Category: Veterans
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From Duty to Dad: Navigating Fatherhood After War
I never really knew my dad.If you added up all the time I spent with him, it wouldn’t make six months. The first time I saw him, I was around eight, and I don’t remember doing much with him. The next time was as a preteen, and that round didn’t do me any favors —…
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A Different Assignment – A Different Fate
Today marks a day I can never forget. Twenty three years ago, the squad I was in before we deployed, hit an AT mine. I was moved to weapons squad as soon as I got in country. I’ve carried the weight of that randomness, the loss of my team, and the disillusionment that followed. I…
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That day…
That day was fucked.I’m not even sure who I’m supposed to be mad at anymore — some pissed-off local, the Taliban, or maybe the Russians who might’ve dumped it all 20 years before. At this point, who knows? And honestly, it probably doesn’t matter. We just left the country again, barely any better off than…
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Tips On How To Smile.
“Dad doesnt ever smile laugh or play with me.” “My oldest son around 7 years old” “Living with someone with PTSD you never see them smile.” “My wife” I’ve felt like this so long, I can’t really remember feeling any other way. A huge portion of my life I’m on autopilot. Maybe it’s the training.…
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Now what?
Since I got out the army my family has noticed I’m fairly good at maintaining my situational awareness. When I go places I pay attention for exits, I evaluate the threat capacity of all my fellow patrons, and I sit with my back to the wall so I have best field of vision. Doing so…
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Top 5 things I miss about the army.
Not gonna be too worried about structure with this one. Not that I ever am but here we go. #5 Starting off with something you won’t hear to often, the pay. It’s a little ironic, because I started writing this after coming across a note I had wrote while in the Army. Reasons I won’t…
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Never be cool like we used to be
When I was 17, I was a badass infantryman, anxious to do what I was trained to do. To close with and destroy the enemy. To kick ass, take names, and notch belts. Now I’m 32 and I shovel poo. Door kicking isn’t just a title. It was my way of life. It’s what pulled…
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Walking amongst heroes.
Cheers to the dead. They’re the only ones whose war is truly over. A big part of my reservation about making these blog posts is I want to be candid, but I don’t want to dishonor my comrades or their memories. Exposing my wounds is my decision. I can live with whatever consequences may come.…
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Life after door kicking. 