Christmas is supposed to be a joyous time, and usually, it is. It's a time for sharing, for family, for looking back on the year past and reflecting on just what we've accomplished. And this year, as Americans, we've accomplished quite a bit.
But Christmas isn't always all that. Sometimes it comes with some tension. This brings me to one such; the Christmas of 1990. I was 29 years old, a First Lieutenant, who had just recently joined a Colorado Army National Guard company to keep up some benefits; and then that company, the no-longer-existing 947th Medical Company (Clearing), was ordered to federal service for deployment to what we were then calling Operation Desert Shield.
There was a problem. I was in Colorado. Back in Iowa, my 8-year-old daughter was living with her mother - my ex. I hadn't seen my daughter since the previous summer, and had been planning to go back to Iowa to see her and my parents over the holidays - and then came the Raging Bull alert.
How does one explain to an 8-year-old that Daddy can't come back for Christmas? This was, remember, before video conferencing or smartphones; I was keeping in touch with her and my parents through letters--and calls from a pay phone in the company area. My folks were worried but calm; my Dad, a WW2 veteran, simply told me that he was proud of me, and to "keep my head down."
Bear in mind that we didn't know that what became Desert Storm was going to be an absolute walkover, planned and executed by one of the United States Army's last real warfighter generals, Norman Schwarzkopf. We were getting briefings on the chemical and biological weapons that Iraq supposedly had; we were being told that, for all we knew, the entire Republican Guard could come storming down the Wadi al-Batin, a valley pointed like a dagger at the Saudi's King Khalid Military City and points south - like Riyadh. None of that happened; the general run of the Iraqi Army surrendered so fast that our troops had to make them take numbers and wait - "Now accepting the surrender of #242!"
For all we knew, at that time, we were in for a fight - and our company was scheduled to deploy in late December.
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Then, a reprieve. Things were clogged up at the port; our company's vehicles were delayed in getting on a ship bound for the port in Saudi Arabia. Our company commander got us a few days off to spend Christmas with our families, but we were cautioned that the schedule could change and that we shouldn't go too far. I wanted to go see my daughter (and my parents), but wasn't sure if I should make the 900-mile drive. So I talked to another officer in the company, a friend, and she advised me to go. "You need to see your daughter," she said, reminding me that we didn't have any really good idea what we'd be facing.
So I hopped in my pickup and raced east, arriving in the middle of the night. I ended up crashing on my sister's couch for a few hours of sleep, then went to my ex's house, picked up my daughter, and drove with her up to Allamakee County, where I spent a wistful Christmas with my kid, my Mom, and my Dad.
I must have hugged that kid until she thought her ribs would crack. My Mom hugged me until I thought my ribs would crack. My Dad, ever the taciturn, undemonstrative man of his time, told me again he was proud of me, and when I finally had to leave - we had been ordered to be back a few days before the New Year - Dad just shook my hand and said, "Be careful. Write to your mother."
I dropped off my daughter at her mother's house, and drove back to Colorado, again arriving at the company in the middle of the night. I reported to the Charge of Quarters (CQ) NCO and fell into my rack for some sleep. The next day, my friend asked me how it went. "Fine," I said. But I remember the tears in my little girl's eyes when I had to drop her off; she was old enough to understand that Daddy was going somewhere dangerous, she had some idea what it meant that Daddy was a soldier, and that was all I could think of for a few days.
Of course, we all know now how that conflict worked out. No need to recap that here.
Now, all that seems like a long time ago. In fact, forget "seems" - it was a long time ago. That other officer, my friend who gave me such valuable advice, well, we got to know each other better; now we've been married for almost 33 years. That little girl now has three children of her own, the oldest of which is 22, and she has a young man with whom she is thinking of long-term plans that include family - meaning that my daughter could be a grandmother in a few more years, which would make my wife and I great-grandparents.
The wheel never stops turning.
Today, my wife and I are enjoying a peaceful day, just the two of us, in our little patch of the Susitna Valley. But it's worth remembering that long-ago Christmas when things weren't so happy and were much less certain - and to be glad for all that came out of that unsettled time.
Merry Christmas, everybody.
