Homecoming

I drove up the wide street, with everything still the same as it has been in my memory. My street is wide, with single moderately sized homes spaced evenly on either side. The large oak, elm, and maple trees had all but already lost their leaves. I pulled into my normal parking-spot right in front of the green full hedges that guard our driveway. I got out of the car and walked up the long driveway, past the light that's always on when Mom knows I'm coming home. I walked into the foyer greeted by the large grandfather clock that I saw so many times when I snuck home after late nights when I was in high-school. The big hand stretched across it's face indicating it was 9:02, the Westminster chime bellowed through the house...I'm home.


It's been a tough week for my parents and family, with my younger-sister losing one of her high-school classmates after a tragic illness and the loss of a family friend, AMT2 Jason S. Moletzsky who was tragically killed when his C-130 Hercules aircraft collided with a AH-1W Super Cobra off the coast of California. I could see it on their faces and in their eyes, it had been a long week. Mom and Dad had just returned from the service in Norristown for Jason. Although the grief and sorrow was evident, they were happy to have me home. I don't come home often, but when I do...my parents are happy to have me home.

As I walked through the dining room and into the kitchen, I placed my bags down next to large wooden table cluttered with my younger sister's homework. I walked into the florescent lit kitchen and greeted my father. Now for as long as I have known my father, he has never used much profanity besides a dammit here and a hell there if you can even consider that profanity in today's society, so what he said next really struck me.

He shook my hand and told me:

"Jarrett, do your four years and get the hell out, you can't get f****** killed, I can't do what those parents had to do today."

The first thing home my father told me was not to get killed. I was kind of blown-away at first and didn't know what to say. I'm sure I responded with something along the lines of " Dad, I'm not gonna get killed." Now I don't know if my family reads these, but if they do, Mom and Dad...my intention is not to get killed. My intentions are to serve my country with dignity, honor, and courage...to do my duty to the best of my ability.

My parents worry about me a lot. Ever since I signed my contract with the Army, all the way to today when there is a report of a soldier killed in combat or lost in action I flip the channel or quickly change the subject. It's my way of trying to diffuse the situation.

It's only natural for my family to worry, but in the next breath my parents are quick to tell me how proud they are of me and I thank them for that. Ever since I was a young boy, I've always tried to make my parents proud, and it's good to know that they are.