thedrifter
03-09-07, 12:20 PM
She gives so much, asks for so little
Friday, March 09, 2007
Connie Schultz
Plain Dealer Columnist
Lance Cpl. Cheri Brown still remembers the moment she handed over her life to the Marines.
She was about to graduate from John Hay High School in Cleveland, a child of the projects looking for a way out. She wanted to go to college but knew her mother, a single parent, had no money to send her.
Her father had been long gone, and fast with a fist until he left. She was about to repeat the cycle of abuse.
She was visiting out of state with her boyfriend. They argued, and he punched her so hard that her eye swelled shut. When she woke up the next morning the white of her eye was bathed in blood.
She looked in the mirror and talked to the only person who would listen.
"I gotta do something for myself," she told the battered face in the mirror. "I'm going to get on that plane and I'm never going to look back."
She enlisted the following week. She spent almost 15 years in the Marines.
She's done a lot of forgiving since that talk in the mirror.
She reconciled with her father, and her many letters to him bore postmarks from Hawaii, Japan and the Philippines. During one of her visits, he asked her if she would spread his ashes in his hometown of Chidester, Ark., after he died. She promised she would.
She left the Marines in 1992 after her marriage fell apart, right before her second son was born. "I thought I'd be married forever," she said. "I was devastated, but you do what you have to do."
The Marines left her woefully unprepared for civilian life. She has held mostly low-paying, hourly wage jobs, and she's never gotten used to the lack of discipline in some co-workers over the years.
"There's no attention to detail," she said, shaking her head. "No pride in the work."
She doesn't blame the Marines, though, for cutting her loose without a tether. "That's what happens when you leave," she said.
In December 2002, Brown signed up for the Ohio National Guard. She thought she'd have the discipline and camaraderie of military life, but still be near her boys.
The recruiter never mentioned that she could go to Iraq. A month after she enlisted, her team leader called to tell her they were shipping out.
She spent eight months in Baghdad, writing letters home to her sons every week. She has no complaints. "You go where they need you," she said.
I first wrote about Brown in 2004 after she donated her combat boots, in memory of two fallen comrades, to the war exhibit, "Eyes Wide Open." After I mentioned her in a recent column, she shot me an e-mail.
In a phone conversation, she told me she was now a hospital nursing assistant. I couldn't help but glance up at the bulletin board where my mother's employee badge hangs. She, too, was a nursing assistant, and I keep her badge in sight as a reminder of how hard she worked so that I could have a better life.
I met Brown this week right after her night shift at St. John West Shore Hospital. She loves taking care of patients.
"I pay attention to details," she said, smiling. "I keep an eye on the little things. And I listen to their stories."
When I asked how she feels about working this hard after her service to our country, she shrugged her shoulders. "Hard work is what I do," she said.
She's still in the National Guard and hopes she won't be going back to Iraq. "But if I'm called, I'll go."
For now, she is a nursing assistant hoping to give her children a better life. "I want them to be leaders, not followers," she said, sounding just like my mother.
She doesn't ask for more from this country that owes her so much.
This summer, Brown and her boys will get in the car and drive to Chidester, Ark. She is a daughter with a promise to keep. Her father died in 2001.
"We've got to take my father's ashes," she said, then shook her head before I could even ask the question.
"I've got no time for anger," she said, smiling. "I only have time to forgive."
To reach Connie Schultz:
cschultz@plaind.com, 216-999-5087
Ellie
Friday, March 09, 2007
Connie Schultz
Plain Dealer Columnist
Lance Cpl. Cheri Brown still remembers the moment she handed over her life to the Marines.
She was about to graduate from John Hay High School in Cleveland, a child of the projects looking for a way out. She wanted to go to college but knew her mother, a single parent, had no money to send her.
Her father had been long gone, and fast with a fist until he left. She was about to repeat the cycle of abuse.
She was visiting out of state with her boyfriend. They argued, and he punched her so hard that her eye swelled shut. When she woke up the next morning the white of her eye was bathed in blood.
She looked in the mirror and talked to the only person who would listen.
"I gotta do something for myself," she told the battered face in the mirror. "I'm going to get on that plane and I'm never going to look back."
She enlisted the following week. She spent almost 15 years in the Marines.
She's done a lot of forgiving since that talk in the mirror.
She reconciled with her father, and her many letters to him bore postmarks from Hawaii, Japan and the Philippines. During one of her visits, he asked her if she would spread his ashes in his hometown of Chidester, Ark., after he died. She promised she would.
She left the Marines in 1992 after her marriage fell apart, right before her second son was born. "I thought I'd be married forever," she said. "I was devastated, but you do what you have to do."
The Marines left her woefully unprepared for civilian life. She has held mostly low-paying, hourly wage jobs, and she's never gotten used to the lack of discipline in some co-workers over the years.
"There's no attention to detail," she said, shaking her head. "No pride in the work."
She doesn't blame the Marines, though, for cutting her loose without a tether. "That's what happens when you leave," she said.
In December 2002, Brown signed up for the Ohio National Guard. She thought she'd have the discipline and camaraderie of military life, but still be near her boys.
The recruiter never mentioned that she could go to Iraq. A month after she enlisted, her team leader called to tell her they were shipping out.
She spent eight months in Baghdad, writing letters home to her sons every week. She has no complaints. "You go where they need you," she said.
I first wrote about Brown in 2004 after she donated her combat boots, in memory of two fallen comrades, to the war exhibit, "Eyes Wide Open." After I mentioned her in a recent column, she shot me an e-mail.
In a phone conversation, she told me she was now a hospital nursing assistant. I couldn't help but glance up at the bulletin board where my mother's employee badge hangs. She, too, was a nursing assistant, and I keep her badge in sight as a reminder of how hard she worked so that I could have a better life.
I met Brown this week right after her night shift at St. John West Shore Hospital. She loves taking care of patients.
"I pay attention to details," she said, smiling. "I keep an eye on the little things. And I listen to their stories."
When I asked how she feels about working this hard after her service to our country, she shrugged her shoulders. "Hard work is what I do," she said.
She's still in the National Guard and hopes she won't be going back to Iraq. "But if I'm called, I'll go."
For now, she is a nursing assistant hoping to give her children a better life. "I want them to be leaders, not followers," she said, sounding just like my mother.
She doesn't ask for more from this country that owes her so much.
This summer, Brown and her boys will get in the car and drive to Chidester, Ark. She is a daughter with a promise to keep. Her father died in 2001.
"We've got to take my father's ashes," she said, then shook her head before I could even ask the question.
"I've got no time for anger," she said, smiling. "I only have time to forgive."
To reach Connie Schultz:
cschultz@plaind.com, 216-999-5087
Ellie