As I sit down to write this morning, I'm thinking of our youngest child, probably sound asleep in a cramped airplane seat, somewhere up in the skies between here and Fort Benning, Georgia.
Barely four hours ago, Lori and I were at the airport, saying a quick farewell to Jordan, our 21-year-old son, as he stepped out of the line to go through security.
For Jordan, it's been nearly a three-year wait for this day: to be a full-fledged member of the Armed Services. Along the way, he's attended four- and two-year schools, received and given up an ROTC scholarship, considered the Navy and, ultimately, decided on the Army. The process of getting a medical waiver took longer than anticipated and, so, it was with great relief that we greeted the news two days ago that he'd finally gotten it and could ship out for basic training barely 48 hours later.
For us, it's been a long enough time to come around 180 degrees -- from adamantly opposing his plans to enlist following high school graduation to gradual acceptance and, now, strong support for his dream. As parents who came of age opposing the U.S. presence in Vietnam, and as someone who never served because of a college deferment and then a high draft number, it wasn't easy overcoming our reservations, particularly when GWB was still president. In the end, we realized the issue was pretty simple: Do we give our son our love and support for what he wants to do? Or not? It's his life and his values, his right as a young adult to pursue his dream, not ours.
Obviously, I'm just scratching the surface here, so I'll keep this post short. No doubt I'll return to this topic in the months ahead. For now, as proud parents, we give him our blessing and our love, knowing we won't see him again for about three months.
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