'My little soldier boy'
Sitting in the small Akron airport, waiting for a plane to arrive, I saw a large entourage waiting for someone. Before long, a young man in Army camouflage fatigues, a droopy military hat, with light brown boots, and Specialist 4 insignia on his lapels walked into the midst of them.
His whole family was there and probably some friends. There were children and small American flags on little wooden sticks being waved back and forth. One man arrived late. He hailed the soldier, then went up to him, and they embraced. The man held the hug a long time, then stepped back and smiled at the soldier. You could tell he hadn't wanted to let go.
The words to the old & quot;Shirelles & quot; song came to mind:
"Oh my little soldier boy ...
Wherever you go
My heart will follow
I love you so I'll be true to you
Take my love with you ... & quot;
I almost started crying. I thought of my nephew, a career Marine of eight years, Michael Helman. He is in Iraq, on his second tour of duty. At last word, he was just outside Najaf, unable to return to his base camp because of the fighting. That was a while ago. I listen to the news every night and feel relieved when I hear nothing of Najaf.
The specialist's face was berry brown from the Iraqi sun, but beneath his glasses, he looked calm. I don't know how old he was; a Spec. 4 rank is not a high one, following this sequence: private, private 2, private first class, specialist 4. But he looked mature. He didn't seem excited to be home or overcome with emotion. He just looked at ease.
Getting the angleof photo just right
As a reporter, I wanted to talk to him. "Where are you returning from? Did you just come back to the United States? How long were you over there? What's it feel like to be back with your family?"
But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to intrude upon his homecoming.
There were signs that read, & quot;Welcome home. We love you, & quot; and & quot;We missed you. & quot;
There was a lot of smiling, and one family member directed everyone to line up for a photo. The dozens of people scurried into rough lines, with children in the front and the taller people at the back. They stood in the passageway between the restrooms and the gift shop and, finally, put their returning warrior at the center. The family photographer lifted the camera.
But a man from airport security quickly walked over, his polished shoes slapping on the slick floor. He whispered to the photographer, and quietly redirected the shot. They were not allowed to photograph in that direction, he said. If they did, the security checkpoint at the entrance of the arrival and departure gates would be in the picture. This was not permissible.
Everyone nodded. They turned around and took the photo with the glass doors to the parking lot in the background instead. What a crazy time we live in.
Keeping in touchwith Marine in Iraq
My sister tells me that she doesn't watch the news. It is how she has made peace with the fact that her only son, her only child, is in Iraq. She knows he's near Najaf because he e-mailed his wife and daughter in California.
Once, he managed to phone home, saying, & quot;I can't talk long; there isn't much battery left on this phone, and we might need it. & quot;
My sister has been sending him letters and packages, but at last word, only the packages are getting through.
My father, who turned 83 this month, wanted Mike's address to send him a check. He thought his grandson could use it in a base exchange. I'm not sure, I told him, but I don't think there ARE base exchanges over there. I don't know what Mike would do with a check.
Anyone who doubts this is a world war didn't pay attention to the recent massacre in Russia. Some are saying that the terrorists have crossed over a line in murdering children.
But, they've been strapping bombs to their OWN children since the start of their terrorism. They have no line. And, besides, when was there ever a war that didn't target the children? Just ask my sister.
At least one son has returned home safely.
murphy@vindy.com