So Close Yet So Far

On Saturday I was excited to be heading home for the holidays.  This two weeks in the Northwest would be my last big visit home before heading off on deployment to Afghanistan so I wanted to make the most of it. The house in Arlington that I am living in is within walking distance from Reagan/National Airport so the trip to the airport would be easy.  I had a 6:45AM flight so I figured I would head out the door at about 5:00 and I would be there in plenty of time.  Of course, when I hatched this plan I did not plan for the snowfall that the DC area received a couple of days earlier.  Although it didn't make me late it certainly was entertaining for the early morning drivers to see some knucklehead pulling his luggage through the slalom course that the snow and ice had created on the sidewalks.  The wheels on my suitcase were in a bit of shock after that but they held up nicely.  So, after walking along the off ramp from Highway One in Virginia, across the overpass and then on the long winding path to the airport I arrived in plenty of time.  Midori had booked me a flight on Midwest Airlines, so I assumed they would be located in Terminal A.  Terminal A is the original terminal for the airport prior to expansion and these days it tends to house the smaller airlines.  I looked for the signs for Midwest and found.....nothing.  No mention of Midwest anywhere.  No problem, I thought, because the itinerary stated it was run by Republic Airlines.  So, I looked for Republic....nothing. Did Midori mention something about Frontier?  Nah.   Hmmmm.  Perhaps they are in Terminal B or C.  So I started to walk to the other terminals.  Along the way  I passed a list of airlines located in each terminal.  No Midwest, no Republic.  So, just to be safe, I checked the departure board and what to my wondering eyes did appear but...no 6:45 flight to anywhere.  Hmmmm, the flight isn't on the board.  Am I in the right airport?  I know Midori and I had talked about it and I was sure it was Reagan.  But with Baltimore-Washington and Dulles both  close by, is it possible I misread the itinerary?  Was I suppose to be driving to BWI or Dulles?  So, I am sure you are saying, "Alright, knucklehead, what did your itinerary say?"  Great question.  But, since I don't have a printer in the mancave I am staying in (the mancave is the other name for the basement apartment I share), I wrote down the flight info on a piece of paper.  The info I didn't write down was the airport because, why bother, I live within walking distance.  By the time I arrived at Terminals B and C I was starting to get worried that the time was quickly ticking down.  I started calling Midori, Bob and Sean over and over again, hoping someone would pick up the phone.  Yes, I was aware it was 3:00 in the morning on the west coast, but I figured perhaps one of the boys was in front of the TV having an all night Call of Duty session with their friends.  No luck.  Why do my kids have to be so responsible and go to bed at normal times?...especially when I need them to answer the phone in the middle of the night.  I was surprised by the large number of people who were at the airport at 5:30 in the morning on a Saturday.  Who were these people and how come there was no sign of Midwest Airlines?  I stopped at a couple of other airlines and asked if they knew where Midwest was located.  That is, I asked those people who would acknowledge me because there was once or twice when I know the gentleman heard me but chose to walk the other way and ignore my pleas for help.  Finally a caring soul at US Airways went out of her way to locate Midwest.  The good news was, I was at the correct airport.  The  bad news was, I was at the wrong terminal...time to head back to Terminal A (where I had started).  The other bad news was time was winding down...the other good news was the lady at US Airways was so nice.  She didn't have to help me at all but she chose to help a weary traveler who hadn't even started traveling yet...not counting walking through the snow from the mancave.  I hustled back to Terminal A, which means a slow steady jog through the winding corridors that connect the new terminals with the old.  I stopped at the Virgin Airlines desk and asked where the Midwest desk was located.  Oh, "That's Frontier."   I sidled over to the next counter and a very nice young lady named Princy helped me out.  I looked at my watch, 6:40. "Oh yeah you aren't going to make that flight."  She immediately started looking for the next available flight.  While she was looking I was struck by two things.  One was the length of her nails, I mean they were extremely long and curved and painted a light green and one or two nails had very fancy and intricate designs painted on them.  I was amazed at how adept she was at typing because her fingers never came close to touching the keys.  She did it all with her nails.  The other thing that struck me as I was standing there was the stapler that was sitting behind the counter.  The stapler that said Midwest Airlines on the top of it.  That was the only visible sign I saw of Midwest Airlines that entire day.  The best Princy was able to do was get me on standby to Denver and then she booked me from Denver to Seattle.  If I didn't get on  flight to Denver my bag would and I would have to catch up later.  I thanked Princy and made my way to join the long line through security.  Luckily I had a little time since the Denver flight wasn't leaving until 8:30.  A good thing since I ended up behind the cleaning company going through security.  Just as I was about to start putting my belt and shoes and jacket and computer in bins the cleaning crew rolled up with a huge tub on rollers full of all of their cleaning gear and supplies.  Every piece of gear was wrapped up in plastic bags and had to go through the x-ray individually. So they offloaded their tub and I had the joy of watching each piece go through slowly  but surely.  Once I was through security I waited for about an hour until they started boarding the flight.  Then I waited while the guy at the counter counted up all the tickets to verify all the seats were filled....no standby.  Once he had the flight to Denver in the air, he worked with me to see what else was available.  He explained to me that I had two options.  I could go on standby for a flight to Omaha and then he could book me for a flight from Omaha to Denver and Denver to Seattle, or I could wait until the afternoon flight to Denver and book me through to Seattle.  He told me that I would be number two standby on the Omaha flight and it was not overbooked but the Denver flight was oversold by twelve.  "Statiscally speaking, people going to Omaha normally show up for their flight so you may not get on it but the Denver flight is so oversold I would take the chance on the Omaha flight."  I went with the Omaha flight and started a new, two hour wait.  I contemplated walking back to the mancave, since I could practically look out the window of the airport and see it, but the thought of trudging through the snow and going through security again didn't appeal to me so I stayed and waited.  What I found out after my wait is that people from Omaha show up for their flights...except one.  Remember, I was standby number two.  So, another flight left and the lady at the counter helped with with yet another standby.  We were going to shoot for the afternoon flight to Denver. This was probably going to be my last chance of the day as this one was leaving in mid afternoon and anything later would probably strand me in Denver, Kansas City or Omaha.  So, I set my backpack next to me, propped my elbow on my backpack and rested my face in my hand, falling asleep for over an hour while the activity swirled around me in the terminal.  I awoke just as they were announcing my third standby flight.  My hand was completely numb after cradling my head for an extended period and I was pretty sure half my face had a nice red handprint.  As the last of the passengers boarded, I loitered near the counter so the nice young lady could see me.  When all looked lost, the lady turned to me and said "Mr Murdock, you can thank this gentleman right here for getting you a seat."  She pointed to a guy wearing a pilot uniform.  Evidently his shift was over so he and his crew were flying back to their home base of Denver.  Frontier has a policy that a crewmember can give up their seat and sit in the jumpseat in the cockpit so that standby passengers can fly.  This guy made the choice to sit in an uncomfortable seat for close to five hours just so I could get home.  I spoke with him for a minute and thanked him for getting me on the flight.  He asked me my story and when I told him he turned to another pilot and said "See, that's why I do it."  The other guy, looked at me and said "Yeah, you're lucky he's here.  I'm not giving up my seat, no way."  So while the one guy confirmed he was a jerk the other guy is bound for sainthood.  The lady at the counter rushed me on to the plane.  "What about my connection?" I asked her.  "I will  take care of it, just get on the plane so we can go" she replied.  So, finally, after arriving at the airport before the sun came up, I was finally leaving just about an hour before the sun was getting ready to set.  Now, this is not a plug for Frontier, but I have to tell you, the plane had leather seats, a TV at every seat and the best part?  They hand out warm chocolate chip cookies!  Definitely the highlight of my day.  When the lady next to me said no thanks to the cookie I almost said "I'll take hers!"   Once I arrived in Denver, my ticket to Seattle was there as promised and she had even upgraded me to get the free TV (since you normally have to swipe your credit card).  When I arrived in Seattle my bag was there waiting for me, along with my handsome son who was called in to pitch hit for Midori in airport duties.  Alright, so why did I tell this long and boring story?  Because, although it could have been a terrible day, it all worked out and throughout the day I was blessed to come into contact with a myriad of professional, helpful, cheerful people who seemed to genuinely care about their jobs and about taking good care of people.  Even the flight attendant who I saw getting cursed out by an irate passenger handled the situation with class and professionalism.  There are still some good people in the world taking care of knuckleheads like me and making sure we get home for the holidays.

Alright, this is a tough one.  I had been working on a draft for a few days (after thinking it over in my head for over a week).  The subject was going to be about the trials and tribulations of friendship.  I was going to talk about the barriers that I have set up in my life that limits the number of friends I have and how perhaps it is safer that way.  The subject came to mind when a friend that I have not seen in 27 years was letdown by her best friend.  Her conclusion was that, in the end each and everyone of us are alone.  I was having difficulty figuring out the direction on wanted to go with it.  I also did not want it to sound like a pity paper lamenting my life because that is far from reality.  Get to the point Murdock.  I deleted all I had written this morning.  Perhaps one of these days I will resurrect it.  But for now I wanted to talk for just  a moment about a young Sailor that I worked with at Navy Recruiting District Seattle.  Petty Officer Ruiz was a very quiet, unassuming young man.  Thin and not very tall, it was easy for him to get lost in a crowd.  He did not have the loud, boisterous personality that you find with most Boatswain's Mates.  He was very difficult to get to know because of his quiet demeanor.  Whenever I saw him I was always trying to get him to crack a smile because he always looked so somber and serious.  Aside from that, he was very good at his job.  He was able to put people in the Navy and he was a major contributor to his recruiting station being the Large Station of the Year in 2009 and his Zone being Zone of the Year for 2009.  He transferred from NRD Seattle and transferred to a Mobile Security Squadron earlier this year.  The last time I saw him I pinned a Navy Achievement Medal on his chest for his dedication to the mission.  Yesterday I found out Petty Officer Ruiz passed away in San Diego.  I don't have much information on it other than he was not feeling well after finishing physical training.  He went home and never showed up for work the next day.  My plan for a Friday evening was to go to bed early.  I was exhausted after another week of Pashto training and I had stayed up late on Thursday preparing my presentation on Buzkashi (the national sport of Afghanistan) that I had to deliver in Pashto.  A few moments after finding out about Petty Officer Ruiz I received a text from my brother David inviting me to dinner.  It seemed all that more important to be around people and celebrate life in the simplest way and I gladly accepted the invite.  As always it was good to be in my brother's dining room, surrounded by good people who love me unconditionally.  The neighbors came over to join in the festivities, and I quietly reveled in the warmth of being surrounded by family and friends. It amazes me that as humans it seems to takes tragedies or life threatening situations to provide the proper perspective on life and how we should live it.  You are always hearing about someone who was within an inch of losing their life and when they recover they talk about how they look at things differently now.  They appreciate life and plan to live it to the fullest and they appreciate family and friends that much more.  But why wait to have a life altering experience to truly appreciate and respect what you have?   We get so wrapped up in the minutiae of life that we never take a step back to look within and really feel and experience every moment.  Soak it in, allow yourself to get lost in the moment and appreciate what you have.  Doesn't that make life that much richer?  Does it open you up to possible pain and disappointment?  Probably.  Friends will hurt you, family will disappoint, but that should not prevent you from living life with your eyes and heart open.  Do not waste a moment.  Tennyson wrote: 

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

I went on the Facebook page of Petty Officer Ruiz.  It was interesting to see that it had turned into a place to post condolences to a departed friend (mostly in Spanish).  I was struck by what Petty Officer Ruiz wrote for his bio.  I have copied it here, leaving it in capital letters just as it appeared on his page.  I am not sure if this comes from something he read or if it was his original work.  Still, it allows one last opportunity to see inside Ismael Ruiz...rest in peace Shipmate:


I BELIEVE THAT EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON. PEOPLE CHANGE SO THAT YOU CAN LEARN TO LET GO, THINGS GO WRONG SO THAT YOU APPRECIATE THEM WHEN THERE RIGHT, YOU BELIEVE LIES SO YOU EVENTUALLY LEARN TO TRUST NO ONE BUT YOURSELF, AND SOMETIMES GOOD THINGS FALL APART SO BETTER THINGS CAN FALL TOGETHER. IMPERFECTION IS BEAUTY, MADNESS IS GENIUS. AND ITS BETTER TO BE ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS THEN ABSOLUTELY BORING. AND WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT, I LET THEM THINK WHAT THEY WANT. IF THEY CARE ENOUGH TO BOTHER WITH WHAT I DO, THEN IM ALREADY BETTER THEN THEM.

With my fellow classmate and two of our Pashto instructors

With my classmates and instructor...I made them smile.

PASHTO MISERY

My Pashto language school is now half over with only two months to go.  To add to the retention difficulty, we have thrown in a week off around Thanksgiving and two weeks at Christmas.  It will be interesting when we come back from these breaks to see just how much we have been able to retain.  Of course everyone has a plan to study during the break.  My plan goes something like this, tomorrow I will say to my self "Self, we still have nine more days where we can study...take the day off."  Then on Sunday I will say "We still have eight more days where we can study, plenty of time, take the day off."  This pattern will continue until a week from Sunday as I am sitting on the couch watching Sunday Night Football and then, and only then, will I realize that I have forgotten every bit of Pashto I ever knew and class begins anew the next morning.  Alright, hopefully it won't go like that, but I wouldn't be surprised.  

Our instructors are truly an interesting and unique group.  All are from Afghanistan and all of them have amazing life stories to tell.  Between the Soviet invasion, Taliban rule and the current war, life for them has been a struggle.  All of the instructors are well educated, and they all had professions in Afghanistan, including doctors, engineers and politicians.  But for various reasons they were forced or chose to start a new life in the United States.  Many were forced because they had worked for the American military and it had become unsafe for them and their family.  So now they are here, teaching Pashto to a bunch of knucklehead soldiers, Sailors, airmen and Marines.  I feel sorry for them because it is one thing to be a kindergarten teacher but it is another thing when all of the kindergartners are in their thirties and forties.  The poor guys have to sit there and teach the equivalent of  ABCs and listen to excruciatingly painful conversations in their native language.  Of course they are also teaching a language that was never standardized, so the vocabulary and grammar sort of shift and bend, swaying back and forth like stalks of wheat on a windy day (alright that was pretty bad but you get the picture).  We have learned it is futile to ask "Why."  Every time, and I mean absolutely every time, someone asks a question about Pashto and why something is the way it is, they will inevitably start talking about English and all the weird things about English "Why is the verb "to go" go, going, gone, went?  Where did the "went" come from, it doesn't look anything like go! And what about these apostrophes and contractions...how do you explain that?"  Of course it is futile to try and explain that, we aren't...excuse me...we are not attacking their language we are just trying to understand the rules and if there is a reason for it or a history behind it perhaps it would help us to learn more effectively.  It just doesn't...sorry...does not work.  I found the perfect word in the Pashto Dictionary as I was browsing through it one day (yes that is what I am reduced to, reading Pashto Dictionaries).  The word is "salabala" and it means "for no rhyme or reason."  It is my favorite word in any language.  Of course, as luck would have it none of the instructors knew what the word was so it is an obscure, unused word.  Why?  Salabala.  One of the instructors did say if you separate it into two words it could mean "cold goat" which could also come in handy one day.  The most disturbing thing I found in the dictionary is that apparently they have a verb "To bathe in blood."  The instructor said that was a mistake and there is no such verb but...it is there nonetheless.  Now, the word for sky is "aasman" (which brings to mind a memorable Seinfeld episode)  the color green is "sheen" and blue is "aabee."  But what color is the aasman?  Why, it is sheen of course.  But, I thought the sky was blue.  Well, it is, and when they say sheen aasman then sheen means blue, but only in that instance...the rest of the time it means green......huh?   But why do you not use aabee?  Why does the English word "knife" start with a 'k'?  Salabala.  My favorite conversation with an instructor was a battle that went on for over two days.  We were talking about medical terms and the word "doctor," which in Pashto is "daktar."  The instructor just wanted to confirm with us that female doctors in the United States are called "doctoresses."  We all corrected him by letting him know that no, female doctors are not called doctoresses, they are called doctors.  But he was adamant about it.  "No, I am sure, that is what they taught me in English class."  We debated back and forth for a few more minutes and then went back to the lesson.  The next day he came back to the class triumphant that he had proven us wrong.  "I looked it up on the internet...the definition is there...in Wikipedia."  He also asked us what we call a female lion.  When we told him it was lioness he said "See there! Lioness, doctoress!"  I pointed out to him that we didn't call female dogs doggesses or female cats cattesses (I didn't tell him what we did call female dogs for fear of offending him of course).  I finally told him, "Fine, go to the nearest hospital, walk up to a female doctor and call her a doctoress but quickly step back a few paces depending on the length of her reach."  He finally conceded the point, but much to my chagrin I went online that night and unfortunately the word does exist in the Webster's Online Dictionary, although I could not find it in a hard copy dictionary (although "to bathe in blood" is in the hard copy Pashto dictionary...I'm just sayin).

So, that is how my days go and in between I am learning a few words and a useful phrase now and then (salabala!).  The instructors are all very professional and passionate about their work.  They understand more than anyone how important it is and they take it very seriously.  We are blessed to have them. This week off could not have come at a better time.  I am ready to see my family and spend some time at home, if only for a few days.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Life Changing Moments

My daughter has a ring on her finger.  I haven't seen it in person yet since she is on the other side of the country (actually I am on the "other" side of the country..she hasn't moved).  She did send me a photo on my cell phone.  I knew it was going to happen because I had received a phone call about three weeks ago from a young man who asked my blessing to take my daughter's hand in marriage.  Although I knew it was going to happen one day, it is one of those life changing moments that surprise you no matter how prepared you think you might be.  After he made the initial inquiry there was silence on the line because I was so choked up I couldn't get any words out.  He finally asked if I was still there and I asked him to "give me a minute, someone just asked for my daughter's hand in marriage."  After I was able to gather myself we had a nice talk.  He is a great man and I am elated that they have decided to become husband and wife. By the time I called Midori and told her I was blubbering so much she couldn't understand a word I was saying.  I didn't get much sleep that night as the wave of emotions kept shaking me out of my slumber...pride, melancholy, excitement, fear, happiness, sadness...it was all there at one time or another.  My one and only daughter, my lovely daughter with the purest of hearts is getting married.  Oh! That they do it right and weather the storms of marriage and come to know the unwritten rules of compromise and understanding and love that is unconditional.  Oh! That they take the time to savor the joy of sharing in each others lives.  Does this mean I am old?  Is this another chapter ending in an ever thinning book (not that I am thinning unfortunately...just the book of my life).  Will she still need me?  Will she have time for her old man when he needs her?  Although I have stabilized over the past few weeks, the moment, the event, the thought that my daughter is really getting married, stays with me each and every day and the love that I have for my daughter grows.  I can't wait to see the adventure unfold!

Leadership Lesson #1

Although this blog (I hate that word) is called Lessons in Life and Leadership, I would never be so presumptuous as to think I was qualified to teach anyone about leadership.  I continue to work at it after all these years and still struggle to get it right.  So, these lessons are not instructions as much as they are musings about the mistakes I have made and the lessons I have learned.  One of the greatest men I know is Harry Mitch Highfill who was my Commanding Officer on the mighty BELLEAU WOOD in the early 90's.  I remember a day at sea when I was standing Officer of the Deck on the bridge.  I had just done something stupid, and had heard about it from Captain (later Rear Admiral) Highfill.  When he was finished yelling at me, I told him "Sir, I will never make the same mistake twice."  Captain Highfill just looked at me as he sat in his Captain's Chair and said "Yeah, but Murdock, you make every single one."  All I could do was nod in agreement and say "Yes sir, I do."  So, although I have yet to make it through the complete list of leadership mistakes I continue to work on it and I have made a pretty good dent in it. 

A couple of events that occurred early on in my career as an officer went a long way toward teaching me lessons in ownership, accountability and communication.  The first was when I was Boilers Officer on the mighty BELLEAU WOOD.  As the Boilers Officer I was responsible for 56 Boiler Technicians and two 600 pound Boilers that created the steam used to propel the ship through the water.  When we were underway at least one of the Boilers was always online (usually both) so my guys were working shifts around the clock.  I remember getting a call in the middle of the night from one of my fellow Division Officers, Eric Anderson, telling me about a problem in the Engineering plant that concerned a piece of equipment that I owned.  At sea, sleep comes at a premium, so I listened (kind of) and then fell right back into my rack, returning to a deep sleep.  At breakfast the next morning I sat down with Eric and our department head feeling refreshed from a good night's sleep, although still a little perturbed that my beauty sleep had been interrupted.  Eric mentioned the call and I told him "Yeah, thanks for the call, but next time couldn't it wait until morning?"  Whoops.   My first mistake was saying that in front of my department head because he quickly brought out his flame thrower and reduced me to a pile of ashes.  It's tough finishing your pancakes as a pile of ashes.  The other mistake was not realizing that Eric was calling me because I was responsible for the equipment 24 hours a day, and if the capability of the ship was reduced because of the failure of my equipment then our mission could possibly be degraded.  It was my responsibility to ensure that we had a clear path to success to get the equipment back up in a timely manner.  What I should have done when Eric called was get in contact with my guys and ensure they were on it and had that clear path. Then, I should have called my department head and informed him so he could call his boss and so on and so forth.  What a knucklehead.
The next lesson was on the mighty BUNKER HILL just about three years later.  The ship was homeported in Yokosuka, Japan and we were taking advantage of a beautiful Saturday to get underway for a Family Cruise where we could bring family and friends to experience life underway for a few hours.  I was fairly new to the ship and as the Fire Control Officer I was responsible for the Aegis Weapon System including the SPY-1 radar which was basically the heart and soul of the Combat Systems on the ship.  If SPY doesn't work we really were a cruise ship instead of a cruiser.  I brought Midori and her sister on the cruise with me and was waiting in line on the flight deck for a tasty burger that the guys were cooking up as part of a steel beach picnic.  While I was in line one of my guys came by and informed me that the SPY was down (meaning broken).  I told him thanks and continued to wait in line with my wife and sister in law.  Cmon, this is a Family Day Cruise,  we aren't even going to use that radar today.  A few minutes later my department head came by and asked me what I knew about the radar being down.  I was a little annoyed that he brought it up in front of my family, but, alright, I would humor him and tell him what I know.  He scurried away, obviously agitated about the whole situation.  But I wasn't going to let anything deter me from the great day I was enjoying with the family.  However, they were not going to let me enjoy the day.  A few minutes later, over the 1MC (the public address system) I heard them say "Lieutenant Murdock, your presence is requested in the pilot house."  Now this was the proper way to make an announcement when you were asking an officer to go somewhere.  Since I was just a few feet away from the food I figured I could get my food quickly and then jet up to the bridge (pilot house).  Unfortunately a moment later the call came "Lieutenant Murdock, pilothouse."  When I heard that announcement (which did not have the same respectful tone the first one did) I knew that my "family cruise" was about to change drastically and I quickly excused myself and headed toward the bridge.  I wasn't quick enough.  As I was working my way from the flight deck to the bridge, one more announcement came over the 1MC..."Murdock, bridge!"  I recognized that voice, how nice for the Captain to personally beckon me.  My fate was sealed as the announcements went from very respectful to practically threatening.  The great thing about announcements like that over the 1MC is that every person on the ship hears them, so everyone knew that life as I knew it would soon cease to exist.  Once I arrived in the pilothouse the Captain had a very pointed discussion with me about my responsibilities.  The only thing that saved me from being a pile of ashes that could drift away with the sea breeze was the group of family and friends of the crew that were all on the bridge while I was talking to the Captain.  He wasn't going to completely destroy me in front of so many civilians, although I could feel my skin melting from the heat of his gaze. For a moment I swear he was trying to reach into my chest with his eyes so he could rip my heart out right there.  Lesson? Communicate.  Don't be the senior guy with bad news.  If you find out that there is a problem, again, establish a clear path to success and let your boss know what it is.  Your responsibility to your people, to your chain of command and to the mission are not suspended just because you are on a Family Cruise or because it is in the middle of the night or even if you are sitting at home enjoying dinner with the family.  The responsibility and accountability is always there and it is important that action is taken if the mission is going to be degraded in any way.
Yes, those stories are fairly similar so, perhaps I spoke too soon when I told Harry Mitch Highfill that I never make the same mistake twice...but at least I haven't made every single one twice...yet. 

Learning the 49th Most Popular Language in the World

Four weeks into learning Pashto, I am amazed at how exhausting the process has been.  On Friday afternoons I am physically and mentally spent.  My days are filled with nothing but Pashto, Pashto, Pashto.  I did some quick math (meaning it is probably incorrect).  There are approximately 30 million native Pashto speakers between Afghanistan and the western area of Pakistan (since the Durand Line effectively split the Pashtun people in half).  The literacy rate of those 30 million is about 14 percent.  Now, if you talk to my instructor he will say it is up to 35 percent so reality is possibly somewhere in between.  If we low ball it and stay with the 14 percent for the calculation, that means that approximately 4.2 million people actually read and write Pashto.  Amazing that I now spend every waking moment (not too mention the occasional fitful dream) speaking, listening, reading and writing this language.  I looked up a website that ranked the languages in the world by number of native speakers...alright it was Wikipedia...and Pashto comes in 49th.  Now that still beats out many languages including Greek, Swedish, Welsh and Comanche, but still, this turn my life has taken (of my own doing) is surreal to say the least. 

We are divided into small sections, so I sit around a table in a room with two other students while one and sometimes two instructors drill us on vocabulary, verb conjugation and conversational skills.  There is absolutely no hiding when there are only three of you.  The amazing thing is when they are asking a question of one of the other two, I always have the answer in my head, and I can't wait to blurt it out to save the poor guy who is fumbling and stumbling to find the correct word or phrase (poor insignificant fool!).  Of course, once the instructor turns to me and asks me to speak in Pashto, that knowledge that I had in my head seeps out of my ears unexpectedly and I find myself fumbling and stumbling for the answer (becoming a poor, insignificant fool) while my two classmates stand ready to pounce on the answer at any sign of weakness or hesitation from me.  It is amazing how that 50 percent switch becomes activated.  Fifty percent of your knowledge seems to disappear the moment you are under the gun. 

Some of the audio lessons we have in class and for homework, require us to listen to native speakers conversations and pick out the significant information in the dialogue.  This has been the most difficult part for me, and without a doubt the most important skill I need to pick up.  I have been doing great with the reading and writing portion of the lessons, but I am not going over there to read the newspaper.  Trying to separate the important information from a stream of words that come at a lightning quick pace is daunting.  Some lessons I have had to listen to the sentence twenty or more times to figure out what they are saying.  I can see myself over there trying to converse and repeating over and over  "Huh? Say again? What? Could you repeat?"  That would not be pretty. Of course I have never been good with this.  I remember sitting in the lobby of a hotel in Dallas, Texas when I was eleven year old.  Dad was attending a convention and he turned it into a vacation for the family.  As luck would have it, the Chicago White Sox were in town to play the Texas Rangers.  We had gone to see the game the night before since my favorite player, Richie Allen was playing for the White Sox that year.  So, as I am sitting in the lobby, with my White Sox ballcap on, two hispanic gentlemen sat down next to me and started to talk to me.  This poor guy kept asking me a question but for the life of me I couldn't understand him.  I was terribly nervous, so the fifty percent switch was in full activation and I finally asked him "how old am I ?" trying to figure out what he was saying.  He finally slowed it down to my level and I was able to grasp that he was just asking how I was doing.  Years later I am no better...scary. 

On a completely different note, the man who was talking to me was an infielder for the White Sox named Luis Alvarado.  After getting through the introductions I had a short conversation with him and got his autograph before scurrying off to find my family.  I just googled Luis and sadly, he passed away nine years ago at the age of 52.  That year with the White Sox was his best year in the majors. 

Alright, back to the point.  This language training is exhausting, yet I am having a great time.  I enjoy coming in every day and learning something new.  I revel in the challenge that it brings me and I have set high goals for myself.  My brother is always telling me that learning a language has been known to fight off the possibility of Alzheimers which is definitely another significant benefit to this whole evolution.  Three months to go!

Why I Do What I Do

Why do I do what I do?  Excellent question.  A question that I continue to ponder on a daily basis as I attempt to determine if I am doing the right thing.  Two months ago I was riding a bus into Seattle every day.  I worked in a corner office with a spectacular view of the Space Needle and I was surrounded by an amazing group of professionals.  When I arrived home in the evening I would open the door just long enough for the dogs to come out and greet me with the unconditional love only a devoted dog can truly give. We would go out in the front yard and play for a few moments before taking it inside for well deserved dog biscuits (only the dogs would partake...I usually refrained from having one myself).  If I forgot the dogs (Ginger and Mac) would remind me with an enthusiastic, prodding yet respectful bark.  Soon after I would sit down to dinner with Midori and Sean every night, which has always been my favorite time of the day.  Without fail we would linger around the table long after the meal was over, and discuss the events of the day or just talk about stupid stuff that made us laugh. On those special occasions when Sara and Bob were home life was virtually perfect.  Having everyone home always brought a feeling that all was right with the world and that I truly had everything.
So here I sit, in a basement apartment in Arlington, VA a geographic bachelor 3000 miles from home learning a language that is 49th on the list of most common languages.  I will spend my 50th birthday at a National Guard base in Indiana learning how not to shoot myself in the foot and building a team to take to the war. In June I will be heading to Afghanistan to lead a Provincial Reconstruction Team for a nine month deployment.   I didn't have to take this route.  In February I will have 30 years active duty.  My options were open...retire, stay in and take a less demanding position out of harm's way and much closer to home or take an interesting staff job in some exotic location.  Instead I chose to put myself and my family through a couple of years of uncertainty and separation.  Why do I do what I do?

With anything, it's complicated, and I certainly did not enter in to the decision lightly.  There are a myriad of factors that went into it.  Some thoughts on a few:

1) The need to do my part.  Although I have been in the Navy for thirty years, I still feel like it is important to be involved in the fight.  When I was working in Seattle, I would walk down the street in my uniform, and occasionally someone would thank me for my service.  I always felt a little guilty, wanting to tell them "Don't thank me, I have a corner office with a view of the Space Needle. I'm not doing anything special."  We continue to send our young men and women of America to war, and perhaps they need someone to go with them, provide them leadership and guidance, and ensure they get home safely.

2) The need to inspire my children.  I never feel as though I am doing enough to lead my children down the path of life.  I think back to my Dad, a man of few words but with a work ethic that I could never aspire to match.  He didn't have to say much, but he set an example for me that I have always aspired to.  I want to do the same for my kids regardless of their age.  What example am I setting?  Not sure...service, commitment, leadership, work ethic...who knows.  Still it is important to strive to be that example and although I have fallen short mightily throughout the years, I will never give up on this incredibly important responsibility.

3) The need to stay competitive.  If I am going to stick around I need to continue to be relevant.  Often, when someone leaves a command tour, they end up on a staff, sitting in a cubicle creating powerpoint presentations...no way.  If I am going to stick around I want to lead.  To be competitive, it is important to take the hard job.  At the same time, if I do not get promoted, what a great job I will have, providing me the opportunity to have an important and rewarding position leading young soldiers and Sailors in a tough environment.

4)  I'm not ready to leave the Navy.  I look at the options available to me on the outside and nothing appeals to me...perhaps down the road I will get into teaching, but for now I am still having fun and I still get excited about the opportunities that are available to me in the Navy.  I just can't see myself doing anything else at this point.

So, why do I do what I do? I sometimes wonder if I am selfish...that certainly is possible.  Perhaps the honorable thing to do would be to stay closer to home and not be a long distance father, husband and son so that my family does not have to go through the anxiety and uncertainty that comes with this assignment.  To answer I guess I would look to the four points above and state the unfortunate truth that with service comes sacrifice.  With every American who has gone to war, there was a family that was there with them, in spirit, support and sacrifice.  Hopefully we will all come out better as we all take part in the process.  I hope I am right...