Tweet
(I’ve taken a little poetic license with this story, as did Peter, Paul and Mary with their version of the original Irish song.)
Oh my dear Johnny, my dear son,
Of course your mind was made up by the time you told us this news. You’re signing the National Guard enlistment papers when you and your family go back home after Christmas (oh, how can I possibly stand listening to this?). And then you’ll be off to boot camp, then officer training school, if the recruiter you so foolishly trust is right in his bogus promises and assurances. All those military words that I can scarcely type, much less utter…they are that foreign to me, belonging to a language I never intended to learn.
Of course you wouldn’t have wanted to hear the questions we asked ahead of time, the myths we tried to bust; nor would you want to hear our agonizingly expressed concerns for your very soul, my dear Johnny. Were you even able to let any of our considerations and warnings in? Was your wife, she who sold her flax and sold her wheel for you? She who believed that the Guard stays in the US? Can you really be that unaware of National Guard units having served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan? How many other illusions are you laboring under? Too many, too many, from what you report as gospel according to Corporal Recruiter.
When I asked you plaintively which person targeted by our ‘wars’ you might consider enemy enough to kill…you said nothing, even when I pressed it. When we spoke to you of wars of choice for Profit and Empire, you stayed silent; when we called the recruiter a liar for telling you that with your college degree, and once you were an officer, that you would be able to turn down assignments, did you hear that? Or had our voices taken on the wohn, wonh qualities of the adults in a Peanuts cartoon? When we spoke to you of the alarming increase in suicides among troops and veterans, and of rampant PTSD and moral trauma…did you deflect it somehow as inconsequential…or unlikely?
Oh, Johnny, my dear son. Your wife said that unless we supported your decision, you could not stay safe, a poisonous form of magical thinking. When I told her that my decades, really my lifetime of peace activism would not allow that, could not allow that sort of ‘support’, she was angry and left the room. I try to imagine being her, or being you, and attempt to see what you see in your futures. I cannot; arrows pierce my heart and my stomach roils as I try. No. No. No! And say again that you don’t require our approval, please!
The day you were born, and your dear fingers closed around my index finger, and I gazed into your trusting eyes…I silently swore to you that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm. A vain and useless pledge all parents must make before they recall how cruel the world can be, and that all we can do is teach you well, love you well, help to guide you to make good choices for yourself and the world, and to be responsible for them.
How could I ever have imagined that one day I would be trying to keep you from being harmed by… yourself? Oh, god; the days we’ve spent pinging over so many images of our family history together…trying to make any sense of this choice of yours. Please understand: not the oft-insulting ‘where did we go wrong’ questions, many of which screw-ups we’ve apologized for in the past, but more…given all the issues we believed we’d processed well when you and your sister were teens, how much did we miss that went begging? Had you beaten the snot out of some of your bully-tormentors, for instance, would you still have joined the service? Did our peace activist voices drown out the military DNA of generations of your forebears, perhaps, and cause resentment in you?
We wonder now about the influences to your life for the last ten years since you’ve lived with us; friends, college, your churches… You said that you love your country, and want to defend it. It was our turn to be silent. Yes, later I asked: how can we defend our nation from itself, which is of course the more worthy question. The short answer being: by adhering to your carefully conceived principles, making loving community with all those you can, and calling out your nation for bullshit and evil when you see it. If you haven’t seen it by now, it will be that much harder to see from the inside, given the nature of the military, and those images of you in that milieux are simply tormenting to me, dear Johnny. With your sensitive soul, how can it not be?
The Chinese speak of sorrows so deep that tears won’t come; and yes, for the first few days my anguish was so profound that your news brought another dark night of the soul for me, a night as sere as the most barren desert. My Johnny, gone for a soldier? No, no…it just can’t be so. My eyes tried to peer through smoke and mist and dust and cinders, my body etheric and insubstantial one moment, crushed by its own leaden heart the next, needing to be ordered from some other place in order to perform my daily chores. Now and again my own hands are even unfamiliar to me; I touch my lips and cheeks and they don’t feel like me, but somebody that I used to know. Dislocated. Dissociated, I guess. Most music even sounds…wrong, and not helpful or comforting, but more like the noisome tinkling of tin cans in a dark alley.
But oh; a few days ago, those giant tears that could turn a mill began to fill me, and when I finally noticed that my clogs were splashing tears all over the house as I walked, I knew enough to rejoice they were there; and then they fell…in cascades, in deluges, and even cleared some of the soot from mine eyes. There is no way through hard times except to feel the feelings fully as a first step. Grief, shame, loss, fear, anger, any or all of those feelings must be felt with excruciating clariy.
And yes, goddammit, I’m angry. Angry at your credulousness, at your putting yourself in harm’s way in twelve different directions, at my powerlessness over it, that you’ll never teach history at a small college as you’d wanted, that the military will either harden you or break you, or worse, both.
I’m furious with this war-loving, war-accepting brutal nation of ours, and that in your present world, joining up has been sold as honorable. I’m furious that your father even had to mention his most dreaded scenario, that one day you and he might be on opposite sides in the resistance movement, you ordered to shoot at him and his comrades. You said ‘never’, but…then what? I shudder to imagine.
And of course I’m angry and afraid that this will cause some chasm between us that we will try to call across…but never be able to truly reach each other again, no matter how hard we try.
Again, please know that you will always have our love; that will never change. Time may help blunt the horror, and we may find ways through this in beauty, but truth will be key, I think, in getting there with any grace at all. This mother, your mother, will never, ever be a Blue Star Mom; that I will pledge to you, right or wrong. And I will forever apologize for my many mistakes, but please know that no mother ever tried harder than I to raise good children. For now, I’ll try to keep bathing you in light and love and urge you to be true to your most precious inner guides and self-critiques, as I will myself.
But oh, my dearest Johnny; please understand that I’m terrified that you will become an American Johnny as you begin to trade the fiddle…for the drum.
And so I ask you please
Can I help you find the peace and the star
Oh, my son…
What time is this
To trade the handshake for the fist?
love,
mama
75 Comments
Oh my dear Wendy, I feel and feel for you. When, two years ago and more now, my sister told me — proudly — that her son, my nephew, who had spent summers with me, who I taught to use a dozuki, a chisel, and hhot hide glue, had joined the Air Force. He had always wanted to be an historian, wanted to teach it. I was shocked to my shoes, and the words leapt off my lips, “I didn’t know B___ was a killer!” My sister was shocked at my shock, but replied, “No, he’s going to stay in the US, be an aircraft mechanic!” and then, perhaps a little ashamed, “Well, it’s the only way he’s going to be able to afford college.” Ah yes. Killing for an education, how American.
I asked for an address to write, or a phnone, my sister told me that communication with family was discouraged during basic training, as they had much to do and were adapting to a new way of life. My radar screamed CULT CULT CULT! But there I was.
Anyway, a year went by, and my sister called me, very upset, to tell me that B___ was married, that the family had found out via Facebook search for relatives. More shock. Ya think we’d be getting used to it. Then, another year or so later, the news that he was seeking an early discharge after a nervous breakdown, planned to go to college in TX if things worked out. Family still doesn’t know much, there’s not a conversation. It’s like he’s just vanished, but every now and then a bottle washes up on the beach with a message in it. From him, but somehow, not to us.
And we are just left here, blindsided and, when we stop to think about it, terrified.
I know how hard it was for yout to write this, and I know that you had no other choice but to write it. I know a little of how hard you cried, and now I am crying with you. I wish I had more to offer you than my tears and my love and my solidarity. I dare not mention what it makes me want to do to my local recruiting office.
It seems it was silly to try to present as someone else’s story, hotflash, but for privacy’s sake…well, you know. But I wanted people to know a bit of the truth about how this can go, and the fucking military as a jobs program, any of that. But you’ve enunciated much of my most abject dread.
Messages in bottles washing up on the shore…how tragic and wrong. We get so little time with them, and then…they are winging away from us, and we may never know who they really are, or were, in their deepest, secret selves, or what manner of parents we were.
Thank you.
wendydavis,
I came to firedoglake for the waters but was misinformed; I stayed for the women writers here, having discovered long ago that women are much better writers than men. That’s not to say that some men aren’t much better writers than most women, although at firedoglake where the men monopolize the Front Page it’s impossible to find even a few good men writers. If you find one, let me know. I have no intention of debating the matter or arguing about it, and I don’t care if it ever changes.
Also obvious is that I’ve never been a mother and never will be. I’ve had the honor of serving Gold Star Mothers, my own mother (who lived to her 91st year) didn’t seem to care whether I served in the military or not, and finally, I know that as a man my own comprehension of things will always be small, limited, and sorrowfully incomplete.
At the moment I wish you were a total stranger instead of someone I’ve come to know here: a (small, limited, and sorrowfully incomplete) part of me wants to say that you can’t know what being a man or a father is like (no matter how much Philip Roth you read). It’s no pleasure either.
It’d be cool if you read the late Andre Dubus’s “A Father’s Story”, and either before or after, the wikipedia entry for this exceptional author.
Please keep hydrated!
I’ll accept all three, Miz Firecracker, my friend. Would it sound cruel to say that a person must be at least somewhat open to believing the recruiters lies? That may be what thunderstruck me most. Oh, hell, all of it did…has…
Thank you, mod, for tinkering with the video placement; I haven’t been able to learn the trick yet. ;o)
I wouldn’t think of debating you, my friend. ;o) I will read the story and the author link. But I will say that anyone who loves, cherishes, and values children has some mother in them. Good on your mum for not urging you to serve. My father died before we could heal our massive rift over Viet Nam, so I speak to him in my imagination a lot even now, hoping that he understands now, and approves of my life, hippie that I still am. ;o)
Thank you, darlin’. Peace to all of us when we can mange it. Hard days, and more ahead. Whoosh. More of the darkest evil done in our names.
And thank you for the advice; my skin looks like the Mojave Desert lately, no matter how much I replenish, lol. Hell on my eye makeup, too, and my eyelashes splash wet all over my Walmart reading glasses. ;o)
I know that it wasn’t just the recruiter. But they are such parasites. Even their commercials are geared directly at dealing with a mother’s concerns.
I don’t mean to minimize the impact of the choices that were made; I know that’s one of the things that would rock my world the most if I were you. It’s not cruel to speak the truth; I think it would hurt you more if you didn’t.
Killing for citizenship, a young female acquaintance of a friend, joined the US army, (a Czech Republic citizen) otherwise the path was 6 years to US citizenship, minimum. We talked, my friend and the young acquaintance, “but I’ll just be in transportation, a truck driver.”
That dire was the situation in central europe to need to become a citizen here? Apparently so.
Children have a habit of growing up completely different that our plans for them, don’t they? Thanks for your honest reporting of the struggle that a parent faces when that happens.
But it is what it is. Superficial self-acccusation of “where did we go wrong?” always misses the point that the devil is in the details. And that deeply engrained values have a habit of reasserting themselves in the strangest ways. I suppose that Bradley Manning’s parents would certainly feel that way.
After receiving a degree in fine arts (now there’s an employable skill), my daughter after six months of unemployment after college enlisted in the Navy mainly because a couple of her friends did. Talk about interesting conversations. But it was her decision and I supported her and wished her well (fully thinking that she would wash out of boot camp). It changed her in helpful ways, in ways that allowed her to assert her values in ways (minor, not big ethical Bradley-Manning-type decisions) that made me proud of her. She had a short run of assignments closing down Cold War-era bases and then was assigned in a role that supported base families. Lucky assignments. She married a submariner. His assignment is such that we all are in huge trouble if his vessel ever fires a shot in anger.
Another one of my daughters married a guy from Alabama who had been very much in the relgious rightwing culture until he enlisted in the Coast Guard to get an employable technical skill and had to work with diverse people. (Being stationed in the San Francisco area did a lot of good for him.)
Your son will find his own way. And btw, we are going to need as many relatives in the National Guard and military as possible if we are going to stay safe through the coming chaos.
If your son has never lived in Georgia, he’ll find that a very interesting part of his journey. If he is open to it. Peace to all of you.
This is what it all boils down to. I was going to do a diary but didn’t think I could elaborate any more on the subject.
The biggest user of petroleum in this country is the military.
“Military fuel consumption makes the Department of Defense the single largest consumer of petroleum in the U.S” [1]
“Military fuel consumption for aircraft, ships, ground vehicles and facilities makes the DoD the single largest consumer of petroleum in the U.S” [2]
The biggest single industry in this country is the armaments industry.
Of all the areas of the country that absolutely, positively requires petroleum, it is the military. They cannot do anything without oil.
No oil….no military. It’s as simple as that.
A totally codependent relationship. The oil industry needs the military to get oil from unfriendly countries and the military needs oil to do it.
And all that crap about peak oil being crap…is simply crap. A meme bought and payed for by the energy industry themselves.
Thank you for your philosophical approach, my friend. It’s a bridge too far for my to imagine him benefiting from the experience right now. But no doubt he’ll find Georgia interesting, as he’s a black/Azteca man who was raised in the Southwest; the South will be educational.
For Admiral Mahan, it was coal and the US’s first major imperial ventures were islands to serve as coaling stations (and the Panama Canal). But the coal had to be hauled from West Virginia and Pennsylvania and the West.
Yes, that co-dependent relationship is the one that has to be broken. But that does not mean just a “green military” because a military that uses alternative forms of energy can be done cheaper than an oil-based military. And is more mobile. Two factors that decrease US power on the one hand and make war by all sorts of parties even more likely on the other.
We are at a point at which global politics must change in order to reduce the threat and realities of war.
I’m stunned, and so sorry, Wendy
Son said: ‘the recruiter said that the other recruiters diss him for telling the truth, so…he must be…’ Would that I could have run screaming into the West right then; maybe in my dreams. Thank you for understanding, carol.
We do need a military to protect us – yes it’s being abused now – but perhaps you can take some comfort in that.
They should have brought back the draft when BushCo wanted to go to Iraq – doubt we’d be fighting any wars if they had,
Heh. I know the Air Force was mandated to use/develop biofuels for 10% (iirc) of its jets. At the consumption levels you cite, the whole planet would need to be producing algae or ganja to fuel the ‘greening’ of the US military.
Mods: so sorry; I edited a word in the post, and lost the top video, so I replaced it the old way.
Philosophical comes almost 20 years after the shock. It was not very philosophical-feeling at the time. Five stages of grief and all that.
Likely he’ll have little time to explore, but both Ocumulgee and Savannah are worth trips. If at Benning, Tuskegee is worth a trip.
Yes, it’s this present iteration of the military that’s particularly loathsome. And thank you, Elliott.
Germany sought oil and waged total war for it, Japan attacked the US fleet at Pearl Harbor in response to that fleet’s cutting off Japan’s oil supplies, and after all was said and done, FDR schmoozed with King Ibn Saud to ensure a steady and cheap supply, which was formally made into official US policy with the Truman Doctrine, later enforced with troops by Ike, and re-ratified by the Carter Doctrine.
“There’s no fuel like an old fuel” — Marshall McLuhan
My dear new FDL friend, Wendy, when I first read your post I wanted so badly to believe you were transcribing it for someone else, but in my heart I think I knew and I started to cry. My daughters are 25 and 27, and as we know young people don’t recognize their mortality, or even danger until they are years older. I am thinking that is where your beloved son’s head is, not exactly planted in the military mind set, but definitely not in reality.
I have reacted just as you when friends of my girls have told me they were joining the service, but my heart would honestly crack if either of them came to me with that decision. I can feel your pain from across the country, and am sending the love and caring of all living things, the Great Spirit, in the hope that it will provide you with even a small amount of comfort.
May you find some consolation for your spirit by being surrounded by all those who love and care about you. I hope you can also derive some support here, from those of us who have grown to care about you from the wise words you have shared with us so often.
In the meantime my dear friend, I am going to pray that your son flunks out of basic training.
I will be watching and waiting to see when you have the strength to write again. You are in my thoughts. If I were still a practicing Catholic I would light candles; do they even do that anymore? It’s all voodoo to me, but “desperate times times call for desperate measures”, so I’ll start hunting for a CC with candles.
In the meantime, dear lady, stay safe. Don’t drive for awhile, heal, rest, watch sunsets and cry as much as you need. You have been an awesome mother, now is not the time to doubt yourself, believe that all the those truths you attempted to instill are there deep in his heart, and will stand him in good stead when some ass hole attempts to abuse/mistreat someone in front of him. He WILL stand up for those weaker, and defenseless, because he is your son Wendy, and will grow into a good man.
Aw, Wendy. I’m so sorry to hear about your pain and fear for your son. I know I’d be devastated if it was me. I so much appreciate your articulateness. In the situation, I’d just be screaming til I had no voice left. I know you wouldn’t feel this way if you didn’t love him so much. Keep your heart open.
Twenty years. I await that time, my friend. And yes, I goofed with the Kubler-Ross stages in that this was another of the *not so very* little deaths that have been so pervasive in my life. You’d think I’d be getting the hang of it by now, and *man-up*, eh?
Again, thank you, THD.
I am speechless with feeling your pain, and that of so many mothers I have known.
We must walk the line between expressing how we treasure our children yet not let approval of their bravery and virtue be mistaken for approval of the military as an appropriate arena.
Your eloquence is the most powerful way we have to stop the violence. And so has been the eloquence of powerful women who have gone before us. We will always need women organized for peace.
I ain’t Marching any more.
For I flew the final mission in the Japanese sky
Set off the mighty mushroom roar
When I saw the cities burning
I knew that I was learning
That I ain’t marchin’ anymore
Now the labor leader’s screamin’ when they close the missile plants,
United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore,
Call it “Peace” or call it “Treason,”
Call it “Love” or call it “Reason,”
But I ain’t marchin’ any more.
Phil Ochs
In 1964, I joined the ROTC, and entered the army in 1968. I was anti-war, but a) I’m not a pacifist, so b) I didn’t think I should duck and force someone else to take my place. I was lucky, and got ordered to go to Turkey. My mother was sick about the whole thing. She hated the war, and she was absolutely certain that it was and Unjust War and therefore wrongful under her understanding of Canon Law. But I didn’t care. I felt like Robert Lincoln as portrayed in the movie Lincoln.
This sucks. There isn’t a silver lining. You can’t stop loving your kids, and just like you don’t understand your parents and their choices, and barely understand your own, you can’t really understand your kids.
I hope you can find peace within yourself over this.
Ah , behold how the Magnificent Mindless ‘Merican Murder Machine sure bleeds us dry , in money and morals and gave us Kidnapping / Torture / Murder /Treason as the new and improved All American qualities.
(((wendy and family)))
You never really “man-up” during the experience. No matter your “I’ve been through this sort of thing before” attitude. You always go the the same five effing stages. masaccio said it much better than I.
I don’t have any children, but I always thought that if my progeny grew up to be murderers I’d treat them like any other societal menace, which I think is fair. However, I’ve talked to women about it and they say they couldn’t do that, which I find understandable due to the more intimate, physical nature of their parental relationship. I feel I’m lucky that I’ll never be tested that way.
Oh, my dear Gallogarden; well met indeed! I’ve never forgotten your solidarity and wisdom. My heart swells with your words and entrance; thank you ever so much. The advice is stellar, and I’ve been struggling a bit with thought-prayers that you mention, lol. ‘Break a leg, son’ sort of stuff. I reckon (and I think may have…er…mentioned) that he’d be Coolhand Luke, in the brig before he could say ‘boy, howdy!’, not loving assholes. He’s been a hotshot wildland firefighter for five years (very paramilitary) and knows, or should know by now, the rate at which power makes…assholes shine brightly.
all my love to you; seriously, I’ve missed you and your big ol’ heart.
wd
And mods: I just got an email that you front-paged this. I thank you profusely, as I believe that it’s the personal stories that are the most important agents of change in the end, may the gods save us.
Wendy, I have never been in your position but I have 4 children. There is no understanding unless you have been in that situation and my thoughts go out to you and my prayers for your son. I read once that the only things you can give your children is “roots and wings” and it’s so true. May time soothe your aching heart and give you peace if mind.
Thank you, greenwarrior. It’s by way of a covenant with me that I will try my goddamnest to do exactly that. This may be one of the oldest stories ever.
Bless your heart, TalkingStick, for intuiting that women may yet provide some tipping point incentives to wage peace instead of war. My own belief has long been that third world (read: Indigenous) women will lead us into the Light, as they see further into the future of necessity and inclination. That women are underpinning Idle No More and side movements is no surprise to me at all, and if that makes me a female Indigenous chauvinist, let the halls ring with my bias!
love to you and your family and extended family, and…strength.
Sorry, comrade, I couldn’t read it all. Too much pain. Get that boy to talk to an IVAW vet. Have your DIL listen to Vince Emmanuele & crew. Work on that wayward girl and her husband.
‘No silver linings’ sound just right, masaccio; and thank you for sharing that brief tangential experience. We are struggling, but resolved to keep the light and love alive, and work toward a better and humane world.
Sigh. Yes, and I am devoted to the notion that this is the time of the great awakening, in fits and starts as it may prove to be, tjbs. We are swimming upstream against strong currents.
Suzanne: I appreciate the hug, sincerely.
THD @ 25: I know; I was making a bit of sport on myself. ;o)
Wendy, know this. The trauma you are experiencing in the separation between peaceloving mother and idealistic son will support him in whatever experiences the war machine devises to confront him with. Believe me, he knows what and who you are. Deep down, he knows. You are supporting him by standing firm on what you believe and loving him still as he knows you do. He will never have to face the consequence so many of our young people do face, when they cannot bear what they are asked to do and yet their family cannot bear that they fail. However he himself goes forward, and he will because he is your son, he knows that about you.
He will come back to you. He is already in our prayers, as are his mother and father. My son has a friend who was shellshocked in Iraq. He is now as gentle and peaceful a soul, antiwar to the nth degree, having been through hell. No one would want that for their dear, dear son these days were they even half sane. But it is possible to overcome even this, as we know from Veterans for Peace – they’ve been there; they know. And think of Howard Zinn – he was one such and look what became of him.
I know, words don’t help. This was a very beautiful diary, and it will help other mothers who feel the same anguish in these terrible times.
‘Roots and wings’; thank you, Twain. Are we meant to always wonder what we gave them, what they acquired through other people, other forces? I crave the vast silence of the night sky, but it’s so goodam cold and slippery out there…ay yi yi! Otoh, a dark grey fox just came to the outside bedroom door for a snack; that should serve as enough mystery for now, yes?
love to you, mi amiga.
My dear comrade Ludwig; I thank you profusely for your comment, and even acknowledging the level of pain being too much. I’ll check out Vince Emmanuele, but…the conversation is over for now, and that in itself was hard news, but perhaps the time when the child sincerely challenged the parents and asserted independence. How the hell can I make sense of it? ;o)
The hubris of the young…I dunno, dear. I’ve forgotten, lol.
Oh, wendy(nospace)davis, I can only shake my head and cry with you. As a mother, I know that we can only give and give and give and not have any real control over what choices our children make.
But, this is a moment in time and I send you healing thoughts to allow what is to happen.
Many hugs, and back rubs to you.
Oh,wd – as one mother to another, my heart aches for you. Cry rivers, oceans, seas, if need be. We weep in the way that all mothers have wept.
And beyond your pain, I am struck by the courage it had to have taken for your son to tell you and mr.wd. of his decision, while knowing how you would feel about it. (I wonder where he learned to have such courage?) He must trust deeply in the love his parents have for him, to consider it strong enough to withstand this gale.(Gee, I wonder where he picked that up?) And there must be quite a bit of strength to his backbone, to have broken this bit of news to you both, knowing, as he must have, how you feel about such matters.(Where could he have seen such strength of character modeled?) Adult chidlers – they will be the death of us mothers!!
I always light candles when I send thoughts, or good vibes – there is one for you and all that are touched by this … it takes but one lit candle to dispel the dark.
consider yourself hugged.
Mr. wd is home now, has read the diary, and has given me leave to say to all of you that if it’s possible, he is experiencing even more dislocation and upset than I (we’ve even theorized as to the *whys* of that), but your words echo a few of the questions he’s rather baldly asked me. We both hope you are right, but while I hope that his core remembers not only who we are, and our unconditional love, but in the end, who he is deep down. In answer to one of Mr. wd’s most probing questions, I said I reckoned that when some situation was most dire, he might very well open to earlier teachings that could send him to his best angels leading him to the light. In this thought, it is hope that drives my imaginings, not surety. But it’s the same psycho-spiritual wafting breeze that informs many of my beliefs for the future.
Thank you, dearest friend; you are always a tonic, as well as your many literary allusions that remind us that the same themes keep repeating over and over again for humanity. Would that we just fucking learn from what’s gone on before, eh? ;o)
;o) Note that my son is not a murder, UCT1, but I hear what you mean i think. And unconditional love isn’t reserved for mamas. Who knows what any of us will do if tested, but love does not preclude censure. All tough issues.
A few of us were debating capital punishment earlier today via email, and it was incredible how our experiences, teachings, and either cerebral or visceral processes gave weight to our thinking about it all. Be well; I know that you don’t suffer fools lightly…and there’s no shortage of fools about. ;o)
Lovely, demi. I closed my eyes and felt your hand just on the spot on my back that craved it. Yeah. I can still feel it, and I just imagined another hand on my chest to balance it and make a circle. Thank you. ;o)
How prescient of you to have guessed that he was proud of his courage, bootsie, even though it was after the fact. Yes, he watched me tilt at many windmills for justice in our community, and must have had mixed feelings about it, given that some of it boomeranged back to him, people being what they are, especially in a small valley like this. Kinda hard to be anonymous but passionately principled. ;o)
I sincerely hope that your loved ones are doing better and that you have time to restore your own soul as you tend to others’ needs. I love you, darlin’. And thank you. Sleep well and dream better.
Speaking of circles, and thank you for your wonderful words, here’s a youtube that might make you smile and maybe take your mind off this for a moment and remind you of other things for just a few minutes. I think you’ll like it.
Draw The Circle Wide.
It’s an amatuer video and even when they drop the camera, they keep on going.
Oh, dear dear wendydavis, I have no words. It gives me a different perspective from my own rabbit hole, cdompletely insignificant by comparison. I will keep you in my heart, there is nothing else I can do but send hugs and hugs to keep you tight through all this. (((((wd/mr.wd))))) and of course (((((son of wd))))).
(((dear wendy))). Saw your diary as I was leaving work but wanted to gather some thoughts on the drive home. I know your heart is very heavy right now with this. Our children will do what they will do, and we are loathe to push them in either direction once their decision has been made. I do not know all the details of this as you do and cannot put myself in your place, but my advice would be for you to tell your son that you will not provide encouragement or discouragement in this endeavor of his, but that you do expect him to always act with humanity and follow his conscience in whatever assignment he may be given, that you trust that he will always act in a moral fashion as you have taught him growing up. Give that time to sink in.
From past experience (though 40 years ago now), the military usually tries to match the assignment with a person’s education, special experience or special abilities, as long as they have a need for those abilities at that particular moment. At least that was true 40 years ago, times may have changed. Your son Johnny does indeed possess special abilities and unique experience, and this could work in his favor. So please take heart, wendy, all is not lost, I’m pulling for you, sweetie. Keep your chin up, and please give my regards to mrdavis. (((Wendy)))
Wendy, I find it hard to say anything but impossible to say nothing. I have some sense of your feelings and know they are painful. My son came very close to joining the Marines about 18 months before 9/11. When I thought it was going to happen I had a sick, hollow feeling in my stomach. I feel it now after reading your story.
I think that your son has had enough real world experience that he will be going in as a fairly mature young man, one with the strength and grounding that will make him able to maintain his own person-hood and his own base values and I know they come from a good place. You can be confident that he will learn the wisdom behind your work for peace.
I am a skeptical agnostic but in special situations I say a prayer just on the chance that it could help. I’ll say one for peace of mind for you and S and for your son to get the luck every young family needs and deserves.
Ah, demi, my friend pasta, and holy crow: Lulu to boot!
I just had a hot soak and seem to have hit the wall. More in the morning, but for now, I saw demi mention circles, and had been hearing this sublime tune the past week, too.
You all have such wise and brave words, and they will tickle my mind before I sleep, and perhaps even Mr. wd if he can.
Thank you all so much for the support you’ve offered all of us.
p.s. Lulu; I’m a casual agnostic as well, but I love to say prayers. ;o)
Yeah, unconditional love is a difficult issue for me, no doubt. Seems unfair to me, and something that is too often taken advantage of. But I’m a childless man with no fatherly emotions to sway me. Like I say — lucky!
Wow. I’m stunned, and crying, for the first time in god knows when.
Brilliant, wendydavis, brilliant and moving, and so evocative.
As the parent of a young son, I think I can imagine a glimpse of the pain and sorrow you feel, a glimpse I know, for we never really know what anything is like until we experience it ourselves.
Thank you wd in and for sharing this both personal and yet often shared and knowable/known story you have crafted with heartfelt thoughts put to words.
What you wrote above and the many caring and thoughtful comments on this comments thread speak so well of you as a human being and parent wd who has shared what you needed to release from inside to outside.
Our humanity and our being humankind making this the needed act and action.
As a parent we want to protect what we love in and about our children.
As children we one day sooner or later want to step beyond this protection and see,know and experience life and living as then sought. As you one day did then too wd.
You are telling a ancient story about humankind wd tho for you it may be and /or is a new story.
This story of protective parent and growing child surely has been told and retold but for each new time it is a first time for both parent and child. A book from year 1979 written by a author named Jim Harrison titled “Legends of the Fall” was in 1994 released as a screenplay under this same title. This movie was directed by Edward Zick and both Anthony Hopkins and Brad Pitt are among this films cast. Reason I am bringing up this film has to do with how it treated so very well this humankind need to protect as parents and to step out from under that protection as children who seek to become young adults.
Legend of the Fall is storyset in early 1900′s in the North American West ( Montana ) largely on a ranch while the war and young humans wanting to be in military service to serve nation and self defined concepts of honor/valor is WW1. Rugged rancher and independent minded Anthony Hopkins as Father and parent is a pacifist and not trusting of what governments do or why or pick to war over. The son wants to go — the Dad wants to stop the son and protect him. Perhaps wd you have seen this movie or read the book — perhaps not — it renders this topic in ways that I think were and are well composed,presented and given to a intelligent,insightful sense of direction/editorial/story reveal.
As humans we walk into each new hour and day not knowing what may come or must come our way or we to it. Into each night we pass in full hope(s) we will see the Sun rise once again. Life and living done well require engaging what we cannot always know or know as much about as we would like.
Our lives and our living are defined by both holding tight and letting go then as well.
Hold tight wd. Let go wd. How long we live is one measure. How we lived is the deeper measure.
In and at the end we do,did and have done what we as best can or could.
Hold tight. Let go. Create life space for parent and child to walk into and then beyond.
I don’t know what to say.
Blessings.
My goodness, demi; some of those singers have some pipes, don’t they? ;o)
‘Wide’ caused me to dig out this traditional English song of a hundred versions. With a couple word shifts, it’s a song of deep friendship, not just romantic love. I won’t attempt to describe its various beauties and pains.
Oh, jeez, bg; I’d missed this starting at the bottom of the thread before I signed off. I would have told you that your rabbit hole is every bit as deep as mine. Who knows, mebbe deeper; we never know, nor can we compare. As evidence, as I was re-writing this for the Nth time, I stopped and went in search of help for you to poke into your post. At the time, your need seemed greater, and certainly more time sensitive, than mine. The sole caveat there was that this most was in part for Mr. wd who needed something to free up his emotional expression. It worked, and he wants me to tell you all thank you for the kind messages you’ve all sent to him as well.
And that you included son…yes, methinks he’s getting blasted with light and admonitions from the toobs and thru the ether. You, too, are now holding boatloads of good wishes and vibes that we hope will carry you through your coming ordeal. That judge will be bombarded with thought and prayer waves as well. Sure cannae hurt. ;o)
Wise words, M. Pasta, and Mr. wd has already spoken similar words to our son. We can only hope, as you suggest, that they will be percolating inside him and serve him well. Or even cause him to go AWOL on the way to Georgia. ;o) Your superior knowledge of things military is noteworthy as far as matching skills, etc. I just think of all of them as expendable fodder, and stupidly borrow the future from that. Being in the moment on this is…hard.
Thank you, dear pasta; my best to you and your wife.
Comrade dear Ludwig, I hadn’t remembered to mention that they were only here for Christmas, and now are home 500 miles away, and pretty much out of reach unless…they want to be otherwise. For the time being, our words aren’t entirely welcome, is what I’m trying to convey.
Later? I hope that changes.
signed,
fragrant orange peel
It’s so good of you to come here and comment with such experienced wisdom, Lulu. I’ve missed you, even if I am the worst correspondent online. ‘Fairly mature’ sounds about right; it’s those other bits, though… ;o) A friend had recently mentioned that it wasn’t until his mid-30′s that he acquainted himself with his inner life and grew up because of it, and began to grok that his mother’s principled stands were just right, when earlier he thought they made her a bit of a mark for the world. ;o)
Hope you’re staying warm in the North; it’s been cold as a witch’s tit here lately; I find myself cruising back and forth to the woodstove to warm my B side.
It sure was great meeting you and spending time; hope you’ll come again when you’re out and about, dear one.
Dunno that we mean the same thing about unconditional love. Like ‘love’ itself, there must be millions of understandings about what it means. For me, these words of Rumi’s may come close:
Because of love
I have become
the giver of light.
Nothing like free passes for bad deeds or ‘sins’; just keeping the light flowing and hoping for heal whatever is sick inside them, maybe.
Recent discussions with friends caused me to consider a sort of open thread on what the hell people mean (or don’t mean) by love, and when and how we reckon it evolves, gets passed on to others, how much do ‘deeds’ figure in…any of that. Most parents must be surprised that love comes with children so very often. They say that’s why the newborn of all species have that wide-eyed, need for protection and nurturing stares. Ta melt you heart right outta the gate. Tragic when it doesn’t work that way, of course.
You may have surprised yourself, or may yet, loving other people’s kids. But allowing consequences for any behavior or choices to occur without bailouts can be a huge part of love, imo. Anyway (ahem); that’s all. ;o)
I’m touched almost beyond measure, Minty Fresh, and pray that the tears wiped your windshields a bit. They secrete seratonin, which may account fro some of the relief…later on. Cuz I know ya love her...
Shoot, arrow; those are lovely and well met words. Havelock Ellis said this about holding on/letting go:
Old wisdom that you have twigged to already, eh? ;o)
But yep; what you say is contained in attachment theory…caregivers of children ideally create a firm base to come back to often enough that a child can keep venturing out until they one day don’t need to come back (at least in theory). As in the old quip about good parenting is all about making your job redundant eventually.
I did read the Harrison book, but can’t drum it up in my mind. He’s always been one who wrote for men, if you take my meaning. But never mind; Mr.wd says that at least he’s seen the film, and from what you say it seems quite on topic. Arrgh.
I loved this especially well:
Yes, my friend; we’ll work on creating that space; it’s what’s left.
That’s plenty, Mister Presidents. ;o)
Wendy, we must be soul sisters. I love that song, and I adore James Taylor’s different versions.
I grew up on Baez, Mitchell, Taylor, St. Marie and a lot of other singer/musicians you share with us.
I hope that some small healing has happened here for you. I imagine this will be a two steps forward, one step back and so on journey for you and mrwd as well as your son and his wife.
Really the main healing was accorded to Mr. wd who sounds stronger, is breathing better, and even talked it all over with his WWII vet father, a very good thing.
For me, the writing helped a lot, in that way that often as you write, you recognize what you do believe, feel, all that. That it’s a rather universal story and others may experience it made me think it was a worthy subject to cover, even if I did kinda/sorta think it could slide as someone else’s story. Idiot woman. ;o)
But yeah; it will likely be a long six years if it gets that far. Thank you, demi. And yeppers; JT sings that one best, imo.
((( Wendy and family)))
Beautiful writing, Wendy. I was holding up until I played the music…….
Now the Mother Tears are falling. I hope you are all able to accept each other’s decisions and acknowledge each other’s fears without too much time slipping by.
My heart goes out to you.
Still thinking of you. There is so much in life over which we have no control, and the only thing I can think is that you laid the foundation, and he will stand on that, whatever a mess comes later. Your words, and his father’s, he can go away mad or breathe them in and out until he comes to the point of deciding if this is the path, or no.
I am with you on that line or lines you drew. You will be true to yourself, and for that he can have no complaint. I think there are many of these stories from both sides of the Civil War, family members on both sides, ne’er a twain shall meet. So there you are, darling. But oh my goodness, it is a long row and rocks.
Both songs seem to strip away any defenses we might have built, no? ‘Take no prisoners’ music.
Than you so much, openhope; we hope for the same.
As far as the piece, I’ll have to edit after it’s gone; when I try to edit, the nicely placed video disappears. That first paragraph is a pretty skunky, ooops.
You’re a dear, Mother Tears are powerful.
Ah, bgrothus; how good to hear all that. Once we choose our own True Norths, it’s just impossible to shift very far. We won’t want to be arrow’s Legends of the Fall father, but there may be a way to clasp hands across the chasm yet. So kind of you to return with all that is weighing on you.
And yes; images of divided families from that time have flipped into my mind here and there, even though this strains the theme.
Have you spoken with your support people or attorneys and developed any more strategies? Memorized your press comments, etc.? I wish any of us could help more, but some vigils are solitary in the end. You have my love and respect, barbara.
wd
Your words have touched many hearts.
Much white light to you and to the mister and you. Breathing better is always a good thing.
Wendy, since we were talking about Taylor, James Taylor, I was looking through his utubes and since we’ve also been talking about our Kids…may I get silly and nostalgic and share Mr. Taylor on Sesame Street sing Jelly Man Kelly?
Look at those sweet babies having so much fun.
I went w/our lawyer to interview the witnesses today. I don’t want to say a lot about that, but just have to go forward and hope for the best. Here is a link to SF press coverage, but I don’t want to take away from your beautiful post and your struggle.
Light is gratefully accepted. ;o)
JT was gorgeous and earnest, but my gawd, can no one try to children to sing, not shriek? I swear I would have loved to have tried once in my life. It would take teaching them to *hear* carefully, even work at matching notes and tones, but clearly some people have not, even if rare.
Sorry; mine ears are delicate, and I’ve sat thru a hundred musical performances at school, wanting to choke the music teachers. Oopsie; One Love. ;o)
JT’s early history of severe mental disease is sincerely hard to remember; that he’s still alive and writing poetry and music is evidence of grace, imo, and deserves our respect and appreciation.
Thanks, demi.
From the little Haas said, that stand would have been a great angle to take to play toward jury nullification, but…no jury. Hearing the witness interview must have been difficult.
I feel silly offering this since you have so many friends here, but I’ll leave you my email address just in case I can ever offer any support that a hundred others aren’t offering. If you’d let me know that you’ve snagged it, I’ll delete it. I guess tonight, really.
best hugs and light,
wd
@ Gallogarden: you are a treasure and a treat, Gallogarden. ;o) Thank you.
My dear friend, you have been in my thoughts all day. It is cold here in Pittsburgh, PA, with about 6 inches of snow on the ground. Global warming has made our winters milder, but during the cold weather I bake when I am thinking. (In warmer weather I’m in the garden, or creating salads, like the Mexican Chef Salad that I crave all summer long) Today it was Banana Pineapple Bread, and “Prize Winning” Peanut Butter Cookies. I’ll include the recipes at the end, just in case you need a dose of sugar, to go with the tea I imagine you holding in your hands. Your hubby would probably appreciate the love that comes from both. I only wish I could deliver them fresh from the oven to your door.
While you have been in my heart and on my mind today I have been thinking about how wrenching all ‘good bys’ are. In one of my earliest parenting classes I learned that those early separations were to help prepare us for those times later in life when we have to say good by for extended periods of time. It was impossible to fathom at that time, my heart couldn’t handle the first day of nursery school, the first time on the bus to kindergarden much less grasp the concept that one day they would not be in my lap or arms at days end.
Thank the gods for all those little separations, and for the natural tension that builds that last year at home before our chicks go off to college. I was sure my heart would break, and spent several hours/months attempting to convince my therapist that my time with my daughters would end once they left home. It had happened to me, as the oldest of nine, my parents were only too anxious to pitch us out of the nest as soon as possible. Because of that experience, no one could convince me differently.
Fortunately, my girls attended schools within driving distance, and my period of “long distance” mothering began. One is still about 5 hours away, but just this fall my oldest moved to Austin, TX. for grad school, and the fear hit me all over again. We talk, several times a week, but we are both in the adjustment phase.
Why am I sharing this shallow chatter with you, dear Wendy? Mostly to distract you, to allow you a few minutes without tears. Your heart can only stand so much aching, before you must take a breath, have something to drink, and rest your mind. I have found meditation doesn’t work when in the midst of a crisis, your mind will insist on returning to that spot in your heart that is heavy. But a favorite movie; I watch ‘Cool Runnings’, or ‘To Wong Foo With Love Julie Neumar’, will give your mind and heart a chance to rest. Music works for some, but unless it is ’60′s sing along stuff, my mind tends to wander off on its own journey.
So, for my final distraction: do you want to know about the “Prize Winning” peanut butter cookies? I am an RN, don’t know if I ever mentioned that, and in the late ’70′s I was working in the Recovery Room of a city hospital in Denver, CO. On Saturdays it was usually quieter, and we often brought in goodies for lunch or munching. One week I decided to have a cookie bake off. The anesthesiologists were to do the voting, although everyone in the OR, RR and Pre Op contributed and tasted. I rigged the vote, though, telling the docs that they HAD to vote for my pb cookies, or there wouldn’t be any more cookie Saturdays! (an empty threat, we all knew, but in the spirit of fun all went along, and my cookies took the prize that day). We did, in the spirit of fun, print up all our cookie recipes that year, and send them out to each department. Supposedly there is still a (hospital wide) cookie contest that has continued to the present. So, here are those “Prize Winning”
Peanut Butter Cookies Oven 375
Thoroughly cream together:
1 cup butter
1 cup peanut butter (crunchy or smooth)
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
Sift together:
4 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
Add to egg mixture, stir until combined. Shape into golf ball size cookies, and press down onto cookie sheet with fork.
Bake 10 to 12 minutes until still somewhat soft in middle (depending on oven, you may have to vary time, these are supposed to be large, soft cookies). Cool slightly before removing from pan, so they won’t break. Finish cooling on rack, or paper towels.
Wendy, this next recipe comes from New Mexico, from early 70′s. You might even be familiar with it. I lived in Lubbock TX at the time, and a teacher shared it with me.
Banana Pineapple Bread Oven 350
Sift together:
3 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
Beat together in large bowl:
3 eggs
2 cups bananas (about 5 mashed, ripe)
1 20 oz can crushed unsweetened pineapple, well drained
3/4 cup cooking oil
1 tsp vanilla
Add sifted ingredients to egg mixture, and stir together until well mixed. Pour into 2 smaller sized loaf pans (8X4inch). 2 regular size loaf pans yield loaves that are only about 2 inches high, but I’m thinking it is a little too much batter for just one reg. loaf. Maybe one loaf and some muffins? As I recall, this recipe makes about 24 muffins, or 1 bundt pan. Bake sm. loaves 1hr and 10 min. Bundt is 1 hr. 20 min. Muffins are abt. 25 minutes. This is a very dense quick bread. Test with toothpick for doneness, if still comes out on pick leave in oven another 10min or so (for loaves) Cool in pan for about 10 minutes before turning out onto rack. Tastes best if wrapped and stored in frig. overnight before eating.
Good night dear Wendy. I will be out of touch until after the end of this next 8 day stretch. Until then you will be much in my thoughts. By then I will have to figure out how to contact you here at FDL, when not responding to a blog, a new experience for me! Please stay safe, and feel loved. Let hubby know that he too is surrounded by this caring circle of friends who want only good for you both, and of course for your son.