It All Starts Somewhere

In May of 2001 I’d been out of high school for one year and I really needed to do something with myself.  Something big. Different.  Something to get me out of mom and dad’s hair, and, to be honest, to get them out of mine. I debated just moving out, finding someone locally that needed a roommate.  Strangers would probably be best, a lot easier to hold them accountable than friends.  But something kept me from doing it.  A little voice in the back of my mind telling me that if I just moved out, tried to be the grown up I thought I was I’d be back. So I weighed my options.  College was out, I hadn’t even taken the ACT/SAT’s because I knew that that route was not, at the time, for me (at least I was smart enough at 19 to realize that college would have been a tremendous waste of time and money I didn’t have).  Then there was the calling that so many young men my age, with my upbringing, take on…  Serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  The pressure, most of it admittedly self-imposed, that I felt trying to push me towards this end seemed excruciating at times.  My parents never pushed the issue, I feel like they knew just as I did that a mission for the church was not in the cards.  However, at 19 years of age and with all of my peers preparing or leaving on their missions I faced a deluge of questions about my plans every Sunday at church. “Getting ready for that mission, Adam?”  and “Do you think you’d rather a foreign mission or English speaking?” or “When do you think you’ll be ready to submit your paperwork?” were just a few of the recurring queries I’d prep myself for on a weekly basis.  You see, it is clearly stated that going on a mission, while highly recommended, is not required of a young LDS man, but ask any 18-19 year old Mormon boy and he will tell you that it is the expectation.  This is one of the things that I am most grateful to my parents for, they did not push.  They loved me because of the person I was (and am) and made it clear that they supported me regardless of my decision.  I realize how difficult this must have been for them. I was most concerned about disappointing them, really.  I had known for some time that I was not going on a mission, and I believe the only thing that kept me from faking it and going anyway was the fear of the disappointment and embarrassment that would result in my not completing a mission that I should not have been on in the first place.  The third option, one that I had considered my entire life, was to join the military.

Now, when I mentioned above that we needed to get out of each other’s hair, it’s not to say that we were fighting all the time, but there were those tense moments I’m sure almost anyone can relate to or imagine when picturing a 19 year old male living with mom and dad but seeking the freedom his age and life experience clearly require.  There was, in all honesty, also the desire to be self sufficient and not to be a drain on the family.  My folks had gotten me through 19 years and it was high time I took care of myself.  It seemed evident to me that the best shot I had at not only getting out on my own, but staying out on my own, would be through military service.  I just had to figure out how to have that conversation without feeling like I was crushing my parent’s hopes and dreams.  As is turns out, I didn’t have to.

As I said before, it was May of 2001 and I was out in our one car garage (read as storage room/workshop) cleaning or something.  To be honest I don’t recall what exactly I was doing out there on this particular afternoon, I’m sure it was immensely important and requiring great attention and focus.  At this time Dad was working at Sill-Terhar Ford, so I believe it was a Thursday since that seemed to be his standard weekday off.  He came out to the garage, looked me square in the eyes and asked, “Are you still considering the military?” Now there might have been some other initial small talk or pleasantries exchanged about the weather or what I was doing in the garage, but I only recall that question.  Those of you who have met my father won’t need to hear this so feel free to skip ahead, but for anyone that might not have had the pleasure I will briefly describe him.  Dad has worked hard his entire life at everything he does, he supported our growing and large family somehow, allowing Mom to stay home and do what was most important while we were in our formative years.  He has not always had the most glamorous of jobs, but he has always commanded tremendous respect from everyone who knows him and put himself wholly into whatever endeavor he chooses.  Dad does not waste words or fill the empty space between people with idle conversation.  When he does speak it is with purpose and you would be wise to listen.  That being said, it is entirely possible that he just lead with the question.

I could not believe my ears, we had discussed military service throughout my teenage years, but I could not recall it ever being that serious of a conversation.  It definitely had not been a recent one.  I quickly told him that, yes, I had actually been thinking about it a lot lately.  He told me that he and Mom would support me, should that be my decision, and asked if I had considered which branch to serve in.  I hadn’t gotten that far in my head yet. Up to that moment I was simply trying to figure out how to broach the topic with them.  He told me that he thought the Marine Corps would be the best fit, it would be the biggest challenge both physically and mentally and, knowing how competitive I am, probably where I should start my research.  I cannot describe to you the relief and excitement that I felt after having that brief interchange with Dad.  To know that the inevitable decision was made, and that it was not accompanied with disappointment, but with love and support was all I needed.  I contacted a recruiter, way down south, definitely not the recruiter that was assigned to my area.  His name was Staff Sergeant Scott Stuttler.  We met. I took the requisite tests, scored well, and was told that I basically had my pick of any job in the Marines!  SSgt Stuttler recommended going into Intelligence, so I looked over my job options in that field and saw that I could be a Cryptologic Linguist.  I had no idea what that first part meant, but I had always been good with language and thought that sounded like it might be a good fit.  More tests followed, as you have to prove some kind of aptitude for language before they assign you to that particular MOS (job).  Needless to say I passed, and actually of the three of us at my recruiting station that took the test I was the only one that scored high enough to get the job.  On June 7^th, 2001 I was sworn in and took my oath to serve my country.  I was given the option of when to ship out, and since boot camp in southern California during the summer didn’t appeal to me all that much, I chose October 9^th. 

If you know me even a little bit you know that someone very important in my life has been absent thus far in my story.  Kara Lommel and I celebrated one year of dating on June 9^th, 2001.  How she found out about my decision to join the Marines is still a topic of debate.  I am certain that before it was all said and done I had mentioned the Marines to her. She maintains that I did not tell her or discuss it with her until after the decision was made.  It is entirely possible that I made no mention of it, but I’m still not willing to admit to that.  My decision was not the news Kara was hoping to hear, and since I had apparently blindsided her with it she was even less happy than if we had discussed it throughout the process.  However, that may have all been overshadowed by the fact that during this same conversation I broke up with her.  I’m sure I used all the clichés you can think of, but the reality was that I had known people that tried long distance relationships and they never seemed to work.  It seemed, at the time, that this was the best decision for both of us, just to cut it off, rip off the band-aid in one quick movement and it would hurt less.  We still hung out and went out periodically throughout that summer, and by the end of the summer it was clear that we needed to be together.  I asked for her to forgive me for breaking it off and we got back together.  This was, clearly, the best decision I’ve made in my life.  Her love and support carried me through two deployments, many, many months apart, and has given me the greatest gift I could ever imagine in our daughter, Paisley.  We’ll get to all that in good time so I won’t go into detail just yet.

September 11^th, 2001 changed a lot of things for our country, and forever changed what was going to be my future.  I, like so many people, remember that morning exactly.  At the time I was working at Enhanced Images as an auto detailer.  Work started at 9am and I didn’t listen to the radio on my way in.  It was a Tuesday morning, and when I got in Dean Kallas, my boss, asked if I had heard about “it”.  I thought he was talking about Ed McCaffrey breaking his leg in the Broncos’ game the night before and I said yes.  Then I saw the TV.  It didn’t really sink in or hit me right away the potential effect this event would have on my future.  Looking back I don’t think it is possible that I could have comprehended the impact on the course of my young life the attacks on 9/11 would have.  I don’t remember talking about it with Mom or Dad, we really didn’t talk about it.  There were too many unknowns and what if’s to even know where to start.  The Broomfield Enterprise, our local newspaper, called Mom and Dad to see if we would do an interview.  They knew I was leaving for the Marines because Mom had put an announcement in the paper for a going away open house before I left.  Mom couldn’t do it, so she told Dad to take the interview.  For my part I only remember one question, they asked if I wished I hadn’t signed up since the attacks had happened.  My answer was quick and sure, no, I hadn’t signed up for the United States Marine Corps without considering that there was a chance something would happen that would put me in harm’s way, and that I was ready to serve in whatever capacity was required of me.