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May 27, 2004 On Mothers Day, after an afternoon of clothes shopping with my 18 year-old daughter, we stopped for lunch at the department store’s cafe. We ended up sitting near another mother and her teenage daughter. The daughter reminded me a lot of my Renae: they both had long, straight hair and wore hip-hugging parachute pants. Bags by their feet supplied evidence they spent the afternoon shopping as well. As Renae and I wolfed down our hotdogs in silence, I overheard the mother tell her daughter that the money she receives from relatives for her high school graduation are strictly for books and dormitory furnishings when she goes off to college – an argument I always pictured having with my daughter. The girl obviously had other ideas, judging by the way she suddenly slumped in her chair and became sullen. I smiled at the mother, realizing this is exactly how Renae would react. The mother smiled back and rolled her eyes in exasperation: Daughters! Renae shoved the last bite of her hotdog in her mouth, oblivious to the silent exchange between the two mothers. She has a lot of her mind these days. Like the near-graduate sitting six feet away, Renae’s world will also undergo dramatic changes next month, but unlike the other girl, an uncertainty hangs thick in the air regarding her immediate future. Renae is a Private Second Class in the U.S. Army Reserves. I’ve raised my daughter to relish life in our country, and that having a strong military was vital to ensure our continued freedom. During Renae’s early teen years, I showed her images of women from Afghanistan who were forced to wear burqas, and starving people in countries that were governed by warlords. She wanted no parts of my speeches and useless world trivia. She was more focused on how to pull off wearing make-up behind my back and cheerleading tryouts. You can imagine how surprised I was last spring when Renae announced she wanted to enlist in the Army two weeks into the war with Iraq, “to serve my country and earn college money.” Part of me wanted to scream, but the part that prevailed was my vow that I’d never discourage my children from serving their country. This was also the first time I’ve ever seen Renae so determined to try her hand – and succeed at something. Though she can play two different musical instruments and was involved in sports, she was always an underachiever. This worried me once she started high school. Renae completed basic training last summer, and even earned a physical fitness award in spite of developing shin splints. After she graduates, she’ll train in Virginia for her job in laundry and textiles. She plans to attend college in January to become a physical therapist, but unlike her father, who was a Navy Reservist in the 1980’s, she might actually see combat first and earn every penny towards her education. As soon as she finishes training in October, she’s deployable - and her reserve unit is scheduled to go to Iraq late this fall. A blue stone in the other girl’s class ring caught my eye when she used her hands to gesture while speaking. I imagined the ring was a Christmas gift. I gave Renae a pennant of St. Christopher, the protection saint. She keeps it on a chain with her dog tags. The girl and her mother probably have the same conversations and arguments about boys, college, cars, and politics as Renae and I do, but these days ours are peppered with much darker subjects: nightmares that involve explosions and shielding children from gunmen. Burial wishes and distribution of personal items – her’s, not mine. At thirty-eight, I still don’t have a written will. The mother probably has sleepless nights worrying how her daughter will fare her first year of college, and fears drug use, drinking, hazing, date rape, and failure. Will she max out her credit cards before she graduates? Will she become pregnant by Christmas? Will she make enough friends and be happy? These are worries I conditioned myself to have for years – familiar worries everyone has when children go off to college. My sleepless nights are filled with thoughts I never imagined, such as unspeakable things that could happen to my beautiful daughter if she becomes a POW in a third-world Arab country. Will the Army supply my little girl with a ceramic vest? If not, how will I finance one for eight thousand dollars? Will it work? If she encounters chemical warfare, will it leave her unable to bear children? If her body returns to me in pieces, will some of her chicken pox scars and moles be intact so I can identify her? And just what do I tell my four year-old son someday? That I was one of his big sister’s strongest supporters when she enlisted in the Army at seventeen? That she was doing her patriotic duty? My Mothers Day outing with Renae will probably be our last for a while since she will be busy with friends, work, and graduation parties until she leaves. That’s my optimism, which controls me 95 percent of the time. The other five percent realizes that outing could be our last. For now, I’m keeping things light and focusing on Renae’s dreams of completing college, marrying her boyfriend someday, and moving to Manhattan. I can’t wait to see her face when she opens her graduation gift next week and finds the camera she’s wanted even has camcorder feature. I’m also looking forward to having my family over for her celebration dinner. Like any future soldier’s mother, I brace myself for the possibility my baby goes off to war. I’ll send her off with hugs, kisses, and strong words of encouragement and pride I have for her. Afterwards, I’ll cry for days and pray constantly for her safe return. After all, wars aren’t just fought by other people’s kids. ------------ About the author: Karyn Hughes has a fiction book published by Authorhouse entitled, Scattered Dreams, which is about a newly single mother who battles ADHD. Email: karynlilly@comcast.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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