Memory Mondays - Memory Journal (Entry 3)

Three weeks ago, @ericvancewalton posted about creating a Blockchain Memory Project to document stories of our childhood in the blockchain. It is a way for us to connect with our grandchildren and great-grandchildren, creating a written, audio or visual record of our memories. I have decided to post mine on Mondays and call them #memorymondays. Please join us in documenting memories with your own Memory Journal.

I'm not going to go all the way back to childhood today. In fact, I'm only going back nineteen years. A lot has been on my mind recently, and by "a lot" I mean, my son. My son recently received orders to Afghanistan. He was in AIT and not connected with his unit. He was "non-deployable" because he was in training. Unbeknownst to him (or us), his unit was mobilizing to Afghanistan. After he finished AIT, his status was changed in the "system" and he received a phone call that he needed to report a couple of days later to mobilize.

We are a military family. Many members of my family are veterans (myself included) and my brother is still active after thirty-six years. But I have to admit, it came as a shock. You don't really have time to talk things through with such short notice. I made a list of things I wanted to say to my son before he went on pre-deployment a couple of weeks ago. I feel like I missed stuff. But I wanted to get his head in the game and just pass on whatever fatherly advice I could. We had a really good chat, even though I feel like there is so much more to say. Having my son around to worry about is a blessing in itself.

Nineteen years ago, my wife went into labor. The nurses came into the room and set up the monitors and then left. I had been through all this once before. That hardly makes me an expert. But I noticed an incredible spike on the chart during each contraction. It concerned me. It didn't look right. I advised the nurse, but she said it was normal. I didn't think so. I persisted, and was again told not to worry about it.

A while later, the doctor arrived. Just in time to make the delivery, which was done right in the room where my wife was staying. My wife could tell by my face that something was wrong. I held it together as best as I could, but my son was purple. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck during delivery. The doctor deftly spun his little body to unravel the cord, clipped and cut, sending a spurt of backed-up blood into the air. I knew I was pale and I think I almost lost consciousness. The doctor was giving orders and I was experiencing ocular exclusion. That happens in high stress situations sometimes. I could see what was happening, but couldn't hear what was being said. My wife finally got my attention and asked me what was wrong. I couldn't speak either.

They had a warming tray in the room. I didn't recall it being there, so it must have been brought in. The nurse's didn't leave with my son. They brought him to the warming tray. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a green light was going off. That was definitely a good sign. But my shock was still preventing me from fully comprehending what was happening. Slowly, the small figure in the warming tray turned pink. He was breathing on his own. And he wasn't happy. As he gained energy, he let us know he was pissed. I never thought a squalling baby would warm my heart like this, but it did. It showed me he had heart.

A few years later, at the age of five, a barely fifty pounds, my son decided he wanted to play football. Real football. I bought him gear and went to practice, which ended with suicide drills. As the kids lined up, I realized my son was about to get pummeled by a kid twice his size. I saw the end of football on a very short horizon. One practice and done. He got pummeled. I could see that "sick to your stomach" look on his face as he got up. He looked at me with a deadpan face and go back in line to do it again. Football it is. He played through high school, earning the nickname Savage from his coach. His game face was one to intimidate. Almost as much as his hits.

He's a tough kid. As much as I wish I could switch with him and go to Afghanistan in his place, I know he would never allow it. It is his coming-of-age. He is taking his turn "in the box" and will honor his oath to uphold the Constitution. I will worry for him immensely over the coming year. The military can be a dangerous place, even when you are not in a war zone. You are dealing with heavy equipment and non-combat deaths happen more than people realize. I know, I have seen it myself. I trust in him to keep his head on a swivel and to follow his training. I trust in God to watch over him. But the dad in me will worry. To me, he is still that frail child in a warming pan. The five-year-old learning to ride a motorcycle. The teen engaged in grid-iron combat. But he is a man. Maybe a boy-man, but he is a man. And on some level, I need to accept that.

I hope you enjoyed sharing my memories. If you would like to participate, just use tags like "blockchainmemoryproject" "story" and "life." You can also use "memorymonday" as well as any tag that will help you locate the memory later.