A Letter to My Younger Self

This post is inspired by Bryan Trottier's "Letter to Myself"  Although I've never met him, I had the privilege of serving with his son-in-law on a previous tour.   His well-written letter got me thinking about my life and career so far, and what advice I'd want to give to my younger self.  

Hey bud,

You're about to celebrate your tenth birthday while in the process of moving for the fifth time in your life. I wish I could tell you these relocations get easier as you grow older, but I can't.   All I can tell you is to enjoy the journey and all the friendships you'll make along the way.

Later this year, you’ll want to quit the Boy Scouts.  Fortunately, your mother convinces you to stick with it.  Everything you later accomplish in life you will be able to trace back to the lessons you learned in Scouting.  Also, you should listen to your mother a lot more.  She’s incredibly smart.

In junior high, your father will help you with your homework.  He will chide you for the sloppy way you write out the answers, always saying, “Neatness counts, son.”  You will roll your eyes every time, but it turns out he’s absolutely right.

When you are fifteen, you’ll kiss a girl from Philadelphia, and then move halfway across the world a few days later.   You should write more letters to her while you’re away.  She’s going to be back in your life again, I promise.

Throughout your childhood, you constantly have the need to make your parents proud of you.  I’ll let you in on a little secret: you will always have that need.
Here’s another: you’ve succeeded. 

In college, certain professors will tell you that the great books of the past, especially those written by deceased white European men, aren’t worth reading.  Don’t listen to them.  Read as many of the classics as you possibly can.

But don’t go to so many concerts.  They are rarely as much fun as you think they’ll be.  Except for Radiohead at the Gorge.   That one was incredible.

At the end of flight school, you won’t be assigned the aircraft you originally wanted.  That’s all right, because you’ll move to an amazing part of the country, where you get to fly through the some of the most gorgeous landscape you’ve ever seen, and most importantly, you will work with people who are incredibly smart, funny, and courageous.

(Oh, and you should probably pay more attention to your Physics class in college, especially the lectures on electromagnetic energy.)

When you are twenty-five and on your first deployment, you’ll have a Commanding Officer who makes the job look easy and fun.   Fifteen years later, you’ll find out that he wasn’t acting.  And his example will influence almost every decision you make as a Skipper.

Every chance you get to talk to your grandparents, ask them to tell you a story:  about when they were young; about their parents; about their children.  All too soon, you’ll lose the opportunity.

2001 will somehow be both the best and the worst year of your life. 

This near-constant anxiety that you feel will never go away, but you will learn to tame it, and it will serve you well, keeping you on your toes, helping you anticipate what needs to be done, and ensuring you show the attention to detail necessary to succeed in your chosen profession.

You’ll read a line from the Baghavad Gita that sticks with you: “Perform all acts as worship.”   Try harder to follow that advice.

Often your job will put you into situations that you were never trained nor prepared for.   Think for a second, and then take your best shot.  Even when you miss, you’ll learn what you needed to.

You will eventually figure out the difference between being intelligent and being educated.   Some of the smartest people you’ll know will be the former without being the latter.

Every romantic relationship you have between the ages of fifteen and twenty-six will fail.   It’s a painful process, but it has to be that way so that you ultimately marry the woman who is perfect for you. 

At some point, you’ll find yourself in Baghdad during the hottest summer you can possibly imagine.  When the mortars and rockets start landing near you, try to act a little less scared.

Being a father will be ten times harder than you thought it would be.  And a hundred times better.  

At many points in your career, you’ll compare your occupation to those of your college classmates and wonder if chasing your childhood dream was worth the low pay, the limited perks, and all the time spent away from home.   Eventually you will understand that they are doing what they’re meant to do, and you are doing the same.  It’s a liberating thought.  

When your children ask you to read just one more book before bedtime, read them the book.

Even at forty, you will still seek out your father for advice.  And he will always know the right thing to say, even if it’s as simple as “follow your instincts, son.”

You have this vision of how your life will turn out.   Keep that idea in your head, if only so you can someday realize how much better it actually did.

Much Thanks

I'm fortunate this year that life has slowed down enough for me to give serious thought to what I'm thankful for:

- A house that's filled with laughter.

- At 38, I still have the same job I dreamed about since I was seven.

- An amazing wife who knows all too well that this dream job isn't always convenient, yet supports me nonetheless.

- Therapists and educators who are collaborating, cooperating, and doing everything they can to help my son lead as typical a life as possible.

- The excited cheers that greet me when I get home after a long day.

- The chance to live part of my life in a place as sublimely beautiful as the Pacific Northwest.

- Parents and a sister whose love and influence are always with me, even when they're not.

- Living in an incredible time when everything seems possible and old friends are only a click away.

- The opportunity and privilege to serve this great country of ours.

The Sound of Freedom

           Recently, a citizen of Coupeville, Washington wrote a letter to the Whidbey News-Times.  She voiced an often-heard complaint that the jets from the nearby Naval Air Station make too much noise and are disruptive to the lives of the local residents.   Specifically, she expressed concern about talk of expanded hours for training and suggested the U.S Navy should be more considerate.  “Listen up, Navy: We pay taxes here. I suspect you don’t. We aren’t your guests. In reality, you are ours.”

            As one would imagine, the response from local service members and their families was fast and overwhelming.   Many comments on the paper’s website were polite but firm in their support for the training flights.  Unfortunately, some were inappropriate, rude, vulgar, and even threatening.  The News-Times shut down the comments section because their small staff could not feasibly review all comments and delete only the inappropriate ones.  Facebook and Letters to the Editor continue to remain available forums for comment on the issue.

            At issue are the Field Carrier Landing Practice (FCLP) flights that the EA-6B Prowler and EA-18G Growler squadrons conduct as part of their pre-deployment training cycle.   Both at the main air station in Oak Harbor and an outlying field in Coupeville, aircrew practice the demanding task of landing on an aircraft carrier.  The runway has a small rectangle painted on it (the same size as the landing area on the ship) and the same optical landing system, or “ball”, that the pilots use to fly the correct glideslope all the way to touchdown.  These flights on land are essential for aircrew to learn and retain the proper muscle movements, instrument scan, crew coordination, and communications required for flawless execution at sea.  As the saying goes, amateurs practice until they get it right, but professionals practice until they can’t get it wrong.

            To be honest, the flights do produce a lot of noise and it can be annoying when you are sitting at home (even for fellow aviators).  The problem is especially acute in Whidbey during summertime, where because of the high latitude, the sun may not fully set until 10:30 pm, forcing night training to be conducted until two or three in the morning.  Noise complaints are a particularly contentious topic because over the years, a few residents have taken extreme measures to display their annoyance: spotlights, lasers, and fireworks aimed at the aircraft.  Such acts have the effect of not just annoying the aircrew, but of disorienting them, putting their lives and local residents at risk.  (Full disclosure: I have spent nine years stationed at Whidbey Island, have conducted countless FCLP events, and have had spotlights and fireworks directed at my aircraft.)

            “The Sound of Freedom” is the common phrase we use to defend the noise, the idea being  that the annoyance is a small price to pay for the liberties we all enjoy as Americans.  Those liberties, of course, include freedom of speech, and the author of the letter in question has a right to voice her opinion, no matter how rude or ill-informed, and the News-Times has the right to publish it.

            The public, including the military community, have the right to respond, no matter how rude or ill-informed.  No one, however, has the right to make threats, or to harass her on the phone and by drive by her house honking the horn repeatedly.   I am pleased that local and military authorities are investigating such threats and actions.

           When discussing the jet noise, it is not enough to say, “the military protects our freedom, therefore anything the military does to protect that freedom is justified”.  The military is part of the federal government.  Read that sentence in quotes again, but replace “military” with “government” and see if it doesn't give you pause. Such sentiments are dangerous, and has led Americans to accept unconstitutional government actions such as the passing of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, the internment of Americans of Japanese descent during World War Two, and the torture of detainees during the last decade.

            The Navy has the responsibility to be good stewards of the taxpayers’ money and the environment, and to be courteous neighbors, and in my experience it does.  The squadrons conduct the minimum number of flights to reach the required proficiency.  (Believe me, no one wants to do more FLCPs than necessary)  To further minimize the impact, the air station puts limits to the number of aircraft in the pattern and where they can fly, avoiding over-flight of the most populous areas, even if that impacts the realism of flight pattern as compared to what is actually executed when at the aircraft carrier.         

            Notice in the above paragraph, I said “neighbors” and not “guests”.   The part of the letter that prompted such a vociferous response from the sailor-citizens and retirees in the community is the fact that she considers “the navy” to be “guests” who don’t pay taxes.   Of course service members pay taxes: on their income, on their property, and on the items they buy at the store.  For the author to refer to sailor-citizens as guests and not neighbors and fellow residents was incredibly thoughtless.

            One apologist on Facebook said that the author was calling the “Navy” as an institution the guest, since it doesn’t pay property tax on the land upon which the air station was built.   That interpretation of the letter doesn’t make sense based on the plural personal pronouns  (“they”, “their”) the author used to describe “the navy, as in a group of individuals, instead of using “it” to describe the institution.  Besides, even if she was complaining about the U.S. Navy as an institution, for it to pay property taxes defies logic.  That would be like asking the fire or police department to pay property taxes.  Or asking them to not use their sirens at night, so that citizens not be disturbed.

            Some of the respondents made equally rude statements that Oak Harbor and surrounding towns wouldn’t exist if not for the economic boon provided by the air station and its servicemembers and families.  Although the town would be smaller, with a very different economy, to say that the town would disappear is disrespectful to all the hardworking residents of Oak Harbor, the vast majority of whom are incredibly supportive of the air station and its mission.

            Ultimately, the most important take away from this whole incident is that the “sound of freedom” should be more than just jets flying overhead.  It should be the sound of civil discourse; the sound of citizens exercising their right to put forth arguments that are passionate yet free from the invective, and vitriol that we see far to much of these days.

Disclaimer: This essay is my personal opinion, and in no way represents the official position of the U.S. Navy or the Department of Defense.

Turning Corners

As a father, I am often relieved when a corner is turned in the development of my children.   When the baby finally sleeps through the night, my son becomes potty trained, or the kitchen no longer requires baby-proofing, these are milestones that call for minor celebration.  Each event represents progress, and an easing (albeit slight) of the demands and anxiety that parenthood brings.

My wife holds the opposite view.  She resists every such hint of her babies growing older.  If she could, she would freeze our children in their current stages of development so that we always have a five-year old princess, a three-year old daredevil, and a six-month old giggle machine.

We turn corners throughout life.  For me, finishing college is a particularly salient example, because graduation meant that I would no longer have to toil over research papers and midterm exams.  I very much enjoyed my college experience, but I was anxious to start my naval career and go to flight school.  Surely life at 20,000 feet while making $3,000 a month would be far preferable to nights spent in the library while struggling to get by on $300 a month.  And it many ways, it was.  (Living in a beach-front condo on Perdido Key didn’t hurt either…)

Yet I spent flight school waiting to turn another corner: earning my wings and joining the operational fleet.  Learning navigation and basic airmanship was all well and good, but the whole point of flight school was training to be a combat aviator, and I couldn’t wait to take the fight to the enemy.  (Didn’t matter who that enemy was.  In the late 90’s most likely it would be Serbia or Iraq, although Iran and North Korea were possibilities as well.)   More prosaically, I couldn’t wait until I could fly without being graded, judged, and critiqued.  Yet once I completed flight school, another corner waited to be turned:  I had to complete initial training in my fleet aircraft, the EA-6B Prowler, which meant another year of graded flights before I would be assigned to an operational squadron and go on deployment.

Predictably, once I finally made it to my fleet squadron, the Zappers of Electronic Attack Squadron 130, I had many more corners to turn: first flight from the carrier, first combat mission over Iraq, mission commander qualification and tactics instructor training.  In many ways, my progress made life easier. Each corner turned brought more trust and freedom of action.  Every flight still had its debrief, but the critiques became more collegial and less pedantic.  Soon I was the one providing the instruction and my responsibilities grew commensurate with my qualifications.   It was not long before I was wistfully remembering those halcyon days in Pensacola when all I had to do was navigate from point A to point B, or those four years in Durham when all I had to do was read books and write what I thought about them.

And so it is with fatherhood.  The infant that becomes a toddler no longer needs to be held all day, but instead has to be chased on foot as he follows his natural curiosity.  The daughter that learns to speak and tell me what she needs is now very vocal and persistent in telling me what she wants.  Each milestone brings more complexity and more responsibility to my roles as a father.

The one immutable fact of life is the passage of time.  As Heraclitus said, you cannot put your feet in the same river twice.  In the same way, each day and each year, you raise a different child, the ongoing product of your genes, your guidance, and your love.  You can no more stop the progress of their aging than you can put it in fast forward until the day of their own college graduation.

Somewhere in between my relish and my wife’s dread of each corner turned lies the answer: taking each day and each child on their own terms, and working to savor each moment, both the joyous and the frustrating, as they occur.