That Broken Road

I became a veteran when I stepped off of a plane. I walked through that eerie war / non-war at Bagram Air Field, fearful of mortar and suicide attacks, but seeing Soldiers and Airmen walking around with lattes instead of ammunition.

I became a veteran when I first saw the Afghans clustered around barrel fires or huddled within doorless shacks. That was when I learned what the word “poor” really meant. I vowed never to consider myself underprivileged again.

I became a veteran when I met the officers and NCOs in charge of my combat adviser team at Camp Phoenix. They answered none of my questions directly. Their weapons were caked in dirt.

I became a veteran when I climbed into their – now our – Humvee, and drove down the streets of Kabul for the first time. When something bumped against my boot, I looked down to see live hand grenades rolling around on the floor.

I became a veteran when we rolled outside the wire with inoperable turrets, weapons, or radios. We did this more times than I can count.

I became a veteran when my commanding officer screamed at me. He did this often. He once called me a bitch because I responded with confusion when he ordered me to build a doggie door. We did not have time to train, but we had the time to build a doggie door.

I became a veteran during my first rocket attack. By the time we had put on our body armor, the attack was over. We laughed about it then, and some of the 82nd guys made fun of us for looking enthusiastic and ready for the fight.

I became a veteran when those same guys got drunk and lashed out at us and themselves, or when their voices filled with fear and their eyes with tears during further attacks. We always kept our cool, but they did not always keep theirs.

I became a veteran when I participated in my first big-mission briefing. We walked over snow spray-painted with phase lines and dotted with sticks or tape designating units or key terrain. I went to sleep that night thinking that I could die because someone with a gun was waiting for me in a house made of mud.

I became a veteran when the POGs at the big bases made snide comments to us because our uniforms and boots were dirty from hours on mission.

I became a veteran when my convoy commander suggested that we drive to another base because they served different food. That there was a persistent vehicle-borne IED threat in the area did not influence his decision making process.

I became a veteran when I stopped considering the Afghans people.

I became a veteran when a first sergeant who never left the wire dressed us down in the chow hall because he was bored (and beginning to suspect that he was useless.)

I became a veteran when I went to use the latrine and saw some POGs running out of one of the shower stalls after having sex.

I became a veteran one hot day in June, when I was trying to scrub the blood off of an M4's buttstock. I thought: It won’t come out, and: it won’t fucking come out GODDAMMIT.

I became a veteran when I snuck a Captain and Coke with a cool Navy officer. That was, and still is, the best drink I have ever had.

I became a veteran when my squad leader threatened to kill our commander should anything happen to one of us. The lieutenant to whom he said this laughed. But it was not a joke.

I became a veteran when we spent hours digging a hole in the desert because we had lost all sense of purpose or meaning in what we were doing.

I became a veteran when I stopped reading my Bible, because I didn't think it made a difference anymore.

I became a veteran when we spent hours making fun of each other, saying the worst and most offensive things imaginable. This was how we showed love, although no one on the outside of our family could see that.

I became a veteran when my leadership tried to prosecute me for an offense I did not commit, simply because my men and I told the truth. And told it often.

I became a veteran when I spent hours smoking and watching the sun set with the snipers and the scouts and the sappers and the other Soldiers.

I became a veteran when I earned my combat award for running up to the outpost wall between explosions, ready to fight the enemy but not finding him. I was stoned on sleeping pills because I couldn't sleep for weeks without waking up thinking that I was going to die.

I became a veteran when I had to yell to keep my friend from losing his cool while mortars fell and a mine exploded ahead of us. He was very strong, and I now see his fear not as weak, but as sensible.

I became a veteran when our replacements arrived. They would not stop asking about getting cell phones and private rooms.

I became a veteran when we stored up a week's worth of Gatorade bottles full of urine to play a practical joke on a friend.

I became a veteran when I quietly listened to the war stories of one of the guys in my company. I often listened, but I knew they were horseshit.

I became a veteran when our plane took off from the airfield and we left the mountains of Afghanistan behind. Some of the men yelled out in joy. Most of us kept quiet.

I became a veteran when I felt shame for not having the opportunity to fire my weapon at the enemy.

I became a veteran when we landed in Ft. Dix, and a Vietnam vet served us breakfast sandwiches inside the post chapel. His “thank you,” was sincere. Some of us deserved it. I simply felt guilty.

I became a veteran when my squad leader told me not to let the past year ruin my life. He told me not to drink myself to death. I listened to him. Eventually.

I became a veteran when I petted my dog for the first time in twelve months. When I went inside the house, my mom had to keep saying my name because I stared off into the tree-covered hills, motionless and unsure of where I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to be doing.

I became a veteran when I got drunk every Memorial Day, July 4th, or Veterans Day that I spent alone.

I became a veteran when I realized that the hate and the bitterness inside of me had to go, because that Bible that I once shelved wasn't done with me yet.

I became a veteran when I shared beers or time with my old comrades and friends (brothers), and we laughed about the things that once frustrated or frightened us.

I became who I am because of that broken road I walked, God guiding my every step, keeping me safe and sane, even when I did not see or refused to look for him.

We became veterans because of what we did. We became veterans because we stood with one another. We became who we are now.

We became, because we survived. Because we endured.