My Combat Medic Son

As a parent of four children (now all adults), I think about their “launchings.”  Rebecca, while divorced, is a loving mother to my oldest grandchild, Isaac.  I’m pleased that he is living with her and that she has a gig as a permanent substitute secondary teacher in Washington.  Emily is entrenched in her role as wife and mother to four of my grandchildren in New Jersey, and is married to my wonderful son-in-law, Adam.  Robert (BJ) is at the end of the second semester of a three semester program to become a licensed Alcohol and Drug Rehab Counselor, and his employment future, while not perfectly clear at this point, looks bright. 

Douglas, my youngest, graduated from California State, Long Beach with a BS in Psychology, but could not find permanent, full-time work in his field.  Frustrated at his prospects, he decided to leave his son, Daniel, with his mother Jeannine, and joined the US Army.  Because of his degree and due to a high score on a national test, he was able to choose which field in which to serve within the spectrum of the Army, and chose to become a Combat Medic.

He completed a nine-week basic training at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and then was transferred to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas for a 16-week training.  At Fort Sam, he learned many skills and along the way became certified as an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician.)  

Toward the end of his time there, he was given a 36-month posting in Hawaii—Schofield Barracks.  Near the end of the marathon, the medics were required to spend a two-week period at a multi-service testing facility called Camp Bollis.  There they were given opportunities to practice what they had learned in battle-like circumstances, with some soldiers “doing to” and some being “done to.”  He talked about it as being a very intense experience, including a possible battle circumstance of going 40 hours without sleep.  It was very challenging for him because he was far from being 100% physically.

When I arrived 60 hours ago to be present at his graduation, I was surprised at how thin he looked.  He reported that he weighs about 170, which is pretty slender for a 6’1 to 6’2” fellow.  He was in a battle fatigues (he gave them an acronym that I can’t remember; everything in the military has an acronym!) He was all about medical terminology and skeletal and muscle identification.   Due to an unfortunate physical incident that occurred during his time there, I learned that he is not operating even close to full capacity.  In spite of that event, he eventually was able to do the soldier minimum necessary to graduate, of 40 push-ups and 60 sit-ups—in a two minute period, and a two-mile run in no more than 15 minutes, all with a broken body.

This morning I attended his graduation.  It was really amazing to see (and hear) 305 soldiers receive their diplomas, dressed in their white shirts and blue pants and smart-looking berets.  (Hoo-ahh!!!)  Listening to the Star Spangled Banner, always an emotional experience, was a particularly emotional experience for me, given these circumstances.  I enjoyed listening to the “hoo-ahhs” during the talks given by leadership (the "hoo-ahh" was a forceful, testosterone-laden sound!) I also enjoyed listening to the Army Song and the Army Creed sung and voiced by Doug and the others.  It was thrilling to hear them march back to their barracks singing and shouting in cadence.

I am very proud of Specialist Davis, Douglas.  (I learned that he is a "Specialist"-- almost a Corporal and not a Private First Class, because he is a college graduate.)  He did something really difficult under difficult circumstances.  I appears that he is launching--a very good thing!  I hope that as he departs for his posting in Hawaii, he will find further clarity as to exactly what the next few years might contain.  His main motivation is to be near his son Daniel as best he can, and wants to make decisions in the foreseeable future that will facilitate that desire.  A gigantic “hoo-ahh” for you, Doug!