thedrifter
09-03-08, 03:13 PM
dailypress.com
3 sons leave for Marines
By LIZ BARRY
The News and Advance
September 3, 2008
LYNCHBURG, Va.
When Darlene Palmer returns to her home in Rustburg, she spots the pickup truck in her driveway and weeps.
"The Danger Ranger" belongs to her youngest son, Ethan Coleman. The '93 Ford bears the scars of his teenage misadventures: a knick here, a dent there, a crushed tailgate.
Before, the truck was an ordinary sight, a sign that Ethan was home from school or work or a night out with friends. Today, it sends Darlene over the edge.
Just hours earlier, she watched her 18-year-old son board a bus to boot camp with nothing but the clothes on his back and $20 in his pocket. He is headed to Parris Island, S.C., to become a Marine.
For Darlene, 47, today marks a turning point in her journey of motherhood. For two decades, she has raised two sons and a stepson. All chose to join the Marines, and her middle child, Michael Coleman, served in Iraq last year.
The sight of Ethan's truck strikes Darlene. Her last son is gone.
Thousands of mothers have experienced the pain, and pride, of sending their sons and daughters into the military--an experience heightened by the climate of war. Right now, there are about 34,000 Marines deployed worldwide, almost all in Iraq or Afghanistan, according to an Aug. 27 Reuters report. In the greater Lynchburg area, approximately 300 people have enlisted in the Corps since the United States invaded Iraq in 2003.
Ethan's departure hits Darlene extra hard. He is the last to leave home, and her role as a mother has changed fundamentally. When Darlene became a parent, her children became the center of her universe.
Now, she no longer takes part in their day-to-day lives. She stands back as they become adults.
Darlene spent 24 years balancing motherhood and full-time work at the Virginia Department of Corrections and, later, the Department of Transportation. She shared joint custody of Ethan and Michael with their father, Tim Coleman, and she considers her husband Frank Palmer's son, Shaun, her son, too.
She watched as each son gained independence. After Ethan got his driver's license at 16, he was always in and out. Darlene kept tabs on him through phone calls and text messages. The two were close, but they still clashed over parent/teenager things, like curfew, dirty dishes and music.
For Darlene, it's a matter of pride to see her youngest follow the same yellow footsteps--the ones new recruits stand in upon arrival at Parris Island--as her two older sons, and her husband, also a Marine.
Darlene is also relieved. Ethan stirred up his fair share of trouble at times, including in the weeks before he left. He gashed his foot on a pool skimmer days before his Marine Corps physical. He smashed through a car windshield while roughhousing with friends.
Under Darlene's watch, the foot healed, and Ethan paid for the windshield. Now, his fate is out of her hands.
After boot camp, Ethan will attend infantry school, which will train him for the front lines. Then, Ethan's future becomes uncertain. Darlene knows, however, that deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan is more than likely.
The morning of July 20 is like any other at the Palmer house. Darlene pounds on the bathroom door to expedite Ethan's 45-minute shower. Later, she and Ethan sit on the living room sofa, watching Home & Garden Television over heaping plates of omelets.
The mood is relaxed. Darlene chides Ethan for his choice in sneakers. Ethan crouches on the floor to play fetch with Squirt, the cat.
Inevitably, the talk turns to the Marines.
Darlene heaves a sigh and looks at her son. "A couple of days, and you'll have no hair," she says.
"Yeah," Ethan grunts.
"You'll have skin, no hair."
The banter continues.
"You better hope you don't have a mole, they'll cut that off, too," Frank chimes in. The room erupts into laughter.
At 10 a.m., Ethan hands his cell phone and car keys to Mom. It's time.
The Palmers are the first to arrive at the Marine Corps recruiting station in Lynchburg. Darlene has been here before to send off two other sons.
Just past noon, it's time for the final hug.
"I'll be back, Mom," Ethan says.
In a tight embrace, Darlene rests her face against Ethan's broad shoulder. Ethan, who has been goofy all morning, turns serious. A tear creeps down his cheek. When the staff sergeant says it's time, Ethan heads to the bus.
"You'd think after three times, I'd be good at this," says Darlene between sniffles.
With a smile on her face, Darlene waves as the bus pulls away.
Two weeks later, Darlene feels an unfamiliar quiet at home. She has more time for Harlequin romance novels, dates with her husband and camping trips. But her son's departure is still raw.
At home, she sees Ethan everywhere. The wooden doormat he made her in shop class. The teddy bear he bought her this past Mother's Day. The bottle caps that have emerged from a party Ethan threw when Darlene and Frank were out of town.
Darlene misses Ethan's bear hugs, his goofy sense of humor, kissing him goodnight, and even the things that used to irk her: rap music thumping from his room, the mess of unwashed clothes, the 45-minute showers.
At boot camp, Ethan has no computer, no cell phone. The daily communication Darlene has grown accustomed to is now gone.
Darlene checks the mailbox each day for a letter.
The first one came on Aug. 1. It was printed in neat handwriting on Marine Corps stationary. The sentences were short and peppered with military jargon.
"The first days sucked because of no sleep," the letter says.
"Now that I've made it past the first week and the ISTs (initial strength tests), I have the confidence to do anything and everything I have to to get me through the next 12 weeks. . . Luv ya, Ethan."
The second came a few days later. Darlene can sense changes based on Ethan's mood, his experiences.
"How's everything going? Pretty good here. Extremely hot. . . .
"I wasn't really nervous at all on the yellow footprints. I was more nervous on the road to Parris Island. And, yes, the drill instructors were huge."
This time, Ethan signs it with his boot camp name: "Rct. Coleman."
For Darlene, the tears still sneak up unexpectedly. At work. Watching a Marine Corps ad on TV.
Late at night, lying in bed.
Outside, Ethan's truck is still parked in the driveway. Soon Darlene will drive it to her mother's house for safekeeping, but not yet.
Ellie
3 sons leave for Marines
By LIZ BARRY
The News and Advance
September 3, 2008
LYNCHBURG, Va.
When Darlene Palmer returns to her home in Rustburg, she spots the pickup truck in her driveway and weeps.
"The Danger Ranger" belongs to her youngest son, Ethan Coleman. The '93 Ford bears the scars of his teenage misadventures: a knick here, a dent there, a crushed tailgate.
Before, the truck was an ordinary sight, a sign that Ethan was home from school or work or a night out with friends. Today, it sends Darlene over the edge.
Just hours earlier, she watched her 18-year-old son board a bus to boot camp with nothing but the clothes on his back and $20 in his pocket. He is headed to Parris Island, S.C., to become a Marine.
For Darlene, 47, today marks a turning point in her journey of motherhood. For two decades, she has raised two sons and a stepson. All chose to join the Marines, and her middle child, Michael Coleman, served in Iraq last year.
The sight of Ethan's truck strikes Darlene. Her last son is gone.
Thousands of mothers have experienced the pain, and pride, of sending their sons and daughters into the military--an experience heightened by the climate of war. Right now, there are about 34,000 Marines deployed worldwide, almost all in Iraq or Afghanistan, according to an Aug. 27 Reuters report. In the greater Lynchburg area, approximately 300 people have enlisted in the Corps since the United States invaded Iraq in 2003.
Ethan's departure hits Darlene extra hard. He is the last to leave home, and her role as a mother has changed fundamentally. When Darlene became a parent, her children became the center of her universe.
Now, she no longer takes part in their day-to-day lives. She stands back as they become adults.
Darlene spent 24 years balancing motherhood and full-time work at the Virginia Department of Corrections and, later, the Department of Transportation. She shared joint custody of Ethan and Michael with their father, Tim Coleman, and she considers her husband Frank Palmer's son, Shaun, her son, too.
She watched as each son gained independence. After Ethan got his driver's license at 16, he was always in and out. Darlene kept tabs on him through phone calls and text messages. The two were close, but they still clashed over parent/teenager things, like curfew, dirty dishes and music.
For Darlene, it's a matter of pride to see her youngest follow the same yellow footsteps--the ones new recruits stand in upon arrival at Parris Island--as her two older sons, and her husband, also a Marine.
Darlene is also relieved. Ethan stirred up his fair share of trouble at times, including in the weeks before he left. He gashed his foot on a pool skimmer days before his Marine Corps physical. He smashed through a car windshield while roughhousing with friends.
Under Darlene's watch, the foot healed, and Ethan paid for the windshield. Now, his fate is out of her hands.
After boot camp, Ethan will attend infantry school, which will train him for the front lines. Then, Ethan's future becomes uncertain. Darlene knows, however, that deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan is more than likely.
The morning of July 20 is like any other at the Palmer house. Darlene pounds on the bathroom door to expedite Ethan's 45-minute shower. Later, she and Ethan sit on the living room sofa, watching Home & Garden Television over heaping plates of omelets.
The mood is relaxed. Darlene chides Ethan for his choice in sneakers. Ethan crouches on the floor to play fetch with Squirt, the cat.
Inevitably, the talk turns to the Marines.
Darlene heaves a sigh and looks at her son. "A couple of days, and you'll have no hair," she says.
"Yeah," Ethan grunts.
"You'll have skin, no hair."
The banter continues.
"You better hope you don't have a mole, they'll cut that off, too," Frank chimes in. The room erupts into laughter.
At 10 a.m., Ethan hands his cell phone and car keys to Mom. It's time.
The Palmers are the first to arrive at the Marine Corps recruiting station in Lynchburg. Darlene has been here before to send off two other sons.
Just past noon, it's time for the final hug.
"I'll be back, Mom," Ethan says.
In a tight embrace, Darlene rests her face against Ethan's broad shoulder. Ethan, who has been goofy all morning, turns serious. A tear creeps down his cheek. When the staff sergeant says it's time, Ethan heads to the bus.
"You'd think after three times, I'd be good at this," says Darlene between sniffles.
With a smile on her face, Darlene waves as the bus pulls away.
Two weeks later, Darlene feels an unfamiliar quiet at home. She has more time for Harlequin romance novels, dates with her husband and camping trips. But her son's departure is still raw.
At home, she sees Ethan everywhere. The wooden doormat he made her in shop class. The teddy bear he bought her this past Mother's Day. The bottle caps that have emerged from a party Ethan threw when Darlene and Frank were out of town.
Darlene misses Ethan's bear hugs, his goofy sense of humor, kissing him goodnight, and even the things that used to irk her: rap music thumping from his room, the mess of unwashed clothes, the 45-minute showers.
At boot camp, Ethan has no computer, no cell phone. The daily communication Darlene has grown accustomed to is now gone.
Darlene checks the mailbox each day for a letter.
The first one came on Aug. 1. It was printed in neat handwriting on Marine Corps stationary. The sentences were short and peppered with military jargon.
"The first days sucked because of no sleep," the letter says.
"Now that I've made it past the first week and the ISTs (initial strength tests), I have the confidence to do anything and everything I have to to get me through the next 12 weeks. . . Luv ya, Ethan."
The second came a few days later. Darlene can sense changes based on Ethan's mood, his experiences.
"How's everything going? Pretty good here. Extremely hot. . . .
"I wasn't really nervous at all on the yellow footprints. I was more nervous on the road to Parris Island. And, yes, the drill instructors were huge."
This time, Ethan signs it with his boot camp name: "Rct. Coleman."
For Darlene, the tears still sneak up unexpectedly. At work. Watching a Marine Corps ad on TV.
Late at night, lying in bed.
Outside, Ethan's truck is still parked in the driveway. Soon Darlene will drive it to her mother's house for safekeeping, but not yet.
Ellie