thedrifter
10-25-07, 04:04 PM
My son, the U.S. Marine
By Cyndi Caldwell
Pacifica Tribune
Article Launched:10/25/2007 01:23:55 PM PDT
Somebody sound the alarm.
That was my first thought sitting in the living room with a U.S. Marine recruiter, Staff Sergeant Robert D. Zabayle. With a sinking heart and a rapidly souring fear in the pit of my stomach, I kept praying that someone would wake me up.
The recruiter's mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out. Was there? Glancing into my only son's hopeful eyes, I briskly thought, Who are you and what have you done with my rebellious son?
Where is that mischievous boy who loves to break the rules. That boy with a maddeningly charming smile. That boy with a perpetual smarmy remark ready to fly through his lips. Where was he?
Perhaps any mother with a child in the military can relate. This is my son! There was a terrified scream bubbling up, "NO!" but it refused to show itself. Traitor.
It's like that dream. You know the one. Where you're screaming but there is only silence and no one can hear you? The monster is coming but you cannot warn your loved ones standing just ahead of you. There is nowhere to run.
The only sound I hear is, "Please, Ma. Just sign it." Nervous hands messed up the signature. Maybe that would buy some time. There would be no such luck. That recruiter has an extra copy just in case. This must happen often.
So what if I have four children. Ryan is my only son. How dare they tempt my only son? They did not go through three days of labor to bring him into this world. They did not raise him alone, like so many single mothers. They did not tend him when he was sick. They did not ever worry about where his next meal was coming from. Who do they think they are?
Well, they were not fooling this mother. I was a military wife and before that, a military daughter. Who does this recruiter think he's kidding? I know this life. I did not want it for my son. I asked him later, "What made you want to do this? Who suddenly put this idea in your head? There is a war out there! What are you smoking?!"
His answer? Brett. Ah. The best friend. Then, "Ma. It isn't just Brett. I want to do this. I need to do this. It's in my blood."
It's in his blood. Well, there it is. How can I compete with that? Forget it. My daredevil son has always been too stubborn. Like trying to push a mule with a feather.
Cajole and beg as I might, his entire senior year he was determined. He remained in close contact with his recruiter. Then he graduated and there was no turning back. He was 18 now, and leaving in two weeks with his best friend and fellow Pacifican, Brett Spruitenburg.
There was no stopping him. Just like I couldn't stop him from jumping off the roof when he was 10.
How could I not have seen this coming? He was always one of those kids you were tempted to slap and then hug tight, all at the same time. This was one of those times. Now he was going to boot camp. He was putting himself in harm's way yet again.
I asked his friend Brett once why he chose to join the Marines. "Education, travel and experience." That was all. For Ryan I think it was something more. "It's in my blood." Those words kept ringing in my ears while he prepared to depart for boot camp in San Diego. On the day he was finally leaving, I think there are no proper words for the wrenching in my heart. I tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears and be strong for him. Then he was gone. Just like that.
Each letter from boot camp was a treasure to me. I could tell that he was going through hell, but he was determined also. I would wake up in a cold sweat from the horrible nightmares that only a mother could have. And then it was graduation time, time to go to San Diego and see what horrors they had wrought upon my son.
My sister and I arrived in San Diego on Wednesday, Sept. 19 in the early afternoon. I was elated and couldn't wait to see him. The activities and demonstrations were scheduled for Thursday. I could hardly sleep that night. We awoke at 5:30 a.m. because we didn't want to miss anything and the hotel shuttle began bringing military family guests to the base at about 7 a.m.
When we arrived on base, my eyes could not stop searching for him, but I couldn't find him in the first group of recruits, standing smart at attention just after morning Colors. But soon would be what they call the "Moto Run" or the motivational 3-mile run that commences with hundreds of gathered family members, cheering thunderously for their Marine recruit. They were not Marines just yet, but they would be later today. There were eight platoons and Ryan (and Brett) were in the second — India Company, Third Battalion, Platoon 3202.
Suddenly, there he was. Dressed in running attire, right in the front row after making a left face. He looked slim, somber, hard; both humble and proud all at once. He was beautiful. The tears came and I didn't care. I looked around at the hundreds of people, families, gathered there for the same reason I was and for the first time truly realized that I was not alone.
Even Brett looked smart. Brett Spruitenburg — that one guy that gives the impression of a future Nobel Prize winner for something like, oh I don't know, bio-engineering. Not an athlete. Who knew this guy could make it through boot camp? But there he was, too. Looking like, well, a U.S. Marine. His family was there, cheering along with the rest of us.
I just wanted to reach out and touch my son, but I couldn't. That would come later. Just like that, they were peeling off for that run in sharp formation. Everyone then gathered to another area of the base to witness the completion of the run. This doesn't sound very exciting, but honestly, watching all of those young men striving for perfection, all willing to put themselves between the enemy and their country, their families and their Marine brotherhood is absolutely awe-inspiring. All of my anger melted away — the anger at the Marine recruiter and every drill instructor, gone. In fact, I wanted to hug them, to thank them.
After the run was completed, we gathered into the theatre on base and watched clips and slides of some of the horrific challenges that U.S. Marine recruits must undergo in order to finally have the honor of calling themselves by that title. Finally, we gathered on the Historical Parade Deck to witness the presentation of the U.S. Marine Emblems, that small pin, one outward symbol of their status as U.S. Marines before the formal graduation ceremony on Friday.
Watching my son in his Charlies (a khaki uniform), standing at attention then receiving his Emblem, the pride swelled in my heart. Yes, pride. Fear, yes, but anger, no. Before I knew it, they were dismissed for five hours of leave to spend with their families on base, and I finally got to run onto that deck and throw my arms around my son. Other than hugs, however, they are not allowed public displays of affection as it is "unbecoming a U.S. Marine." That's okay. I was there, and he was there, and he was all right. That's all I needed to know.
The whole experience makes one think of the horrors that are going on in the Middle East; in Iraq. You just want to cry out let's bring them all home. But never make the mistake of confusing the politics with the people. the individuals that are all there, serving their country, facing heinous danger so that others can enjoy a better life, along with all of those that went before them.
According to Pacifica Military Moms, from the Pacifica and Coastside area alone, included on their roster are 27 individuals serving in the Armed Forces and we just added two more. For those who care to, add a silent prayer for our Pacificans in Iraq: David Parrish, Jesse Chapman, Matt Sheedy, Matthew Weyant, Kyle Germano; for Eric Allen in Afghanistan; for Tony Landi in Kuwait and Mike Hall.
Where will Ryan and Brett go now? We don't know yet. They will complete some more training, and then we just don't know yet. I will pray for them. I will pray for all of them. My name is Cyndi, and my son, Ryan J. Throne, is a U.S. Marine. Not just any U.S. Marine. He is my U.S. Marine. And I am proud.
Cyndi Caldwell can be reached at ccaldwell@angnewspapers.com
Ellie
By Cyndi Caldwell
Pacifica Tribune
Article Launched:10/25/2007 01:23:55 PM PDT
Somebody sound the alarm.
That was my first thought sitting in the living room with a U.S. Marine recruiter, Staff Sergeant Robert D. Zabayle. With a sinking heart and a rapidly souring fear in the pit of my stomach, I kept praying that someone would wake me up.
The recruiter's mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out. Was there? Glancing into my only son's hopeful eyes, I briskly thought, Who are you and what have you done with my rebellious son?
Where is that mischievous boy who loves to break the rules. That boy with a maddeningly charming smile. That boy with a perpetual smarmy remark ready to fly through his lips. Where was he?
Perhaps any mother with a child in the military can relate. This is my son! There was a terrified scream bubbling up, "NO!" but it refused to show itself. Traitor.
It's like that dream. You know the one. Where you're screaming but there is only silence and no one can hear you? The monster is coming but you cannot warn your loved ones standing just ahead of you. There is nowhere to run.
The only sound I hear is, "Please, Ma. Just sign it." Nervous hands messed up the signature. Maybe that would buy some time. There would be no such luck. That recruiter has an extra copy just in case. This must happen often.
So what if I have four children. Ryan is my only son. How dare they tempt my only son? They did not go through three days of labor to bring him into this world. They did not raise him alone, like so many single mothers. They did not tend him when he was sick. They did not ever worry about where his next meal was coming from. Who do they think they are?
Well, they were not fooling this mother. I was a military wife and before that, a military daughter. Who does this recruiter think he's kidding? I know this life. I did not want it for my son. I asked him later, "What made you want to do this? Who suddenly put this idea in your head? There is a war out there! What are you smoking?!"
His answer? Brett. Ah. The best friend. Then, "Ma. It isn't just Brett. I want to do this. I need to do this. It's in my blood."
It's in his blood. Well, there it is. How can I compete with that? Forget it. My daredevil son has always been too stubborn. Like trying to push a mule with a feather.
Cajole and beg as I might, his entire senior year he was determined. He remained in close contact with his recruiter. Then he graduated and there was no turning back. He was 18 now, and leaving in two weeks with his best friend and fellow Pacifican, Brett Spruitenburg.
There was no stopping him. Just like I couldn't stop him from jumping off the roof when he was 10.
How could I not have seen this coming? He was always one of those kids you were tempted to slap and then hug tight, all at the same time. This was one of those times. Now he was going to boot camp. He was putting himself in harm's way yet again.
I asked his friend Brett once why he chose to join the Marines. "Education, travel and experience." That was all. For Ryan I think it was something more. "It's in my blood." Those words kept ringing in my ears while he prepared to depart for boot camp in San Diego. On the day he was finally leaving, I think there are no proper words for the wrenching in my heart. I tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears and be strong for him. Then he was gone. Just like that.
Each letter from boot camp was a treasure to me. I could tell that he was going through hell, but he was determined also. I would wake up in a cold sweat from the horrible nightmares that only a mother could have. And then it was graduation time, time to go to San Diego and see what horrors they had wrought upon my son.
My sister and I arrived in San Diego on Wednesday, Sept. 19 in the early afternoon. I was elated and couldn't wait to see him. The activities and demonstrations were scheduled for Thursday. I could hardly sleep that night. We awoke at 5:30 a.m. because we didn't want to miss anything and the hotel shuttle began bringing military family guests to the base at about 7 a.m.
When we arrived on base, my eyes could not stop searching for him, but I couldn't find him in the first group of recruits, standing smart at attention just after morning Colors. But soon would be what they call the "Moto Run" or the motivational 3-mile run that commences with hundreds of gathered family members, cheering thunderously for their Marine recruit. They were not Marines just yet, but they would be later today. There were eight platoons and Ryan (and Brett) were in the second — India Company, Third Battalion, Platoon 3202.
Suddenly, there he was. Dressed in running attire, right in the front row after making a left face. He looked slim, somber, hard; both humble and proud all at once. He was beautiful. The tears came and I didn't care. I looked around at the hundreds of people, families, gathered there for the same reason I was and for the first time truly realized that I was not alone.
Even Brett looked smart. Brett Spruitenburg — that one guy that gives the impression of a future Nobel Prize winner for something like, oh I don't know, bio-engineering. Not an athlete. Who knew this guy could make it through boot camp? But there he was, too. Looking like, well, a U.S. Marine. His family was there, cheering along with the rest of us.
I just wanted to reach out and touch my son, but I couldn't. That would come later. Just like that, they were peeling off for that run in sharp formation. Everyone then gathered to another area of the base to witness the completion of the run. This doesn't sound very exciting, but honestly, watching all of those young men striving for perfection, all willing to put themselves between the enemy and their country, their families and their Marine brotherhood is absolutely awe-inspiring. All of my anger melted away — the anger at the Marine recruiter and every drill instructor, gone. In fact, I wanted to hug them, to thank them.
After the run was completed, we gathered into the theatre on base and watched clips and slides of some of the horrific challenges that U.S. Marine recruits must undergo in order to finally have the honor of calling themselves by that title. Finally, we gathered on the Historical Parade Deck to witness the presentation of the U.S. Marine Emblems, that small pin, one outward symbol of their status as U.S. Marines before the formal graduation ceremony on Friday.
Watching my son in his Charlies (a khaki uniform), standing at attention then receiving his Emblem, the pride swelled in my heart. Yes, pride. Fear, yes, but anger, no. Before I knew it, they were dismissed for five hours of leave to spend with their families on base, and I finally got to run onto that deck and throw my arms around my son. Other than hugs, however, they are not allowed public displays of affection as it is "unbecoming a U.S. Marine." That's okay. I was there, and he was there, and he was all right. That's all I needed to know.
The whole experience makes one think of the horrors that are going on in the Middle East; in Iraq. You just want to cry out let's bring them all home. But never make the mistake of confusing the politics with the people. the individuals that are all there, serving their country, facing heinous danger so that others can enjoy a better life, along with all of those that went before them.
According to Pacifica Military Moms, from the Pacifica and Coastside area alone, included on their roster are 27 individuals serving in the Armed Forces and we just added two more. For those who care to, add a silent prayer for our Pacificans in Iraq: David Parrish, Jesse Chapman, Matt Sheedy, Matthew Weyant, Kyle Germano; for Eric Allen in Afghanistan; for Tony Landi in Kuwait and Mike Hall.
Where will Ryan and Brett go now? We don't know yet. They will complete some more training, and then we just don't know yet. I will pray for them. I will pray for all of them. My name is Cyndi, and my son, Ryan J. Throne, is a U.S. Marine. Not just any U.S. Marine. He is my U.S. Marine. And I am proud.
Cyndi Caldwell can be reached at ccaldwell@angnewspapers.com
Ellie