it’s not about politics, it’s about people.

I live in world that is small by comparison to some. and large by comparison to others. i have family and friends near to my heart and near to my zip code. I have people I love in Israel and friends I would love to meet again scattered throughout the world. I live a relatively sheltered life.

My father’s experience in the army is represented by boxes of slides of him looking like young elvis in his uniform tucked aimlessly away in my parents’ closet. My uncle roy was in guam, and was so proud to be a soldier. At his funeral, so many years after the war was over and after his body had betrayed him, the military salute meant something to him, meant something to all of us. How proud I’m sure he was that day, surrounded by his family and getting such a respectful and admirable send off from his country.

Years ago (sounds like i’m that old lady on the titanic telling this story), I knew someone in the naval reserves. To me this meant once a month he got a haircut and went to who knows where to do who knows what. He was a cryptologist. The running joke was he could tell me what he was doing, but then he’d have to kill me. Dramatic, yet I got the impression he did important work. He told a few stories about being oversees, and he served his country because he was smart and we needed him...and I’m guessing we paid for him to go to college, but I’m not sure.

Soon it was the beginning of the war. I remember Noa’s parents preparing to potentially come to the US during the first rumblings of war in Iraq. This brought the war closer to me. But she was not rattled. For better or for worse, war had been a part of her upbringing and did not throw her into such a tailspin, as it did us.

Another friend would tell stories about being based at Pearl Harbor and being on the submarine. More than once we’d been watching the history channel about the cold war era and he would say “i can neither confirm nor deny I was involved in that operation.”

For both of them, the Navy was in their past for the most part. Rich may still show up for reserves I have no clue, and Randy speaks at graduation ceremonies every now and again. It will always be a part of who they are - but it’s not a constant presence in their daily lives.

The war happened, and continues to happen. The “theatre of operation” or whatever poetic name they have for it moves and grows. Theatre is such an inappropriate, yet perfect term for it. There are players, there are scripts, there is deception and even in the end, everyone is still a bit shaken and confused. As a sailor you are a-political. You go where the president tells you. He is your commander in chief working with the military expertise of General Petraus. Do I know he’s an expert? No. Do I pray he’s an expert? Yes. And an order, as has been explained to me, is not a suggestion, it’s an order. Even if you’re in the Navy - if you’re on the ground within the theatre of operation - you are under the control of the army. And bit of trivia - even though Tom Cruise was a pilot in top gun, he was in the navy - just in a plane instead of on a ship. Same yummy white uniform.

The theatre of the war includes many players. During Navy week recently I met a man they call elvis. he was a navy diver and he was tough, and had a tattoo of an octopus sprawled across his arms and disappearing into his shirt across his chest. i saw him demonstrate to kids, and to me, the different types of explosives the enemy uses, including which ones of ours they’ve foiled and how both sides have had to keep redesigning until now we are all using the most basic components...becoming less advanced instead of more because less chance of sabotage. he showed me a suit they wear that can sustain a 5 lb blast. I learned rarely is a blast 5 lbs, so you better be high tailing it out of there. I also saw a robot who is sent to help disarm the bombs. I saw the slight wrinkles crinkle around elvis’ eyes as he smiled and how he moved slowly and winced sometimes because his back was killing him. Wherever he is in the theatre, he is a part of the opening act. He goes in first. Diving. Dark. Cold water. To scout it out. Not knowing what’s out there. Maybe explosives, maybe hostile people, maybe a ship, but maybe just a beach, if he’s lucky. He’s seen it all. And here he is for now in the good old US of A, until he gets new orders to do it again.

The other divers schedule to be in STL were sent to Afghanistan, which conceptually meant something in passing before, but after meeting the crew that came to St. Louis and putting real faces, real laughter, real humanity to them, means so much more. The only female diver in the group is an aspiring artist and is becoming a certified yoga instructor. One guy was obsessed with Ted Drewes. (rightfully so) Sr. Chief is allergic to onions, so while he may have to leave tomorrow to defend us in enemy gun fire, he could have been taken down by the pizza at Pi. Cory let me win at tic tac toe when he was in the dive take and hanging upside, but, he disappointed the ladies at the pageant who recognized him from tv with the revelation he has a girlfriend back in virginia. Hollywood’s an early 20-something whose looks live up to his nickname and he’s a smarty, shortly leaving the navy to be an engineer. And another great guy and diver, who was one of my favorites (but i continually blank on his name because sometimes they don’t use just first names, they’re called by nicknames or ranks or last names) posed with the band and was so sweet the next day when i saw him at the air show - greeted me a hug.

Real people. Young people. Men and women who say “sir can you pass me another piece of pizza” because that’s what they do. They respect, in and out of the theatre. They follow orders. They listen. And they survive because those instincts kick in and protect them when needed. they don’t do it because they are adrenaline junkies or out to save the world with insane super hero egos, but because they are loyal and quietly brave, and this is where they are supposed to be at this moment in their lives.

But meeting all those wonderful people during Navy Week was like being at camp - you meet people you don’t live in the same city, you go back to different lives to who know what lies ahead. I obviously may never see them again, but even Rob may never see them again...ever. It made me sad, but it’s just a fact of life in the military. Some people you see again, some people you serve with again and others just disappear off the radar of life...you hope to retirement on some tropical island...but not always.

Today I went to work per usual on a tuesday. But LT Harris aka Rob, didn’t get to stay at the office doing official Naval Officer duties, whatever that may entail on an average day in St. Louis. He had to go tell a family that their son was killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. And around the country 8 other units like his were doing the same terrible duty. It made my heart hurt for those families. And made the reality of the life of a sailor and a soldier even more real. I said “I’m glad you’re here and not there.”

Once Rich went to the funeral of a fellow sailor in, I think it was KC, and when I asked if he knew him, he said no, but he would hope someone would have the same respect for him. I like to think he didn’t go out of obligation, he went out of a sense of duty. And those are far different things. This duty to our country is a connection to something that is far bigger than any single person, yet could not exist without every single person playing their part.

And these people not a news story or dramatic footage to fuel the fire of heated talk show debates, nor are they just another hottie in a uniform. They are boyfriends and best friends and girlfriends and mothers and everything in between. And they are brave. And I am thankful.