thedrifter
09-24-07, 08:05 AM
TWIN SOLDIERS
By By Mark Schwed
Palm Beach Post Staff Writer
Monday, September 24, 2007
With every knock on the door, you think the unthinkable - that he is horribly wounded. Or dead.
Every time the phone rings, and the caller ID shows an unfamiliar number, your heart skips a beat.
This is how it is when someone you love is in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Now imagine that for the next three years, you will have to deal with this every day and night. Not just for one son. But two. Twins. Your boys.
"As long as I don't talk about it, I'm fine," says John Norcross, 65, of West Palm Beach. And then the tears come. "It's hard."
In war, the ultimate sacrifice is to give your life for your country. But there are many other kinds of sacrifice.
Just ask John and his wife, Nora. One of their sons, Michael, 20, has spent nearly seven months in Iraq as a front-line Marine.
Earlier this month, Michael arrived at Al-Asad Air Base on the same day President Bush made his surprise visit. The base is so massive that he did not see the president; he didn't even see Air Force One. The base is so well-guarded, he doesn't have to carry his weapon. "He's safe," says his mother.
But as Michael's first deployment ends, and he comes home any day now, his twin brother Daniel will head to the same place to fight the same war. Forget all the debate about surges and troop reductions. For the next few years, the twins will deploy and redeploy again and again, shuffling in and out of harm's way.
"I don't think Michael and Daniel will see each other for the next three years," their father says.
Michael decided to go first. While still in high school at Palm Beach Lakes, without telling his parents, he visited recruiters for the Army and Air Force. But he determined that the best way to achieve his goal of working for the FBI or the Secret Service was to be a Marine on the front lines.
"It's where he would have exposure to guns and weapons," his mother says. So Michael signed on the dotted line to become a Marine. "He was 18. He didn't need our permission."
Six months later, to the day, his brother went to Marine boot camp at Parris Island, S.C., too.
It did not surprise the parents.
"Knowing them, they've always had the same mutual friends, the same interests," the mother says. "They've played sports together. They've done everything together."
But identical twins don't do everything the same way. For instance, Michael is a righty. Daniel, a lefty.
They handled their living wills differently, as well.
"Michael was kind of matter-of-fact," his mother says. "He said, 'Well, I'm doing the power of attorney. There's X amount of dollars. I'm leaving it all with you and dad.' "
If the worst happens, she will decide what to do with the body, the money.
"Do what you want to do, Mom," he told her.
Later, at a family outing, when she was alone with Michael, the mother pressed the son about where he would want to be buried. "I think I remember very quietly saying, 'Michael, if something were to happen, would you like to be with Grandma and Grandpa or Arlington?' He said he wanted to come home. That was it."
Daniel was just the opposite. "Mom, I want to go to Arlington. Full honors. Honor guard. Guns. All of that," he told her.
She begins to cry.
"It's hard for families to sit here and listen to these young kids make funeral arrangements," she says.
It is also hard to see the effect war has on your children.
She spoke to Michael on the phone recently, after his best friend was killed.
"He almost sounds depressed, like a robot," she says. "When you talk to him and say something about calling more often or writing more often, he says there's nothing to write home about."
"You don't want to know what we're doing," he told his mother. "And there's no reason to call. There's nothing to say."
She told him that she needs to know he's OK. "His response is that if he's not, I'll be the first one to know."
"If I don't hear from him at least once a week, the longer it goes, I start to get nervous. Every time someone knocks on the front door, we look out the window first to make sure there's not a dark car parked out there. If there's a different phone number that comes in, I worry. Could it be the Red Cross? The commanders from the base?"
A couple of months ago, the home phone did ring - at 3 a.m. - and then the cellphone rang. The caller IDs on both phones showed a number from Hawaii. The mother and father were stricken with fear.
"I thought he'd been injured or killed," the father says.
When morning came, they went to the recruiter's office, where they were told not to worry about calls from Hawaii. "They told us, 'If you do get a call, it will be from Camp Lejeune' " in North Carolina, the father says. So now they know.
Their cars are plastered with bumper stickers. One says, "My sons are Marines." Friends, neighbors and co-workers don't seem to know what to say.
"I would like to see a little more support from people," she says. "I have things in the office - 'Donate to troops for packages.' Nobody is doing anything. People don't even ask about it. The only time I get stopped, most of the time, it's a former Marine."
At home, everything is on hold. The boys are engaged, but the weddings will have to wait for three years until both Marines can be home at the same time.
The good thing is they are Marines, and Marines only deploy for seven-month stretches. "I don't know how the Army parents do it," says the father. "They deploy for 15 months."
Until both boys come home for good, mother and father will have to tough it out, just like their two Marines.
"I pray that nothing happens to them," the mother says.
"I am so proud of them," the father says, tears streaming down his cheeks.
John and Nora Norcross have two other sons.
The oldest is John. He is 24 and works for a recruiting firm. Their youngest son is Kevin. He is 17. In high school. Thinking about becoming a Marine.
Ellie
By By Mark Schwed
Palm Beach Post Staff Writer
Monday, September 24, 2007
With every knock on the door, you think the unthinkable - that he is horribly wounded. Or dead.
Every time the phone rings, and the caller ID shows an unfamiliar number, your heart skips a beat.
This is how it is when someone you love is in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Now imagine that for the next three years, you will have to deal with this every day and night. Not just for one son. But two. Twins. Your boys.
"As long as I don't talk about it, I'm fine," says John Norcross, 65, of West Palm Beach. And then the tears come. "It's hard."
In war, the ultimate sacrifice is to give your life for your country. But there are many other kinds of sacrifice.
Just ask John and his wife, Nora. One of their sons, Michael, 20, has spent nearly seven months in Iraq as a front-line Marine.
Earlier this month, Michael arrived at Al-Asad Air Base on the same day President Bush made his surprise visit. The base is so massive that he did not see the president; he didn't even see Air Force One. The base is so well-guarded, he doesn't have to carry his weapon. "He's safe," says his mother.
But as Michael's first deployment ends, and he comes home any day now, his twin brother Daniel will head to the same place to fight the same war. Forget all the debate about surges and troop reductions. For the next few years, the twins will deploy and redeploy again and again, shuffling in and out of harm's way.
"I don't think Michael and Daniel will see each other for the next three years," their father says.
Michael decided to go first. While still in high school at Palm Beach Lakes, without telling his parents, he visited recruiters for the Army and Air Force. But he determined that the best way to achieve his goal of working for the FBI or the Secret Service was to be a Marine on the front lines.
"It's where he would have exposure to guns and weapons," his mother says. So Michael signed on the dotted line to become a Marine. "He was 18. He didn't need our permission."
Six months later, to the day, his brother went to Marine boot camp at Parris Island, S.C., too.
It did not surprise the parents.
"Knowing them, they've always had the same mutual friends, the same interests," the mother says. "They've played sports together. They've done everything together."
But identical twins don't do everything the same way. For instance, Michael is a righty. Daniel, a lefty.
They handled their living wills differently, as well.
"Michael was kind of matter-of-fact," his mother says. "He said, 'Well, I'm doing the power of attorney. There's X amount of dollars. I'm leaving it all with you and dad.' "
If the worst happens, she will decide what to do with the body, the money.
"Do what you want to do, Mom," he told her.
Later, at a family outing, when she was alone with Michael, the mother pressed the son about where he would want to be buried. "I think I remember very quietly saying, 'Michael, if something were to happen, would you like to be with Grandma and Grandpa or Arlington?' He said he wanted to come home. That was it."
Daniel was just the opposite. "Mom, I want to go to Arlington. Full honors. Honor guard. Guns. All of that," he told her.
She begins to cry.
"It's hard for families to sit here and listen to these young kids make funeral arrangements," she says.
It is also hard to see the effect war has on your children.
She spoke to Michael on the phone recently, after his best friend was killed.
"He almost sounds depressed, like a robot," she says. "When you talk to him and say something about calling more often or writing more often, he says there's nothing to write home about."
"You don't want to know what we're doing," he told his mother. "And there's no reason to call. There's nothing to say."
She told him that she needs to know he's OK. "His response is that if he's not, I'll be the first one to know."
"If I don't hear from him at least once a week, the longer it goes, I start to get nervous. Every time someone knocks on the front door, we look out the window first to make sure there's not a dark car parked out there. If there's a different phone number that comes in, I worry. Could it be the Red Cross? The commanders from the base?"
A couple of months ago, the home phone did ring - at 3 a.m. - and then the cellphone rang. The caller IDs on both phones showed a number from Hawaii. The mother and father were stricken with fear.
"I thought he'd been injured or killed," the father says.
When morning came, they went to the recruiter's office, where they were told not to worry about calls from Hawaii. "They told us, 'If you do get a call, it will be from Camp Lejeune' " in North Carolina, the father says. So now they know.
Their cars are plastered with bumper stickers. One says, "My sons are Marines." Friends, neighbors and co-workers don't seem to know what to say.
"I would like to see a little more support from people," she says. "I have things in the office - 'Donate to troops for packages.' Nobody is doing anything. People don't even ask about it. The only time I get stopped, most of the time, it's a former Marine."
At home, everything is on hold. The boys are engaged, but the weddings will have to wait for three years until both Marines can be home at the same time.
The good thing is they are Marines, and Marines only deploy for seven-month stretches. "I don't know how the Army parents do it," says the father. "They deploy for 15 months."
Until both boys come home for good, mother and father will have to tough it out, just like their two Marines.
"I pray that nothing happens to them," the mother says.
"I am so proud of them," the father says, tears streaming down his cheeks.
John and Nora Norcross have two other sons.
The oldest is John. He is 24 and works for a recruiting firm. Their youngest son is Kevin. He is 17. In high school. Thinking about becoming a Marine.
Ellie