Where's Waldo?

After complimenting my wife last night on her recent “Scheduling” blog, she called me Waldo. I told her that the other day I thought I had something to Blog about. I was going to wax poetic about her dry sense of humor and how it’s like Babe Ruth. She either hits a homerun or strikes out. Lately though there’s been a lot of homeruns. I mean seriously, try to picture my wife licking her computer screen at the sight of Mrs. Johnson’s pumpkin pie. Good humor there… and although I think she would really do it – she was just being funny. Like calling me Waldo… she said I “was the Waldo of Blogging” - apparently blogging every once in a while and then becoming hard to spot.

I’ve kind of had some writer’s block going lately. Not that there haven’t been random ideas. It’s just that “The Kirby Krew” is not a place for me to vent my work frustrations and tell the world about multiple teacher/parent confrontations that involve the word “bullshit” and it not coming from my mouth. (Thanks for the parental support - by the way!) Nor is the Kirby Krew a place for me to seek an outlet for the Rush City Tiger football prowess this year. I’ve thought about taking a stab at a story about Logan’s trip to the MetroDome but my bride beat me to the punch while I was sucked into a Facebook cyclone. So Waldo just sat on the outside looking in. Enjoying the view.

Though something has been weighing on my mind a bit lately. After dropping a couple of bucks in the Veteran’s Hospital can at Wal-Mart in return for a Poppy a month ago, I felt a patriotic lump in my throat. That same queasy feeling came over me weeks earlier at the post office when I sent a few RC Football t-shirts to foreign lands on other side of the world. The National Anthem rings a little louder in my head lately knowing that I have close friends in harms way. Emma’s prayers at night routinely leave me with tears in my eyes as my daughter asks God to protect the soldiers that her little heart couldn’t possibly know anything about.

Kevin Jensen has a wife in Baxter with so many kids under the age of 8 that I’ve lost count. Yet, his hind parts hold down Army Supply Officer chairs in Iraq. His kids feel the change of the Minnesota weather at the same time as he empties enemy sand from his boots. This is self-sacrifice.

Ray Grabau is on his 3rd tour fighting the good fight. After two hops in Iraq, Uncle Sam saw it fitting to send this warrior to Afghanistan. He’s a Marine Corps grunt that continues to patrol foreign soil because that’s what his country has asked of him. He doesn’t complain in the letters he writes me. Instead he asks advice on college and life after the Marine Corps. This is self-sacrifice.

Timmy Morris just blew through Rush City a couple of weeks ago. Before visiting a cousin, Sgt. Morris stopped by to chat with an Old Marine that used to coach him in football. As the 2 Marines swapped stories about ‘the suck’, the older one thought his chest was going to explode because he was so proud. With 7 months in Afghanistan building flight decks they say couldn’t be built, Sgt. Morris came home to meet Tim the Third, his young son that was born in July while he was away. With his young family now under his watchful eye, they left last Sunday for his next duty station in Arizona. This is self-sacrifice.

Chris Makela will be throwing down some adult beverages and wild wings in Savage next Thursday with some friends. Then Friday he will leave his wife and friends and go Active Duty overseas, a deployment that has long been on the horizon for this lifer in the Guard. Mak won’t be there this year for any more October grouse hunts and he’ll miss our drunken debauchery we call Trout Weekend. But it’s his turn. He knows it. This is self-sacrifice.

The list is multiplied exponentially in ever family in every small town across this great country. Yes, I served 4 years in Uncle Sam’s Motorcycle Club (USMC) but this isn’t about me anymore. Thousands came before me and thousands continue to walk their post to this day. Our military is not filled through conscription – compulsory enrollment of persons for military service. Quite the contrary. It is a Military made up of the finest men and women on the face of this planet - those that voluntarily take their turn at the tip of the spear so that you and I can get fat and happy while we watch the Twins battle for a pennant.
I will never forget that.
THAT folks, is why I stand a little taller when Old Glory is raised.

Waldo Out.