The Day After Father's Day: They Do Grow Up . . . And Go Off To War

This post preempts the ditty I had hoped to get up yesterday afternoon. But you see (contrary to what some local bloggers think), I have a life, and it interrupted. The planned post is more or less an answer to an "invitation" from Ed Cone (he's writing an article for the N&R on the state of local blogging and says he wants to chat). At this point, the post may not get up before his "deadline".

I'm not sure I care because I can't shake the feeling that I'm being set-up. Moreover, after over four years in the blogosphere (and being conked on the head by Ed's carrots before), I cannot think of a question I have not already answered in dozens of different ways, a gadzillion times.

More on that later.

Father's Day is getting a little easier as the years pass. I think the Red Ford Truck is helping with that. I do try to avoid Hallmark stores in June.

Over the last year or so (mostly because of the blog and what Cone calls my "online presence"), I've re-connected with several old high school pals.

One, in particular, is a huge fan of the blog and has become a great sounding board. Our politics and world-views are similar, and talking to him is like talking to one of my beloved Virginia cousins . . . we just "get" one another. We also share a similar life experience in that we left Asheboro and got our educations (the ones the small-town kings say they value so much) . . . then we came home with stars in our eyes (with a desire to settle down and make a really difference in the place where we were raised) . . . only to have our dreams shattered like broken cogs in a mill-town machine.

My friend and are different in one very compelling way. He comes from "old-school", upper-crust Asheboro. You could say he is Asheboro's version of a Cone.

In fact, his family name is on a building here. He swears he had nothing to do with it, and I believe him.

Anyway, this Father's Day was very, very hard for my friend. You see, he put his son on a bus for Marine boot camp yesterday. This is something this fine young man really, really wants. He's going in with his eyes wide open.

Now Fec (The Not-So-Terrible) is the only local blogger I know who admits to blogging drunk. Many people say it's not a good idea, and I stay away from the keyboard on the very few occasions I indulge in the fermented fruit of the vine (given what I put up stone-cold sober, it's a good bet that anything I put up whilst drunk would burn the eyeballs). But sometimes I wonder what deeper emotion/expression might fly out of the fingertips if I dared take the leap.

My friend sent me an e-mail yesterday. I opened it well after midnight last night.

He's a very eloquent fellow sober, but this time he was drunk. And on this occasion, of course, I could not hold it against him. The e-mail is just beautiful in its sentiment . . . and it demonstrates everything a Father should be. I'm going to share (the the names are eliminated). I hope he does not mind.

I put a comment out on the blog about the truck, forgive me, but I am a tad inebriated tonight, as we put our son on the bus to Charlotte today, which leads to another bus ride to Parris Island tomorrow. Anyhow, Ford trucks are good trucks, just give it some time, and the bugs will work out. As for me, I will be miserable for a few days, and then will get over whatever it is that is bothering me.

The Marine sergeants told me to think of it as summer camp, you know with hiking, sleeping in tents, swimming, target practice, and arts and crafts with the finger-painting they will do with the camouflage paint.

We really don't have to get nervous until mid-December, maybe late November. He will take his infantry training at Jacksonville, NC, so we can do some time down at Topsail Island and take the dogs, etc. to see him. Sort of a family reunion while he learns the finer points of warfare. Once the infantry school is done, then it's sort of wait and see.

This sucks Mary. I know you lament not having children, but maybe it was supposed to be that way. I have tried to take the easy way out and say that he's not my biological child, but damned if it doesn't hurt my heart to think of what he's getting in to. My name isn't on his birth certificate, but I still love him all the same.

I've known him since he was 18 months old . . . then I saw a 19 year old man get on the bus to Charlotte today.

I didn't cry, he had no idea how hard this was for me. He may never know, and I don't want him to. Nobody should watch their child go off to war.

Anyhow, I am drunk, and I need to go to bed. I'll be okay, sorry for the melodrama. Will talk soon. Good luck with the other stuff, and keep all of us posted. I attached a pic of *** and his sister from a trip to Topsail back in 2006.

The irony of it is that 400 or so yards across the New River from where this was taken, is where he will take the infantry training once he leaves Parris Island.

Now, if you can read this and not be in tears, I don't know what it would take to make you cry.

I cried for my friend . . . this wonderful Father . . . last night. And his brave young son too. Where in the world do we find such men?

The photo he attached captured a wonderful moment in time. Those are moments to hold onto.

I hope my friend does not have too much of a headache today. I hope his boy learns what he needs to learn . . . and that he stays safe.

Semper Fi.

PM Update: Wait! There's more. Before the young man left for his date with destiny, he handed his Father a card. This was inside the card:

"Thanks for all that you taught me, now it's time to put it to use".

I suppose the good thing about crying after you've had Lasik surgery is that you can see better after the cry.