassion with Wisdom. He wasn't understanding what I was getting at. As I said, I'm at a point of confusing people a lot these days.

Some Buddhists are vegetarians. They are driven to avoid eating meat, by having compassion for the living beings that are killed for food. Never mind that a zucchini is a living being, and that we poison microbes by the billions in order to flush our toilets with drinking water.

I eat meat.

I have compassion for the animals, and I take emotional responsibility for their deaths. If I could keep chickens in my yard, I would, and I would chop their heads off myself. I have meat-eating teeth and digestive tract. When I eat meat, I remember that it's an animal, not just a shrink-wrapped package of protein-rich food.

I have compassion for the cattle ranchers, too, and the chicken farmers, and the people employed across the nation who kill and dismember those animals for me, so I don't have to. Vegetarian diet makes sense in an economy where meat is a luxury, but in America organically grown vegetables, tofu and grain-burgers are the luxury. Vegetarianism is a bourgeois privilege.

Likewise, some Buddhists are pacifists, against warfare and aggression of all kinds. Nonviolence, understanding and sharing the suffering of other living beings, not killing other living beings. . . sounds pretty good, and probably seems easy when you sit on your ass on a clean zafu in a nice quiet monastery.

Meanwhile, the real world is a messy and dangerous place. Jesus told people to "turn the other cheek," a difficult task when you're head has been blown off by an exploding Toyota.

Can we even consider suicide bombers to be living beings? Or have they already demoted themselves?

"Pacifism is a privilege of the protected." Bumper sticker I saw a while back, and liked the thought. It's easy to be a pacifist, here in America, where we can go buy organic vegetables without bombs going off. In Iraq, people die just because they were driving past a police station at the wrong time. I'm not buying the rhetoric that we "fight terror there so we don't have to fight it here." The longer the "war on terror" continues, the greater the chance that you or I will experience it directly. In the meantime, American soldiers are over there, and we can't change that with all the picket signs in the world. But we can help the soldiers come home ready to rejoin our comfortable low-conflict society.

My job, as a Chaplain Assistant, is simply to look out for the "morals and morale" of the soldiers in my unit. The job of the Unit Ministry Team is to "nurture the living, care for the dying, honor the dead." We all have a right, in this country, to believe what we want about God, and have whatever relationship with God works best for us.

War is an awful environment, and psychologically unhealthy for the participants. Every soldier that comes home, risks coming home damaged. Some just a little, some a lot. I've met a few already that were just that little bit damaged. This is my country, and those are my countrymen. Can I use my compassion to help them come home healthier?

I'm not an Iraqi or Afghan. I'm an American, here in America. I don't worship any imaginary abstractions. But the collection of people, systems and dirt that we call America deserves my worship. It feeds and protects me. It nurtures and clothes me. It houses and holds me and gives me opportunities to raise a family, have jobs and hobbies, and allows me the freedom to move anywhere within it. How can I not love that?

My compassion cannot include the Iraqis who torture and dismember one another. I must protect myself from that pain with the wisdom that I cannot change them, or help them understand the amount of pain they are causing the planet. But I can understand the pain they are causing.

This is MY planet. I have to take care of it in any way I can. I don't have much to offer, and I don't have very many resources to muster. But I have what compassion and wisdom I've accumulated thus far. I chose to enlist in the US Army during wartime, that I might make a little bit of difference.

Zen meditation includes two forms, sitting and walking. Brad Warner is a bit fundamentalist in his approach to meditation, and he doesn't believe that you can sit Zazen in a chair - you MUST sit on a cushion, in the perfect posture, in a quiet room... or you're not doing Zen medition you're just spacing out. Whatever. I meditate standing in formation. Maintain perfect Parade Rest posture. I meditate at traffic lights. Sit upright, focus on breathing, and maintain awareness of all the vehicles, pedestrians and lights. In WTC we pulled fireguard duty at night, in a darkened barracks full of snoring and farting soldiers. To stay awake, I did walking meditation. What mudra did I hold my hands in? I held my rifle at a perfect Low Ready.

But when you sit, you do have to use proper posture in order to sit comfortably, to maintain focus for as long as possible. Discomfort is a distraction. The cushion is just a tool.

There are similarities between a military barracks and a monastery. You live with your own gender only, you're not supposed to be having sex with anyone, and you can't have beer or liquor in your room. There are duties to perform, but the environment is controlled and orderly and your responsbilities are minimal.

Here's how to meditate in a barracks. You don't need a Zafu and Zabuton. You don't need a brass Buddha. You don't need an altar with candles, incense, and offerings of fruit and rice. All you need to do is sit. This is Hardcore Zen. Put a brown Army towel (or two) folded in half on the ground to pad your knees. That's your zabuton. Fold a wool Army blanket in fourths lengthwise, then fourths the other way. If that's too high or not high enough, do it differently next time.

What is Hardcore Zen? Just sit. That's it. What's hardcore about it is rejecting all expectations, all delusions. No ornamentation. No philosophy. No enlightenment. No reincarnation. No Nirvana. Just sit.

The Price of Freedom

I'm writing this from a computer at the USO in the airport. In a few hours, I'll be at Ft. Jackson, SC processing in to start learning to be a Chaplain's Assistant.

The price I have to pay for this is missing out on my kids' summer vacation, for about 6 weeks. I have seen nearly every day of their lives. My wife went away for a week last year so I could fix part of the house. For Warrior Transition, I missed the month of June this year, one month my baby girl's life. Doesn't sound like much but it's one of only 24 she's had. Her vocabulary, conversational skills and enunciation all noticeably improved in that month. Now I spend another month and a half away. What do I get for my spending?

Americans take a lot for granted, things that we can include in the definition of "freedom" we enjoy. We are free to drive oversized cars unnecessary distances to go see a movie. We're free to get fat eating Big Macs. We're free to get our teeth cleaned twice a year. We're free to watch terrible TV, and we're free not to. We're free to own homes. We're free to buy vegetables without Toyotas exploding next to us. We're free to go about our lives unarmed.

The price we pay is steep. We pay taxes to have roads. We have expensive health care. We have police. We can't navigate society (especially out here in the sprawled-out West) without a car. Most of our clever gadgets are made overseas, and a lot of jobs here are being taken by immigrants from Mexico. Immigrants, just like our ancestors from Ireland, England, Italy, Germany . . . people who left somewhere crappy to go somewhere better. And it is better here. It's great. Honestly, look around your life and ask "what do I have to bitch about?"

So. Does Iraq threaten our freedom? Hardly - it's too busy effing up itself. What about "al Qaeda in Iraq?" They're too busy stirring up a hornet's nest for their own ends.

Here I sit, a recently enlisted American Soldier. How am I paying for our freedom? By being part of the system that protects us from all threats, including bad Presidents. If I get sent to war in Iraq or Afghanistan, I go, even if I think it's a bad idea. I don't have the freedom to not go - I've spent that freedom to protect the other freedoms. I have the freedom to disagree, to vote for someone else to be my Commander in Chief, to elect other congressmen, or even to run for office myself.

Part of the Soldier's Creed reads "I serve the American People. . ." I serve the fat SUV driver in front of me in the Wendy's Drive-thru. I'm here to protect her from anything that threatens her Paradigm of Convenience. I'm here to protect her obliviousness to the cost of freedom, her ability to take these things for granted.

It's not about this war, or the next one or the last one. It's about the need of a Nation to be armed and strong, so that her citizens can be fat and comfortable, and live free from fear.

I've been trying to write a post about Warrior Transition Course. I don't want it to just be a travelog, so I haven't gotten very far.

Before I enlisted I did a lot of research. Some of it was blogs by Soldiers. I read one that started off with a post complaining about having to sit through a "Family Readiness" meeting again, for his third deployment, instead of spending a few more hours with his wife. The posts from Iraq read like a Mack Bolan novel. The blog ends with a link to his obituary.

Sobering.

I also read Fun With Hand Grenades, by Dreadcow. It's in the list of "Blogs I Read." I recommend reading it from the beginning. He started off fairly enthusiastic about the Army, then lost the joy, but still had the "fight them over there" attitude. Now, he's lost even that, as he endures stop-loss and another deployment.

Dreadcow's writing inspires me to dig deeper into my self.

As a Chaplain's Assistant, I know I may have to kneel by the stretcher of dying Soldiers and give them "last rites", the last comfort they will ever receive. I tried to get to know as many of the 265 people in my training company as I could, and help them stay cheerful. I also tried to visualize every one of them dying on a stretcher. Sometimes I would look at half a squad and define them as "dead" in my mind.

I didn't sign on to help the Iraqi's. I don't give a damn about them. They shoot each other, and torture their neighbors with with power drills. Fuck 'em. I signed on to help the Soldiers. I wanted a maintenence job, but I'm colorblind, so I can't have one. But if I can help a few guys come back from combat and live as solid citizens, that's what I'm here for. "I am an American Soldier. I serve the American People and live the Army values."

Get used to it, readers, that's what I'm all about. I don't give a fuck about the Book of Mark, or what Dogen said, I care about the civilization I have to live the rest of my life in, and my children are going to live in.

"Where's The Bus?"

March drill was about the VCOT for our half of the company. The other half went to the range and qualified with M16's.

I'm writing this entry weeks later, and just days before I ship out to WTC.

So here's how drill went.

We were scheduled to show up at 1800 Friday. Private P called me at about 1400 claiming he was sick. He had talked to the 1SG about it, but was told he needed to call me, his section chief.

I arrived about 1730, to get my gear in order. I packed according to the list sent out with the monthly Company Newsletter. Big mistake.

One full duffel from home of uniforms, boots, underwear, socks, toiletry kit, towel....

One backpack with civvies, personal gear like CD player, books I didn't read, and snacks.

One duffel from my locker at the unit, with rucksack and sleeping bag.

Another duffel with, well, all the crap. Goggles, rubber boots, load-carrying vest, knee and elbow pads, camelback. Basically everything except the chem warfare suit. I could have simplified a bit, but most of the bulk was on the packing list.

We also were issued M16's and gas masks, and we had our helmets. I had to get help carrying my bags to the bus. And off. And on again Sunday, and off again at the end. I won't make the mistake of following instructions again.

I was supposed to get some HMMWV time. Sergeant K was going to drive, and I was going to ride shotgun, then get some time driving "down-range" during the weekend. But the vehicle was "deadlined" which means it was not working. So I joined the other two Chaplain's assistants ("my privates") on the chartered bus following the convoy. We sat, with rifles, masks and helmets all wedged in together. The movie wasn't interesting. The speakers were loud and the one over my head rattled. We stopped for Taco Bell, then continued.

At Ft. Whatzerface we were billeted in a barracks. Steam heat. Bunkbeds with mattresses, no linen. The three Chaplain Assistants (my two privates and I) selected a nice area with wall lockers in between the bunks and the hall. It was close to the entrance. Between the three of us we had 11 total bags. Private S asked me which bunk I wanted, top or bottom. I said "gee, the choice between piss-stained and lumpy, I'll take piss stained." I put my poncho liner down on the mattress and put my sleeping bag on top of that.

The First Sergeant wandered by to check on us and called me "Sergeant B" in a very magnanimous tone. He kept doing it all weekend. I asked him about it and he said "Every time I see you, you remind me of an E-5." Back at the Armory, before we left, he introduced me to a Lieutenant. He described me as "He's one of our Chaplain Assistants, but I think he's too high-speed for that." Army compliments are weird.

Anyway, he asked why we had so many bags. I told him I had packed according to the list in the newsletter. I told him I wouldn't do it again. That seemed to please him.

Later, the admin NCO poked his head into our area and said we needed to provide one guy for kp duty. He was looking straight at me. Private D had volunteered for the last one, at last drill, and I couldn't look SSG B in the eye and point at Private S (with a straight face) so I threw my hand in the air. Later, Private D was added to the detail anyway. He was okay with that - he likes to eat, and kp's get to eat first, before the chow hall opens, and last, picking over whatever is left on the line. Like steaks. And cake.

We were scheduled for wakeup at 0530. The first cellphone alarm clock went off at 0455. Several followed in next few minutes. Nobody got up. Jerks. I lay there wishing for sleep until the 1SG came through flipping on lights. Breakfast was HeaterMeals pancakes. Lunch was MRE - grab one now, carry it with you. I tore my MRE apart and left all the packaging and stuff I wasn't gonna eat behind, packed the entree, cocoa powder and crackers in my pockets for easy carry.

Eventually we left for the VCOT. Essentially a multi-player video game installed in a tractor trailer. Windows based, with all that that implies.

It was run like a real mission - prebrief, execute, after-action review. Repeat. I was the gunner on the convoy commander's truck, running the .50 cal for the first iteration. The picture above is the controller for the gunner, mounted into an actual truck. You can kinda see the three monitors provided for the driver. Virtual reality goggles were provided for the gunner positions, so we could look one way, point the weapon another, and be moving down the road in a third. Disorienting, as there was lag between moving your head and the view changing. Most disorienting after, when the real world didn't do that. We were told during the pre-pre-briefing "If you feel like you're gonna barf, don't hit the equipment. Go outside."

Graphics were fairly crude, low polygon representation of Baghdad with gun trucks, random busses and other civilians, RPG guys on rooftops, and AK-wielding bad guys. We got lost in almost every iteration. People died. Trucks flipped over. Things caught fire. Civilians got shot by mistake. I did the last, but I had a lot of kills on bad guys, too. I spent a lot of quality time playing Medal of Honor a few years ago, so I was able to overcome some of the interface learning curve pretty quickly. MoH has better graphics.... but then, PlayStations aren't running Windows.

Next iteration I participated in, I got to drive a Humvee. Accelerated like a cow. Stopped on a dime. Confusing, being part of a group trying to accomplish a task in an unfamiliar environment, while people shoot at you. But I didn't die, I kept the convoy commander safe, and when I realized the convoy was scattered, I went back to let the gunner give cover and the commander see what was going on.

Then I ran radios on the cargo truck. That was a waste. I didn't know what to say, the guys ahead of us got lost and led us into a bad neighborhood, and eventually my truck got shot up by seven guys standing on a street corner with AK's that apparently the rest of the convoy ahead of me had not noticed.

Between iterations, I was trained on the use of my gas mask. I was signed off for M16 Maintenance training and Land Navigation, but the forms were just pencil-whipped during lunch without doing the training sessions for everyone.

During some of the standing-around time I learned that SGT G is leaving the Army. He has some kind of PTSD issues from his time in Iraq. "I can get more money from the VA than the Army" was how he put it. Later, I sat on the bench near him in the briefing area in the front section of the VCOT trailer. I scooted closer to him, to make room for someone else to sit on the bench, and he quickly stood up, and sat on a stack of boxes in the corner a few feet away. I said "Those boxes a bit softer than the maple bench?" He said "Until they tell me to get off." I don't think that's why he moved away. When he moved it reminded me of startling a bird.


Also between iterations, the conversation turned, naturally, to the war in Iraq. Sergeant K said something about "Weapons of mass destruction," and said something about a "big stash" that's been found that's "never been reported in the mainstream media." I didn't ask how he knows about it if it hasn't been reported.

Lunch. We were told that hot soup was available at firing range 51. Okay. . . "Over there, by those hills," was the best directions. I said "Eff this, I'm eating my MRE," and went back inside. My privates followed. Conversation in the lunchroom included: an episode of Jackass (or maybe from the movie - not sure) in which a guy shoves a Hotwheels car up his ass and then goes to the emergency room to get an xray, just to get the reaction of the tech. Corvette? Fire truck? Did he lube the condom? Yeah, that's dining conversation in the Army. No, there were no women present. About 30 guys.

Later I was going to drive the cargo truck but the Blue Screen of Death ended the day early for us. While we were waiting around to find out if the iteration was going to run or not, I noticed the time on the monitor said "5 am"and commented that maybe we were on Baghdad time. MSG H was looking over my shoulder, and we discussed for several minutes what time it would be in Baghdad at that time of day. He was convinced that France is 3 or 4 time zones east of Greenwich, England, and that Baghdad is at least 8 hours east of that. I was convinced that it's more like 4 time zones from GMT to Baghdad. Turns out it's three. Not sure if he was magifying the distance from here to Baghdad in his head, or if he managed to get to Master Sergeant with that poor of a sense of geography.

Eventually Private D and I went to the "d-fac" (dining facility) for our kp duty. We had to give our weapons to others, as we were not allowed to have them in the GSA van. I gave mine to SGT K. Private D gave his to Private S.

Turns out the cook in our unit really takes pride in his job. Damn good steaks. Salad, canned corn, instant mashed potatoes that were pretty good, two kinds of cake, (one from scratch) and even some ice cream. I helped rinse a few dishes (Private D scrubbed). The container of soup that was supposed to be taken to the VCOT showed up. We dumped it and hosed it out.

We paused to eat our meal. Then I served ice cream. Half a tub of Oreo cookies-and-cream, and half a tub of strawberry. People were thrilled. We used it all up, cookies and cream first. I could tell who had been at the firing range that day. They were burned-out tired. Some seemed confused by the question "Ice cream?" and had to figure out how to answer. Many just skipped it. Sergeant K came by with my weapon and his slung over his shoulder, and felt a need to grouse at me about it. After dinner we cleaned the kitchen, and swept and mopped the dining area. There were four of us, so the work went pretty quick.

I liked kp. It wasn't hard work, I ate twice, everyone saw me on task, and whatever I do in uniform is a novelty at this point. Eventually we got a ride back to the barracks.

I asked the guy who pencilwhipped the training list if he could give me the M16 training. So he did. Never got the land navigation training.

Next morning I skipped the HeaterMeal pancakes, and packed that and my MRE lunch to take home for show-and-tell with the kids. Packed my multitude of bags, and went down to wait for the bus. During morning formation, the sun came up. Bunnies hopped around near us. The sky was clear, except for a few clouds hanging on the peaks visible over the barracks. First Sergeant, in his formation briefing, wanted to talk about marijuana.

"Not compatable with Army values," he said. "I think it's stupid, it should be just as legal as drinking, but it isn't so don't do it. In 998 days when I retire, I'm gonna smoke the biggest spliff you ever saw. But I'm in uniform now, so I'm not going to. Don't you do it either."

Then we waited for the bus. It was scheduled for 0730 arrival, so we could depart at 0800. Around 0750 the 1SG got a call on his cell phone - the driver was having trouble finding the right exit to get into the post. A man who lived in the adjoining city was sent off to go find the bus and guide him in. Then we waited. At about 0830 the 1ST got another call - the driver had scraped the bus coming through the gates, so the Military Police were going to have to do paperwork. At 0900 the 1ST left to go find out what was going on. He came back half an hour later, and informed us that the driver had hit a pylon at the gate entrance with the bus. The bus was okay, but the driver blew .o49 on a breathalizer. So the charter bus company was sending a new driver out. Her name, no kidding, was "Burgundy." So the 1ST organized us into vehicles and we moved the party to Burger King.

You know you're on an Army post when 30 guys with M16's don't fluster the BK manager. She just put one guy on our order, and the other kid on any other customers, while she handled the drive-thru. Captain paid for us. Then we waited some more. Then we were told the driver was on post, and checking out the bus, so we went outside, and waited some more. I think the bus finally rolled out at about noon.

When we finally arrived back at the armory, it was time to do a bunch of cleaning details. I tracked down Private P and learned that he had been transferred to the kitchen, so now it's just 3 of us (plus one scheduled to start Basic training this week) filling a one-man job slot. Then I put myself and Private D to work picking up trash around the fenceline.

At final formation, the company was supposed to come up with a new motto - something to shout out in unison when we're called to attention. Private D said "Hey, B, what was your idea?" and I said "Where's the bus." Private C, next to me on the other side, really liked it. It spread through the formation as we stood there waiting for the first sergeant.

So the 1SG shows up, and calls us to attention "Company - ten HUT!"

"WHERE'S THE BUS!" we all say in unison, echoing off the walls of the buildings.

"At ease," he says, looking sideways, with a puzzled look. "Company, ten HUT!"

"WHERE'S THE BUS!" He's caught it this time, and now he's grinning.

"At ease. Company - ten HUT!"

"WHERE'S THE BUS!" This time was even louder.

"At ease. I like it. I don't think the commander will go for it permanently, but today, it's good. Company - ten HUT!"

"WHERE'S THE BUS!" and this time, I think the neighborhood could hear us.

Another exciting weekend in the National Guard.

Second Drill

Which was actually my third, counting "reception" in December.

But it was my second weekend of falling into formation with my unit.

I was called several days before drill by the SSG in admin, and asked to report early (0630 vs 0700) on Saturday morning, as I would be attending a class, and the van would be leaving before formation. So I missed morning formation.

Then I rode in a 7-passenger van for 2 hours. The windows steamed up. My feet were cold.

Eventually we arrived at Ft. Noneofyourbizness. The E5's and above were there for a class on "Range Safety," and the E4's and below were "suggested" to sit in on it. So we did. It was dull. Informative, in many ways, and I'll have to take that class later when I get certified as a RSO (range safety officer) so I payed attention, but it was dull in ways that only military training can be.

Then we had our "ammo handler" class. The first 50 minutes were all about paperwork. The second fifty were about hazmat transporting, and how to read the "yellow book."

Then we left. First stop on the way off base was clothing sales. I bought Specialist rank tabs for my patrol cap, and a new canteen since the one I was issued was used, and smelled like it. Total cost, less than 5 bucks.

Then we went to the mini mall. AAFES store, the military walmart. Hallways filled with booths and carts selling tacky nicknacks. T-shirts, barber and drycleaning. Food court. Yes, I bought my own lunch that weekend, dammit. Good Philly steak sandwich, but it cost almost 10 bucks.

Then the 2 hour van ride back to "home station." Missed afternoon formation.

On Sunday, I met a new Chaplain's Assistant. He's been to school for the job, unlike the rest of us. The Unit Ministry Team now has 5 Assistants. And then the Chaplain told us he's going to a new unit.

That leaves me as the highest ranking CA in the UMT. I haven't been to Army Basic, or Warrior Transition Course (WTC), the modified basic for prior-service folks. I haven't been to AIT (more school) to learn how to be a Chaplain's Assistant. In fact, I'm still waiting on a security clearance to find out if I can even have the job. I've been in the Army since November. And now I'm in charge of 4 privates.

The Army is weird.

Nobody has ever asked me my religion. Everyone assumes I'm a Bible thumper or something, since I'm a CA. I feel like a closet Agnostic.

Well, to be honest, the Chaplain asked us to talk about our backgrounds during the religious service on Sunday. I think he was feeling us out for who he may take with him to the other unit. I confessed that "I've been studying Buddhism" for about ten years. He said later that as ranking member, he thinks I should stay. Yea. Like I wanna drive an extra hour for drill every month to go hang out with him.

So now I report directly to the First Sergeant.

The admin SSG sent me an email a week or so after drill, about the "company training meeting." Now I get to go to meetings. I think I get paid for them. But I also have to do homework - the Training Book, Work Plans, and Leader Book.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Next month we go "down range" to Ft. Noneofyourbizness as a unit. We will be doing VCOT and Warrior Tasks, like map reading and land navigation. Stuff that will help me do better at WTC. I might get to shoot, the First Sergeant asked me if I wanted to since I'll miss the April drill. I said "Yes, if I can!" In the meantime I have to look through some obsolete Army manuals (1990, back when the CA job had the MOS 71M instead of 56M) and fill in a "Work Plan" for my guys.

During the first drill, the Chaplain held a small service on Sunday. Three guys came. Chaplain read from John, Chapter 3, the first 8 verses or so. The message was "Truely, truely, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." We sat in a circle, he read, we talked about it a bit. He asked for prayer requests, and got a few, and said a bit of "daddy, gimme" prayer for others. I was pretty uncomfortable with it all. I felt like he was talking to me, since I know I'm not "born again," in the Christian sense.

Second drill, he read from Luke, 8:57 And as they were going along the road, someone said to Him, "I will follow you wherever you go." 58 And Jesus said to him "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head." And so on to the end of the chapter.

Following Jesus means leaving your family, abandoning the expectations of others, and not looking back, in this passage. I felt, again, that he was talking to me. He asked the question "do you have what it takes?" We discussed the passage in the context "what do we value?" I said comfort. I think that struck him, somewhat. Later, I thought that perhaps he was thinking of his own choices, to move to another unit, when he chose that passage. He's not going to go to Iraq, he says, he's going to be supporting the guys as they get ready to leave, and then when they come back. But I think he might end up going over. I think he secretly wants it.

So what do we do next month? We can sit in a circle and read a passage and discuss it. I'm thinking about the Christian and Buddhist notions of rebirth, and my own agnostic Buddhist version of rebirth. Easter is coming, seems appropriate. Tomorrow I'm going to call all of "my" soldiers and talk about it with them.

First Drill

I attended my first drill with my unit this weekend. Uniform of the Day for me was jeans and a tee shirt, as I have not yet been issued uniforms. I talked to a Staff Sergeant in supply about that. He said my stuff is on order, and I should have it by next drill.

Unlike the Chinese soldiers in this photo, there was no inspection.

In fact, it was a pretty relaxed weekend.

For many, it was the first drill together as a new unit.

My unit was headquarters for an artillery brigade, but now we're a Brigade Support Battalion. New Top, new name, new mission, new people.

My confusion was the least important confusion in the room.

Saturday morning was a medical thing. We had to fill out paperwork (of course), read an eyechart, step on a scale, give blood samples and get shots. I'm new, so I have no records, so they were gonna give me "all" the shots. I pulled out my 1986 Basic Training shot records that have every injection since then recorded and said "perhaps you could check my immunization card..." That got me out of a third Measels-Mumps-Rhubella (you only need one per life) injection, but I still got four shots, two per arm. Then we went out to the "dental trailer." Imagine a full size tractor trailer with RV pop-out sections. Inside, a 5 room dental clinic. Panoramic and bite-wing x-rays, and a cursory inspection by a dentist with no tool but a dental mirror. He said my teeth are fine, I'm due for a cleaning, and perhaps I should look into an implant for the tooth I don't have.

I met the Chaplain. He went from having no assistants to having three, with a possible fourth on the way. He seems unsure how to deal with that. Some of us may be headed to other Chaplains at other units.

The Chaplain is an associate pastor at an "evangelical free church." His short sermon on Sunday involved reading from John, chapter 3, in which Jesus is confronted by a Pharisee named Nicodemus regarding the notion of "born again." The discussion revolved around that issue. He asked for prayer requests. People told him what they wanted him to beg God for, things like money and health.

I stayed in "shut the fuck up and don't say something stupid" mode.

Have I mentioned that I'm an empiricist agnostic, currently studying Lojong? I haven't said anything to anyone in uniform.

I feel kinda uncomfortable around him, and I suspect he knows my dogtags and paperwork read "no religious preference." Or maybe I'm being paranoid. But I checked out some books on Evangelical Theology and other Christianity topics from the library today. I should bone up on it at least.

I spent some time moving furniture for the office the Unit Ministry Team will share with three other teams. It was all old furniture. I am surprised (somewhat) by the age of everything, and it's state of disrepair.

I also spent some quality time with a rubber glove (one, I had to share the pair), a sponge, some "Cleanser, Abrasive, With Bleach", and a bathroom. I signed on to "support the troops," and that's what was needed. I didn't bitch about the task, but I suggested a toilet brush and some "general purpose cleaner" spray would be a helpful addition.

The urinal was falling off of the wall. Really. The mounting points at the top of the urinal were broken off, and the urinal was a half inch or more below the screws still in the walls. The good news, this bathroom is marked "WOMEN" so it shouldn't get much worse.

The whole place is like that. Cinderblock buildings with white paint peeling off the outside. Step-tapered square smoke-stack chimneys on the two buildings give the Armory a "concentration camp" aesthetic. Flooring is grey "barf pattern" Formica tiles with many the crack and break. Furniture looks like a thrift store reject pile. Heat is steam radiators.

And yet, Congress has a subway to get from building to building, and free parking at Ronald Reagan Airport.

Why, continued

Now that I have short hair, I get questions. So I give an answer that generates another question - "why?" I feel like answering "Would you like the truth, or a short answer?"

Here are some short answers that constitute some-but-not-all of the truth:

Because I need to hang out with adults once in a while.

Because the only way for me to get a "day off" is by government order.

Because I need a hobby that makes money.

Because I need money to support my "secret weapons program" hobbies.

Because I want to work off some of my "debt to society" with Student Loan Repayment.

Because absence makes the heart grow fonder, and hungry pets are more grateful to see you, but suicide is a terrible way to help your family understand how much you do for them.

Because others need to learn to take care of my kids or I'll never get any work done.
Because I need to learn to trust others to take care of my kids or I'll never get any work done.

Because I don't believe the left-wing's conspiracy theories about this administration and about the war in Iraq.

Because I have my own conspiracy theories.

Because I swore in '86 to defend our constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

Because if only right-wing nutjobs join the Army then the Army will be full of right-wing nutjobs.

Because I studied anthropology in college, and joining the Army will give me an opportunity to study a foreign culture without learning a new language.

Because in order to regain my sanity I need to surrender to a higher power.

Because I saw a "Support Our Troops" bumper sticker one time too many.

Locks of Love

This was the ponytail of the man I used to be. Now it's not. I was asked to donate it by the stylist. Said yes, got the haircut for free. I hope some kid with no hair will enjoy the wig made from it, and it will help them be the person they want to be.

It doesn't bug me to lose it. I've been imagining my hair being shorter for months. I feel lighter, and it's easier to wash.

The Saturday after swearing in I went out to get my hair cut. Took the wife and kids. My mom was there. Wife held the baby and took pictures. I really needed the kids to see it getting cut, especially the baby.

Cutting my hair was the latest and most visible in a series of changes I've already made. Some of them started three years ago. They were more painful, but invisible. This was easy.

So now I'm visibly marked as being different than before. People I run into regularly comment on it. I tell them I've joined the Guard, and get a variety of reactions. Some positive, some skeptical. None negative thus far. But everyone wants to know why.

Now I am a soldier.

I, (state your name), do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States and the state of (name of state) against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I willbear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of he President of the United States and the Governor of (name of state) and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to law and regulations. So help me God.

This Little Piggy

This little piggy's full of pennies

















This little piggy's full of dimes




This little piggy's full of liquor
and he's gettin' drunk all the time







This little piggy holds cookies











And this little piggy is made of meat














So which little piggy is gonna get the axe
when the family needs somethin' to eat?