By Shawn Blackhawk

Growing up in America's Heartland, Shawn Blackhawk used her poetry from an early age to express herself. Her philosophy has always been: "I'll try anything once." She uses her words like a brush, painting vivid pictures, evoking as much emotion from her readers as she can. She appreciates struggles, as they pave the road to triumph, and firmly believes that the darkest parts of the human mind and soul are the only way to eventually celebrate the light. She has been recognized for Illuminating Digital Publishing Excellence by Jenkins Group (eLit Awards) and was the 2011 Silver Medal Finalist for the Electronically Published Internet Collation (EPIC Awards). Shawn's poetry book can be purchased at L-Book.com.

There are all sorts of reasons to join the military. Some do it to escape, some to see the world. Others do it to avoid jail, or to take advantage of the G.I. Bill. While the reasons are as varied as the individuals themselves, most join without the expectation of ever engaging in a war.

After signing up, there are many hard times when a soldier questions his or her choice. Many of these questioning feelings arise during boot camp. Eight of the hardest weeks of your life begin the minute you arrive at your training. The hair cut, the lack of privacy, sleep deprivation. Your life ceases to be completely your own the minute you tie your first pair of boots. Up early, physical training, classes, chores. One demanding thing after another, until the days and weeks blend into one long stream of consciousness that belongs to your commanding officer.  It seems endless, and then one day, eight weeks after your first hellish day, you are ready to graduate. To put on the dress uniform of your branch and stand tall in front of your superiors, family and friends. This is the moment where all the blisters, sunburns, sprains, aches and pains disappear. Your first posting is coming up. A letter is coming to you, with orders proving you’ve really passed and are ready to stand and defend your country.

At first, it’s a blast. Living in Japan, climbing Mt. Fuji to watch the sunrise. Being in Iraq, where the sunsets turn the desert into a sea of molten lava, and the winds whip the sands into a dancing dervish. There’s England with its rain and a cold dampness that leeches into your bones. You explore castles and contemplate life as a courtier. Hawaii, where you hike Diamond Head, dive for pearls and swim with sea turtles. It doesn’t matter that you’re working while posted in far off, exotic lands. You’re away from home. A grownup, out in the world, making a difference, earning your way.

After a while, the sights, sounds and flavors of exotic locations all seem to blend together. After being promoted to an E5 or E6, you are relegated to your station more so than the higher-ups. While the pay is reasonable, it is too expensive to go home as often as you like. You miss the weddings of your baby brother and sister. They send pictures and letters stating how they wish you could have been there. Your once-a-year trips home, the video chats and satellite calls seem so insignificant. Loving your job, being good at it, means not being a more central part in the family you left behind. It’s a dull ache in the middle of your chest that seems to grow with each subsequent contact home.

After three years of service, a journey home. Two weeks of leave that you’ve saved up. You’ve counted pennies, squirreling away every cent you can spare. Surviving on Ramen noodles and spaghetti, declining trips out with your friends, and it finally arrives. That elated moment as you board a plane, bound for home.

After you arrive home, you are force-fed all of your favorite foods. Your mother says over and over how “they must not be feeding you”. They ask questions about where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, how things are really going. Brushing it aside, you collapse in front of the TV, catching up on baseball scores and standings, the shows you love but have missed, avoiding any form of news. You fall asleep knowing for the first time in a long time there will be no drills, alarms or early morning gun fire. It’s heaven.

Suddenly, someone is shaking you awake. You jump up, fist balled, searching for danger. Your heart is racing at a thousand beats a minute before it dawns on you where you are. You look down into the face of your nephew, watching his lower lip start to quiver. Realizing you’ve scared him, you pick him up. Ahh… the scent of fabric softener reaches your nose as you rub your cheek on fine, curly hair. He asks if you will read him a story before bed, to which you readily agree. Carrying him to his bed, you lay him down gently. He’s got a book picked out and your read it to him, making up voices for each character which makes him laugh, and you smile. You tuck him in and tell him you’ll see him in the morning. Turning to leave, you hear his small voice ask: “What is war?” Ouch. He tells you his mom and dad talk about it, and about you being in it. You explain it’s a grown-up thing, a bad thing. That while you don’t like it either, it’s your job. He says “If you don’t like it, why do you go?”  Such simplicity in his query. It doesn’t take long for tears to fill your eyes as you clear your throat. Kissing him on the forehead, drinking in the scent of his baby shampoo, powder and innocence, you reply:

“For you, little man. I do it for you.”

Photo: David Castillo Dominici
Published: May 21, 2012