Road Show

The students from Ms. Parker's class at Los Alamitos Elementary, avid writers and artists of cheery letters and pictures, joined me for a photo when I visited them to say thank you.

I became huge fans of Ms. Matzuk's class in Doylestown, PA and Ms. Parkers class in Los Alamitos, CA.  The letters and drawings, as well as the unintentional and innocent humor contained in many, never failed to brighten my day and cast rays of sun on my officemates as well.  So I happily accepted an invitation to visit Ms. Parker's class when I was in Southern California.  

Filled with questions, the students squirmed and raised their hands almost to the point of hyper-extending a joint.  

"What is it like to shoot someone?" one asked, with a seriously inquiring countenance.  To his disappointment and befuddlement, I had to tell him that most military members never have to do that, fortunately.  

"What is your favorite animal?" came another query from a shyly grinning little girl, perhaps wondering if one could have a favorite animal AND be in the military at the same time.  Ask me what I think about some geo-political issue and I am on it.  Ask me my favorite animal, and I am stumped so I diverted and talked about all the migratory bird life at Camp Victory.

I guess it is the simple questions like that one that I need to spend some more time thinking about.

Party!

Party hosts Paul and Denise Fejtek went all out for my USC Welcome Home Party.  

I had largely eschewed any going away parties eight months ago but there was really no denying Paul and Denise Fejtek when they offered (or did they decree?) to host a party at their home in Newport Beach.  Although initially billed as a USC party, the guest list quickly expanded, as Paul admitted that he might have forwarded my blog to a few friends (and friends of friends).

As I drove down the narrow beach street the party venue sat on, I briefly cursed whoever had dared to park an H1 Hummer in such close quarters . . . that is, until I looked up and realized it was in front of the Fejtek House.  Along with sandbags, camo netting and a great big banner. Paul and Denise had actually gone to the local Hummer dealership and got the vehicle on loan for the event.

The consummate hosts, Paul and Denise made sure everyone had something to drink from, in the form of a desert-tan canteen either pre-filled with a margarita or quickly charged from a nearby keg.  You had to be issued dog tags and a tee-shirt first though.  Their roof deck was hopping and the additional camo netting draped above it offered much needed concealment from the hordes of news helicopters that swarmed the sky to get a glimpse of an all-star cast of many of my best friends from USC who arrived from far and near to welcome me back.  

A college nickname that seems to have staying power . . .  it has also been my email address of  15+ years.

Of course, I regaled them all with a dramatic recital of one of my many poems penned during some of the darkest hours of the insurgency and entitled "Oh Yee Wicked and Vile Computer Printer: This Evil Jam Shall not Dissuade Me!"  As you can only imagine, I had to ask some parents among the guests to retreat to a safe distance with their offspring  lest the retelling of this horror mar the children.

The California Beta Chapter members of Sigma Phi Epsilon Fraternity in attendance.  It was absolutely terrific to see these guys - they don't make fraternities any better than Sig Ep.

A lot of people have asked me if I have changed as a result of my experience in Iraq.  Some seemed concerned that somehow Iraq had stolen something from me and others merely curious.  Just by virtue of the question, I had to pause when I was first asked and try to discern if the question was a function of a change they had noticed in me or not.  I mean, surely, as you can tell from these photos, I came back as a steely-eyed warrior . . . . or maybe I was thinking blood-shot-eyed warrior.  In any case, I don't think I have changed.  Improved, absolutely, but I'm pretty confident that I have not changed.  Much of my outlook during the deployment was readily fueled by the wealth of emails, cards and packages, large and small, I received from friends, family and yes, even strangers (but now certainly in the category of "friends" - thanks U. of Pittsburgh Nursing School Association - do you all have an end of school dance or something you need me to be your date for . . . ?).

I must have dozens of photos almost identical to this spanning the last 15 years since I became friends with Jason and Gary.

The grenade balloons and photo cutout were literally the icing on the cake of an incredible party.

A familiar face and founding member of the O-3 Dinner Club, Jeremy was with me at Camp Victory and made it down from Ventura to join the festivities.

The real treat was seeing Rich and Alexis Fiore, whose family size doubled just five months ago.  They both appeared to be extremely impressed with my plan to outsource to India the rearing of any children I have.

Some of the usual suspects from Trojan football games, I missed the banter of Holly, Janine and Kari from our season ticket outpost high in the "we didn't donate to the Athletic Department" seats at the Coliseum.

 

I'm not sure how many people can actually fit in the back of an H1 Humvee, but oddly enough and in sharp contrast to those in the desert, this Humvee had wood trim, leather seats and carpeting.  I must have been issued last year's model in Iraq . . . .

All in the Family

The post-party party table.  My cousin Duke negotiated a table for us all well after our banquet time had expired at Maggianos.

Of all the people that worried about me while I was gone, my folks surely had standing to be at the top of the list but were the best troopers of them all.  I knew I was always safe (I mean, mostly safe . . . it's all relative) but my parents and family (and friends) would not.  Broadcast news, a regular programing choice for the large TV in the office, often reported the worst and frequently disregarded the best.  Somewhere in between, shrouded by the "fog of war" lies the truth.  So I actually think it was far more difficult to be here, in the U.S., than there, in Iraq.  My folks were very caring but amazingly stoic throughout, surely a credit to them both.

But right now, the larger credit was the party they threw for me and 39 members of the family.  A bevy of food and drink to be sure, but more importantly, a feast of family, all of whom I was incredibly happy to see and be with.

My two favorite nieces (of two).

The hosts and very relieved parents.  For those of you in the DC area who have already asked me about the next Hal and Betty Happy Hour . . . plan for early November.

The patriarch on my mom's side, my cousin Duke plays the guitar, flirts like a Marine (he use to be one) and will sell you a citrus orchard, all in under an hour and over three rounds of drinks. Joining us is the family priest, Fr. Blasko.

And on my Dad's side of the family, my great Aunt Jenny, fondly mentioned in my Thanksgiving post back in November.  She threatened to hurt me if I got hurt in Iraq.  Apparently it worked.  (You don't mess with Aunt Jenny).  I bet if you put her into a room with the Iraqi Council of Ministers, this war would be over in under a fortnight.