Oh - my - God!!!!!! It was my worst fear. I knew it would happen. Aaron was always a bit impulsive, but this time he had really done it. This was one mess he would not be able to get out of. And all of my concerns had made a shining debut into my/his reality. They were yelling at him over every little thing, he hated the food, the other guys, ALL the Chiefs, all the orders, even the darned bed!!! Now what? In the letter he'd written he wasn't really asking for advice, just angry. And, I think, knowing my son, just maybe, even a way to get out of this situation. I knew I'd have to reply back that same night because I'd quickly ascertained that he, along with other recruits, was pretty much living for the mail. As I read back over his letter I thought back to the years I'd spent raising him. I thought back on Veteran's Day parades I'd taken him to. I remembered all the grocery store and drugstore parking lots where he'd heard me say, "My name is Beverly Staton and this is my son, Aaron, and we just wanted to say 'Thank You'." ("Yes, son, he really did fight in a real war." (age 6), "Firm handshake, son, tells a man everything about you, no matter your age," (to the 10yr. old), "I don't care how old you are and I don't care what he looks like! (age 14), You see that POW on his vest? He paid a price, buried friends & maybe brothers for you to 'choose' to wear what you want to school, so that you can slide by just enough to play basketball at that school you went to free of charge, and so that I had the RIGHT to 'choose' to send you now to a private school." "I don't care how embarrassed you are, what if he is old, he doesn't know you from Adam, either." (that was all ages!) I knew he had never forgotten all those men I walked him up to over the years and had him shake hands with and say 'thank you' to. No matter the protest, each time we'd walked away from another man, another story, I'd seen in his face the way their stories had touched him. I knew he would not have forgotten them or their sacrifices. I picked up my pen and began to reply to my son's last letter. This letter unfolded much differently than others I'd written since he'd arrived at Great Lakes Naval boot camp. I didn't even mention the previous letter he'd sent. I never mentioned his complaints. This is what I did write; I wrote that I bet it was odd thinking you could be standing, at times, in the exact same spot another young man who'd been ordered to choose between the Navy and prison might have stood & gotten yelled at before he went off to make his home on a ship under constant attack. I told him I couldn't imagine eating at a table where young men, not unlike himself, had eaten before. Young men who'd been drafted into Navy service during wartime, against their free will, who'd been sent to a place in a jungle where they might not have eaten for days. I told him I thought it must be hard to learn to trust someone you've just met to guard your backside, whether at boot camp or on deployment. I told him it must be stressful to learn in such a short amount of time so many new things those Chiefs told them they would need to know if something went wrong in a dangerous situation. I told him I just could not fathom sleeping in a bed, in a dorm, so old, where so many young men had slept before him, knowing some had even cried there before falling asleep, missing their moms' and dads', full of their own homesickness. Some only to live only a short while after leaving that place. I told him I would imagine it was beyond strange to be looking out over those grounds and buildings where so many, just like him, had gone before, that at times I would imagine you could almost feel them standing there, beside you. I said I'm sure you must be awestruck thinking on the sheer number of young men who upon leaving that place found the wisdom, the strength and the courage to do more than the jobs they were assigned. And finally, I told him that I bet it made him proud to go where so many heroes had been before. And that I am sure, beyond doubt, that if he should ever be called himself, to find that same wisdom and strength, his own courage would not fail him. Because he too, now stands where many will come after him. Because he too, is now a hero. Within days I got a reply, this time his letter also, was much different than all the others he had written. "Thanks Mom. You were right, you almost can feel them here, almost see them. Kind of makes me feel like I'm on sacred ground. Hey, Momma, don't worry about me, I'm going to be fine. Hey, I met this other guy from Oklahoma! And you would NOT believe this one crazy Chief here ...................."
Tags: bootcamp
Share
Facebook
You need to be a member of Navy For Moms to add comments!
Join Navy For Moms