Falling Forward
Once Again, I’ve Fallen in Love — with Fall
There is something so special about this time of year, for me. I do love the colors and smells of fall, no doubt. But it goes so much deeper than that. Especially when we reach Veterans Day, November 11th - I get a deep sense of gratitude for a time that changed my life, my time in the service, the U.S. Navy.
My active service served as a 4-year crash course in adulthood, carrying me from being an under-achieving student in school, to achieving something they said I couldn’t possibly achieve — completing the difficult course of studies at the 6 month-long Naval Nuclear Power School, followed by 6 months of Nuclear Prototype training, where we had to demonstrate the ability to rip a nuclear power plant completely apart and put it back together, system by system. That taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to.
I had the worst score in the physics aptitude entry exams we took my first week there. After having almost died in an engine room fire on my first ship, when the school’s commander told me I’d be returned to that death-trap, I pleaded to be given a chance to make it through Nuke school. Impressed by my gumption, he made an exception, allowing me to stay for 3 weeks until the first real physics exam. If I flunked that, back I would go to that ship. If I passed, I could stay for the whole program and become a qualified nuclear reactor operator. He said it was unlikely I’d make it, given my lack of aptitude, but he was impressed with my attitude.
Three weeks later, only three sailors out of three hundred aced that first big test — and I was one of them! Of course, that was probably the high point of my career — it was all downhill from there. I learned that the same discipline and will-power that carried me through that trial would be rendered utterly useless in my next big life trial — addiction.
That required something I also had no aptitude whatsoever for — surrender. I had my first surrender two months after my discharge from the navy — when I drank my last alcoholic drink, at age 22. It would take another two and a half years to surrender the rest of the mood-altering substances I’d continued to ingest. But from the time I learned that I could not successfully partake in any of them, I had one relapse, then finally surrendered it all at 25. It would take another 4 years of recovery until I had an even more complete surrender, and stopped trying to manage my life. I went through 17 jobs in those first 4 years clean, but following that final surrender, life really began to settle down for me. I got a job that I am just now entering my 40th, and likely final, year in. I met and married my life partner. I began learning how to give back to life, after having done my best to take as much as I could from life my first 29 years.
As I said, my service time facilitated a crash course in all this. It probably would’ve taken a lot longer for all these things to come to a head had I not joined the service at age 18. So, yes, I am very grateful, and proud, to have served my country for those 4 years. It helped me to grow up fast.
But there’s more about Veterans Day that I love. When I was growing up, I had a real rocky relationship with my father. Most of the time, I was sure he despised me, as he never had a decent word to say to, or about me, with one notable exception. Every year, for as long as I could remember, when Veterans Day would roll around, he would retell the story of the day before I was born.
You see, I was born the day after the very first Veterans Day, in 1954. Prior to that, it was known as Armistice Day, honoring the armistice that was signed in the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, ending The War to End All Wars, WWI. (It didn’t).
Dad would tell that story with such fondness — it was an unseasonably warm day in November. He was enjoying a day off for the holiday, doing some chores around the house, painting the back porch steps, while his favorite aunt, Aunt Margaret, came by to help with the kids so Mom could take a break and relax. All of her previous 5 kids had come early, but I was a little late. (It wouldn’t be the last time in my life that I was late)!
Late in the day, Mom went into labor and Dad was able to take her to the hospital while Aunt Marge stayed with the kids. They sent Dad back home, saying she wouldn’t likely be delivering for awhile, but I wound up entering this life at 3:30 in the morning of the 12th. The doctor called Dad at 4:30 to give him the good news, and in the quiet of the pre-dawn hour, he and Aunt Marge shared a little dance of joy for my arrival. It was a beautiful story, always told with genuine affection.
That story always made me realize that, despite everything else, that man did love his 6th child and 5th son, me. Dad left this life over 27 years ago, but each year at this time, he is very much in my thoughts. Sometimes, I pull out the story he wrote about that day, along with half a dozen other stories he wrote about me. When he started writing the stories that would turn into a 275 page book of family stories that he left for us, the ones about me were among the first he wrote. Another sign that he might have loved me more than he could ever show, otherwise. We did wind up becoming very close late in his life, one of the true miracles of my life, that.
The warmth that I feel on these days, as the air outside grows cooler, begins a chain reaction of gratitude that carries me through the rest of the month, culminating in Thanksgiving Day and the beginning of putting up the Christmas lights, which always puts me into a holiday mood. I have shed a few tears of gratitude already, as I reflected on these things. Life is pretty damn good!