Monday brought Homecoming Week. A bunch of people dressed up for Monday’s “Blast from the Past” theme, wearing hippie outfits for the sixties or huge hairdos for the eighties. I went as the Great Depression. No costume required.
After school that day, I took Dad’s red-bull bag and went to the library. Mrs. Potter had returned, and I couldn’t wait any longer. When she let me set up in her office, I sat down to watch my father’s last messages to me.
Dad waved at me from where he sat. The white tower room shined brightly as the sun slanted columns of light through the dusty air. “Hello, Michael.” He checked his watch. “It’s Friday, July twenty-second, 2005.” He wiped his hand down his face. “I’ve … um … stopped counting the days. Anyway, it’s been a couple months since I made my last video for you, so I figured I’d better borrow Gardner’s camera and make another.
“To tell the truth, it’s been a rough couple of months. It’s real depressing to have to stay longer than we thought we would. Your mother has agreed not to divorce me at least until after this deployment, and I’m hoping I can get her to come around and avoid it altogether.” He shrugged.
“Listen, I wanted to say that maybe I shouldn’t have told you about that. It’s just that the whole thing had surprised me, and I was upset. I had this idea that you should know the whole truth about life and your parents. Now, though … I don’t want you to be upset with your mother about this divorce thing. She deserves better than that, and anyway, if you’re watching this video, the situation hardly matters because it means I died, or I will die, before any of that happens.”
I paused the video and dropped my gaze to the floor. Then I looked at the image of my father. I’d sure let him down on all that he’d just asked of me. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said out loud. I resumed the video.
Dad leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his folded hands, looking directly into the camera. “One night,” he said quietly, “right before we came on our guard shift at zero one, PFC Gardner walked into his tower to find the soldier he was supposed to relieve had brought a live grenade to the tower with him. He told Gardner to leave. Said he was going to blow himself up.
“Gardner was smart. He keyed up his radio during the conversation so I would hear. I joined the two of them on the guard tower. The guy was just huddled in the corner, tears running down his face, his hands shaking and his finger on the pin. He kept talking about missing his kids, wanting to go home. It took a while, but eventually me and Gardner talked him into handing over the grenade. They sent that soldier back to the main base at Bagram to get some help. I hear he’s doing okay.”
Dad was quiet for a moment, but then he smiled. “We’ve been doing a lot of toy-and-candy missions for the kids in villages all over Farah province. You should see the look on those kids’ faces when they get a brand-new toy, maybe their only toy. The boys get together and make little wars with their new plastic army men. The girls will hold a Barbie doll or a fuzzy stuffed animal like it’s their own baby.” Dad folded his arms and rocked them back and forth in a cradling motion. “Yeah, maybe handing out toys and candy doesn’t win the war, but these kids have had it rough, and it’s good to see them have some fun.”
He grabbed a cigar from off camera and lit up, coughing a little. Then he cleared his throat and smiled. “Another thing that has really cheered people up has to do with this young Afghan girl named Zulaikha who we came across in a village called An Daral. We were on a mission there to see about building them a new school, driving down this narrow lane on our way to the river. All of a sudden, Corporal Andrews shouted down into the Humvee, telling us to look at this girl who was standing near the wall.”
Dad frowned. “She was ugly, I have to say — disturbing to look at, with her upper lip not joined in the middle, and her top teeth so crooked that they stuck straight out from under her messed-up nose. I guess they call this cleft lip. She was born that way. I felt so sad, seeing her like that, knowing that doctors could fix that, but she’s had no access to medical help.”
He rose from his chair and reached his arms up, stretching. Then he crossed the room and leaned on the big cement ledge at the base of the window, looking out in silence for a moment. “Helping this girl was not one of our official missions from the Army.” Dad turned back to the camera. “But Andrews wouldn’t give it up. He bothered every officer on base. He offered to pay any costs himself. He even wrote to Congressmen about it. I asked him why it was so important to him to help this girl, and I’ll never forget what he said. He was even more serious than he usually is, and he just stared at me and said, ‘Please, Sergeant. I don’t know if I can make it if we don’t do this. I’ve seen too many bad things in this war. Too much goes wrong over here. I need something to go right.’ ”
Dad stood up straight. “Finally, our physician’s assistant was able to get the girl to one of our doctors in Kandahar for the surgery she needed. You should have seen her when she came back, Michael. It was a miracle of a difference. There was just one tiny scar. Otherwise you’d never know the girl had ever had a cleft lip.
“Corporal Andrews was right. We needed to help Zulaikha. She needed the surgery so she could talk, eat, and drink right, but we needed to help her. We needed to win one. She’s helped me find more joy and purpose through the difficult period of this involuntary extension. She’s reminded us all of the importance of dedication to our mission of helping the Afghan people build a better country. Zulaikha is an inspiration, a brave little girl in a tiny village in Afghanistan, who has no idea that I owe her more than I can ever repay.”
Dad puffed his cigar, then sat back down in his chair. “I was talking to Ortiz and the guys in the Gentlemen’s Smoking Club the other night. MacDonald has even joined us now. You remember how I talked about the Cowboy Way, about not knowing the best way to do something, and having no guarantees that anything would work out right, but trying anyway?” He flicked some ash. “I’ve just realized it’s more than that. It’s like those old Western movies from the fifties and sixties where the good cowboy wore the white hat. While the cowboy didn’t always know how to handle a certain problem, he knew what was right, and he’d ride into town and do his best to stop the bad guys. I should have figured that out a long time ago. The Cowboy Way isn’t just about making things up as you go along. It’s about making things better for everyone.
“Try to help people, Michael.” He shook his head. “When we were in Texas training for the war, some of my fellow soldiers and I went into Austin for fun. A homeless man on the street asked if I had any change. All I had in cash was a dollar and a quarter, but I figured the Army was paying me pretty well, so I gave the man my money. One of my buddies said that was a stupid waste and the bum should get a job. I thought of that part of the Bible where Jesus says something like, ‘I was hungry and you didn’t feed me. I was thirsty and you didn’t give me a drink.’ I had to try to help that man at least a little bit. You’ll make zillions more five- or ten-dollar bills in your lifetime, Michael. And sometimes just listening and understanding someone, letting him know he’s not alone, can make all the difference.
“That’s your mission with this one, Michael. I’ve asked you to do something nice for Mary and your mom. Now I want you to find a way to help others. It’s a mission I hope you’ll stay involved with for the rest of your life.”
Dad looked down and didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t look up when he spoke again. “I wish I had figured this stuff out a long time ago, before they sent me to the war. When I left home, you were only seven years old, and you looked at me like I had the answers to everything in life. Truth is, I don’t know how much these letters and videos have taught you about what it means to be a man. That’s because I don’t have many real answers. I’ve been tripping through life, mostly clueless. If I ever make it home, I’ll live the Cowboy Way and start changing some things. I’ll take a risk and put in for some better jobs. Your mom talked about wanting to go to college, but neither of us really knows how to get all that stuff started. If I make it home, I’ll make sure she uses the G.I. Bill benefits I’ve earned in the Army. I owe her that. I owe you all so much.”
He took a long drag on the cigar and blew out smoke a moment later. Then he stood up and walked toward the camera. “I miss you all so much.” The video froze.
My father talked about not knowing much about life, but so much of what he’d said throughout his letters and videos made perfect sense to me. All my life people had called him a hero, and in recent years, I’d wondered more and more what that meant. But if persistence and never giving up was one requirement for being a hero, then my dad surely qualified. There he was, miserable, and stuck in the war even longer than he thought he would be, and what did he do? He kept soldiering on. He didn’t give up. And right then I knew that I couldn’t either.
I moved the cursor over the remaining video file and took a deep breath. My finger shook on the mouse. There was only one final video to watch now.