Failure Drill - 2 & 1...

3 times... I say "just 3 times" but in reality those 3 times scared the livin' sh*t outta me. All 3 times actually happened in Mogadishu, Somalia. Although our mission in Kuwait carried some danger, not one knee knocking moment came from my 2 separate times in that Middle Eastern sandbox. All I remember Kuwait as was a chance to get off the ship - play some desert football - have a couple of hooch races - dig a few fighting holes and sit and wait. No biggie, really. But the Mog... that place was legit.
Small arms fire came from the vicinity of the West Gate on the first night that my fireteam was on patrol. MY fireteam. Our assigned area. Shots fired. "F**K"!
Another night we were awaken by our platoon commander during our 4 hour "off rotation". Word had come down that a crowd was gathering in the streets outside of the UN compound. Given orders to expediently dress in full riot gear, adrenaline began to surge through every inch of every Marine I made eye contact with. We trained for months on riot control tactics. I felt a world of responsibility rush over me as one of only a few Marines actually carrying a firearm in to the fight. I was tasked with providing firepower cover to my brothers who would go in to "battle" with their weapons slung across their backs - riot batons at hand - me and my shotgun would stand as their first real line of defense. We loaded the AAVs and idled toward the streets of Mogadishu - outside of the protection of our secured port. The hard to define "enemy" crawled back into their holes and we went back to bed.
Time # 3 started out as a seemingly harmless assignment presiding over the whole Mogadishu sea port up on the hill at Post 45. The view of the rising sun over the Indian Ocean burned an impression on my mind that will last a lifetime. Knowing this Kodak moment may never come again, myself and 3 other Marines left the cover of our sandbag bunker and posed for a few quick "happy snappys". I don't remember who the Marine was that took those pictures for us but every time I look at them I am immediately reminded of the fractions of a second it took for us knuckleheads to scurry for cover as someone started taking "pot-shots" at us from afar.
I am not a war hardened Marine. I can not imagine some of the sh*t my fellow "devil dogs" have lived and died through in their centuries of service. However, I do know that at 19 years of age I felt 10 feet tall and bullet proof - indestructible - probably why I shrugged off those 3 times as "good sh*t" - what didn't kill me only made me stronger, right?
I can also tell you with all honesty that back then I often tried to see into my own future. Tried to see what my life would be like 10, 15, 25 years from those boyish days in the Corps. Back then, I couldn't have dreamed it would be like this.
I love my life. I love my wife. I love my children. I love my dogs - goldfish too. I love my town and all the fish in the lake. I love sitting on a stubble field chasing spring turkeys. I love patrolling the deck of the Rush City Aquatic Center. I love when the dew from the grass on an August morning soaks my sneakers before football practice ever begins. I am a happy man and I love this country.
And sooooo... as news hit late Sunday night that our Commander in Chief - no matter your Political persuasion - wanted to speak to us...as a good Marine, I listened. I listened as President Obama reported that America's #1 most wanted terrorist had taken his final breath. Our hunt for the leader of al Qa'ida was through. The mastermind behind some of the worst terrorist attacks on US citizens had finally "paid the piper". As the President spoke, a world of emotions poured over me. I relived that crisp fall September 11th morning of my fist year as a teacher. I was taken back to those moments of walking 11 year old kids that I had just met, through the worldly impact that what we were witnessing live on the classroom TVs would have on each one of us. Mr. Obama continued and I listened while remembering the frantic need that September night to hold the woman I loved, and would later marry, and her 4 year old son.
As I sat in the recliner last Sunday night thinking about all of the bad in the world, upstairs my two youngest children rested -safely - snug in their bed, oblivious to the evil and the news. I prayed while the President wrapped it up. I scoured Facebook to see how the world wide web would react. My two dogs periodically awoke to check on me. I flipped through a few channels to see more reactions and privately fought back tears. I knew people would soon take to the streets. Revelers they called them. I was proud to be an American too. But I think inside I knew that this moment in history should transcend any nationalism or patriotism some skinny college kid may be feeling while he rushed towards the White House or Ground Zero, iPhone in hand.
As Facebook 'blew up" with personal posts from friends and family that I care deeply about, I wished that the news was taken with a bit more quiet dignity. I understood the level of hatred that this one person had caused with his anti- American doctrine. I count my own tears among the millions that have been shed during this war on terror and I assure you... I am not a hippie... I am not a babbling baby either. The "war on terror" is justified. It is not over. And because of that I could not celebrate. Americans are still serving abroad - standing a post in some foreign land protecting us from that "hard to define" enemy. Now much later in their careers, Marines that I previously served with will continue to be called to do their duty. Again. Kids that have sat in my classroom or ran sprints on my football field now wear flak jackets and carry M16s so that someone else doesn't have to. These young men and women provide a blanket of freedom that allows the masses to flood those streets I watched fill Sunday night. To me, the news of bin Laden's death would hopefully serve to boost troop morale... to somehow show those that have voluntarily served, that their work has not been done in vain.

Now 35 years old - 10 years in to a teaching career - head football coach - family man with a gorgeous wife and 3 wonderful kids that light up my life... I listened, watched and remembered... I am still that 19 year old Jarhead - taking fire in a foreign land...

1 Corrinthians 15:58 "Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain."

It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son.
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.

Semper Fidelis