Socks wear out. Around here they wear out fast. This morning I was walking down to spot check some of the containers I’d inspected the night before. I suddenly had the sensation that my right big toe had freed itself from the confines of the sock. I made a quick pit stop to check. Sure enough, the big guy was sticking straight through the end of my sock. Here is where years of Joe ingenuity paid off. A quick assessment and I had a solution. If the hole was over my big toe when worn on the right foot it would be over the little toe on the left. I figured the big toe is the lead right? I switched left and right socks and was on my way. A couple of hours’ worth of walking and inspecting later and my good sock also failed. That troublesome right big toe had made the escape again. Damn! Now I had a gaping hole in both socks. I tried to gut it out for about another hour but when it started getting painful I knew drastic measures had to be taken. I bought another pair of socks. I’ve lost count on how many pairs of socks I’ve worn through here. Add mine to all the socks Joes have worn out and it would probably be a mountain of socks taller than Spear Tops Mountain back in Avery County, NC.
My socks didn’t die in vain. We made huge strides today. What was a huge mess yesterday became orderly perfection. The units we’re supporting had diligently worked at making corrections to the deficiencies we had found in their preparations. There were lots of smiles of relief. The process we’re putting them through is the last mental and physical hurdle they go through before traveling home. When we say it’s looking good it starts to hit them – now we’re going home. Suddenly everything has a rose-colored tint. All tension is gone. Laughs abound. The senior staff of one of the battalions invited me to lunch and supper. I’ll kill lots of socks to keep these guys happy. That means my team is doing our job.
I actually made it back to my room around 2200. It was an early night for us. You’d think we would all go straight to sleep. After working past midnight for so many straight nights our bodies were all in the middle of an adrenaline rush. I guess I finally drifted off around 2350. About thirty minutes later the outbound artillery fire started again. The rest of the night was spent drifting in and out of sleep to the rhythmic concussion and noise of big cannons. Iraq – this place is indelibly burned into the memory banks of my brain housing group. Actually, I don’t want to forget this place. Shit, I never could if I tried. It’s in me forever. There’s my life. Then there’s my life in Iraq. It’s a surrealistic adventure of sights, sounds, smells, and some of the best people I’ve ever known.
My Dad served in Vietnam (I’m not comparing wars here so don’t assume I am). I’ve always been fascinated by his experiences (a Marine Major at the time, he earned two Bronze Star with “V”). Yet Vietnam always seemed to me like a place that wasn’t real, that I could not connect with. I know that friends and family back home will ask me about what I’ve seen and done here on this – and previous – OIF deployments. They’ll react exactly how I used to react to Dad – fascinated but completely incapable of relating. I definitely relate much better now to Dad’s experiences.
Oh… back to that original pair of socks… I threw them away.
My socks didn’t die in vain. We made huge strides today. What was a huge mess yesterday became orderly perfection. The units we’re supporting had diligently worked at making corrections to the deficiencies we had found in their preparations. There were lots of smiles of relief. The process we’re putting them through is the last mental and physical hurdle they go through before traveling home. When we say it’s looking good it starts to hit them – now we’re going home. Suddenly everything has a rose-colored tint. All tension is gone. Laughs abound. The senior staff of one of the battalions invited me to lunch and supper. I’ll kill lots of socks to keep these guys happy. That means my team is doing our job.
I actually made it back to my room around 2200. It was an early night for us. You’d think we would all go straight to sleep. After working past midnight for so many straight nights our bodies were all in the middle of an adrenaline rush. I guess I finally drifted off around 2350. About thirty minutes later the outbound artillery fire started again. The rest of the night was spent drifting in and out of sleep to the rhythmic concussion and noise of big cannons. Iraq – this place is indelibly burned into the memory banks of my brain housing group. Actually, I don’t want to forget this place. Shit, I never could if I tried. It’s in me forever. There’s my life. Then there’s my life in Iraq. It’s a surrealistic adventure of sights, sounds, smells, and some of the best people I’ve ever known.
My Dad served in Vietnam (I’m not comparing wars here so don’t assume I am). I’ve always been fascinated by his experiences (a Marine Major at the time, he earned two Bronze Star with “V”). Yet Vietnam always seemed to me like a place that wasn’t real, that I could not connect with. I know that friends and family back home will ask me about what I’ve seen and done here on this – and previous – OIF deployments. They’ll react exactly how I used to react to Dad – fascinated but completely incapable of relating. I definitely relate much better now to Dad’s experiences.
Oh… back to that original pair of socks… I threw them away.
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