Flying High, Like His Dad

Our oldest son is currently in the process of training for a new career.

Actually, he's going back to his roots, going back to the career he first had when he graduated from Notre Dame and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the US Army: he's training to become a pilot.

He flew Chinook helicopters in the Army, and now he is learning to fly a fixed-wing aircraft.

I don't think our firstborn ever imagined that he would choose this as his career path.  He never expressed a desire--at least that I can remember--to follow in his dad's footsteps, by transitioning from military flying to commercial flying.  When he went through flight training in the Army, he just thought that flying helicopters would be a fun and interesting way to spend the years he would be in service to our country, repaying the Army for the ROTC scholarship that had made it possible for him to earn a degree from one of the finest institutions of higher learning in the land--and I say that about ND without any bias whatsoever!  ;)

While "fun" might be an unusual adjective to employ when talking about a career that included difficult year-long deployments to both Iraq and Afghanistan and having to watch the birth of his firstborn twin daughters via Skype, our boy did get a lot of satisfaction out of being good at what he did and using his abilities to aid his brothers out in the field.  But when his eight-year stint in the Army ended, he assumed that his days as a pilot had ended, too.

For several years after returning to civilian life, he worked as a project manager for a major corporation out in the Midwest.  About a year ago, he left that job when he moved his family to his wife's hometown, and he tried his hand at selling life insurance (which he soon realized is not the type of work that is suitable for every personality type!).  He was unsure of what his next move should be; then his dad reminded him that he was a good pilot and he seemed to enjoy that kind of work, so perhaps he should not discount that as a possibility when thinking about his future career.

Not too long after that conversation, he made the decision to get back into flying.  And he is once again the happy boy I remember, the guy who is comfortable in his own skin and quietly confident without being arrogant.

No matter how old he gets (he's 33 now--how did that happen?), I still have vivid memories of him as a little boy.  From day one, he was an "old soul," as firstborn children often are.  He was a sensitive little guy who always wanted to do the right thing; he never wanted to disappoint us and caused us few worries through the years.  Growing up, he gave 110% at school and in sports.  He was humble. He was kind.  He took his Faith very seriously.  He didn't get into trouble.  At the risk of embarrassing him, I have to say that he truly was a dream to raise.

When he was in 7th grade, he learned a hard life lesson.  He was on his Catholic grade school's junior high basketball team, and as usual he was giving it his all in practice.  There was an 8th grade boy who had had back surgery over the summer vacation and had recently been given the green light by his doctor to get back into playing sports.  He had been the star of the team the previous season, and he was anxious to cement his positon in the starting line-up.  He was playing a bit timidly (so obviously, he wasn't really ready to be back in the game yet--at least not mentally ready), and he began to spread rumors that our son was purposely trying to re-injure him in practice in order to take his starting spot on the team.  The boy's mother told the coach that our son was intentionally targeting hers, even going so far as accusing him of biting (?!) when the two of them went up for a rebound.  Everything that mother-son duo claimed our boy was doing was so out of character for him, if you knew him at all, and we didn't believe a word of it.  The coach had known both boys for years and didn't give the accusations any credence whatsoever either.  But there were still kids at school who believed the lies and gave our poor son dirty looks in the halls.  Ultimately, we told him that people can say things about you that aren't true and there's really no way you can stop that; but you can live your life in such a way that when people hear what they're saying, they won't believe it.  It was really tough on him; but he held his head high and didn't retaliate at all, and eventually, the rumors died away.

This boy of ours has four daughters of his own now.  His twin girls are six.  In the blink of an eye, they will be in junior high, too, and they might have to deal with jealous or insecure peers who want to slander and hurt them.  I have no doubt that with him as their dad, with his loving guidance and his example of faith and fortitude in action, those girls will live their lives in such a way that no one will be able to believe any ugly lies told about them. 

Meanwhile, he'll be flying high--just like the dad who raised him and taught him what it means to be a good dad.

In Honor of Our Fallen Heroes

This Memorial Day, I am so grateful to those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the service of their country.  And I am endlessly thankful that this guy was not one of them.

This photo is circa 1980, when my husband was in flight school.

My husband was a Naval Aviator for the first decade or so of our marriage.  He went on one four-month deployment (we called them "cruises" back then--but believe me, the aircraft carrier ones did not resemble the Carnival variety in the least), when our oldest son was a year old and we were about four months away from welcoming son #2.

While his father was away flying jets off a carrier, I constantly showed our

firstborn pictures so he would recognize his dad when he came home. 

One day, I followed him into a room and watched as he picked up this

wallet photo and murmured, "Daddy."  (Ow!  My heart hurts.)

Not too long after that cruise, my husband's squadron transitioned from the A-7 to the F-18, so he got to be a land-lubber for a while as he went through training.  And then he became a flight instructor.  So he did periodically have long detachments (weeks of bombing exercises in the deserts out west, for instance), and he worked long days; but he was home with us for the most part.

We lucked out; most Navy families had/have to endure many more separations than we did, and longer ones, in the course of a career.  And many other Navy families had/have to endure losses that I have trouble even imagining.

Yesterday, an old Navy friend of my husband's, a former fellow F-18 pilot, posted a tribute to their fallen buddies (he lists them by their "call signs"--the sometimes funny nicknames that sprang from inside jokes the guys shared).  It is so beautiful and poignant that I thought I'd share it with you today, in honor of all of our fallen heroes:

Tremendously humbled with a deep debt of gratitude on this weekend of reflection and remembering all American Patriots (like Spike) who sacrificed their all at the altar of Freedom! My prayers this Memorial Day weekend are especially with the families of great Naval Aviator friends, warriors and patriots who lost their lives serving their country: BJ, Bone, Nuke, Gramps, Turbo, Bubes, Crazy, Rip, Cashman and too many others----you will NEVER be forgotten and my life and the lives of soooo many are better because of each of you. I pray for the peace of the families of all these heroes who will endure yet another day of grief and pain without them. May God bless and comfort you all!!!

God bless you Spike, BJ, Bone, Nuke, Gramps, Turbo, Bubes, Crazy, Rip, Cashman...along with countless others.  And God bless America.

A Belated Veteran's Day Post

I never got around to writing a Veteran's Day post back on November 11, but I decided I'd give a nod to our brave men and women in uniform today.  Better late than never!

I thought I'd share with you the faces of some of our best and brightest: some Army ROTC cadets at the University of Notre Dame who recently found out that they will receive active duty commissions upon graduation in May and learned to which branches they will be assigned.  (Among these faces is that of the youngest of my five sons, my baby--whom I love with the ferocity of a mother lion and of whom I am proud beyond words).

All five of our sons accepted four-year Army ROTC scholarships that they'd been awarded their senior years of high school.  My husband likes to point out that when kids these days make this sacrificial commitment to military service, it's different than it was back in his day.  He himself spent four years as a Navy ROTC midshipmen at Notre Dame; after graduation, he became a commissioned officer and fulfilled his boyhood dream of following in his dad's footsteps and becoming a Naval Aviator.  He flew A-7's and then transitioned to F-18's. Yes, he was a fighter pilot--which as far as the cool factor goes doesn't have any equal, in this woman's opinion.  But at the time he served, the only real threat to our national security was the ongoing "Cold War," and young men and women who entered the armed forces during that era were almost guaranteed that they wouldn't be called upon to participate in any ground wars.  It wasn't until the tail end of my husband's Navy career, when he'd started working for the airlines but was still a flight instructor in the Navy Reserves, that the first Gulf War broke out and there was a chance that he might be sent into battle.  While he was not called up, many of his buddies were, and one even lost his life when he was shot down on the first night of fighting.

The amazing thing is that even though the last thing my husband would have wanted to do was to leave his wife and sons and be sent into harm's way, he said that there was something deep inside him that sort of longed to be with his brothers in arms, fighting alongside them, putting into practice the years and years of training that had prepared him to be a combat pilot.  The feeling actually surprised him, he said.  But it was there, this yearning to use his particular set of skills in defense of his beloved country.  And like any true military man, it wasn't because he was some blood-thirsty, violent "war monger"; instead, it was because he felt that he would do anything--even lose his own life--if it meant keeping those he loved back here at home safe.

These are the kind of men who belong in the military.  Men like my husband.  And men like my sons.

Our oldest son served in the Army for eight years--with year-long deployments to both Iraq and Afghanistan, where he was a Chinook helicopter pilot.  He missed the birth of his first children, his identical twin daughters, while on his second deployment (although he Skyped with his wife while she was in the delivery room).  Two of our sons are Reservists, although one was activated to active duty for a year, and the other had to deploy to Afghanistan for six months as a civilian.  While having a child deployed to a war zone is one of the most uniquely terrifying things a mother can experience, the sense of pride and gratitude such self-sacrifice and courage engenders is indescribable.

Now we have another son who has made the decision to spend the next eight years of his life in service to his country.  He will take that oath of allegiance to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic."  He may be sent to a dangerous part of the world, but he has accepted that as part and parcel of being an Army officer.

God bless my boy and his buddies in the ROTC unit at Notre Dame.  God bless all those other brave souls--past, present, and future--who have taken or will take that same oath.  And God bless America!

Memorial Day Remembrance

Almost 31 years ago, I posed with two of my favorite military men.  Camera-shy as always, I turned away just as the flash went off.

That's my husband in the Navy dress whites.  He was an aviator who flew jets (A-7's and F-18's) on and off of aircraft carriers; so yes, he was indeed THE MAN.

I can't explain the little mark under my guy's right eye.  This is an Ice Age
 snapshot, from August 1983, and the quality isn't the best.

See that "baby bump" there?  That's our firstborn son, who was due to make his appearance about two months after this picture was snapped.

Little could I have imagined back then that the sweet little blond creature who made me a mommy for the first time would one day grow up to be a military man and an aviator, like his old man.  A husband in the service was one thing; a baby boy was quite another.

But that little boy grew up.  And his mommy got used to the idea that she wouldn't be able to keep him home forever in a bubble-wrap cocoon.  And he just recently ended his own military career, as an officer in the US Army, after spending the past eight years on active duty.  He was a pilot who flew those great big Chinook helicopters; and as such he was sent on deployment for a year in Iraq, and then with only a year in between stints, a year in Afghanistan.

But the two men in the photo above are far from the only members of my family who have served, are serving, or will one day serve in the armed forces.  The extended Pearl family has represented every branch of the military, with the exception of the Marine Corps, and they have served honorably and well.  My husband's dad started the tradition by serving as a Naval aviator back in the 50's, and it is utterly astounding how many of his kids and grandkids have followed in his footsteps.  The Pearls are a family that lives and breathes the motto engraved over one of the doors of the Sacred Heart Basilica out at the University of Notre Dame: GOD, COUNTRY, NOTRE DAME.  (Actually, make that GOD, FAMILY, COUNTRY, NOTRE DAME.  There we go, that's it.  That's our motto.)

Just among our own sons, we still have three in the Army: one on active duty, one in the Reserves, and our baby, who is currently an Army ROTC cadet--and whom we just dropped off at the airport this morning, so that he could spend 3 weeks doing a voluntary Army internship at Fort Bliss, followed by a 4-week required leadership course at Fort Knox.  He still has a year of college left before he will be commissioned, and already he is a brave and loyal soldier.

God bless the US military, the greatest fighting force in the world.  Where would we be without the courage of our men and women in uniform and the sacrifices they are willing to make on our behalf? Today, we remember all of these great patriots, but particularly those who made the ultimate sacrifice and lost their lives in the defense of their country.

God bless America!  (And my family...and Notre Dame...)

Happy Veterans Day (and a Movie Recommendation)

On this day when we remember all the brave men and women in uniform who selflessly serve the United States of America--and even sometimes make the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives for the sake of their country and its citizens--I thought I'd share this picture of some fine upstanding future Army officers.

These three boys are Army ROTC cadets who are undergrads at the University of Notre Dame--proud members of the Fighting Irish Battalion that trains there on campus.  They signed up, they gave their pledge,  knowing that in the years after graduation, they will have to put the training they've received into practice in the real world as leaders in the US Army.  They may one day be called to deploy to dangerous regions all over the globe and be separated from their loved ones for months and months at a time, and yet they wanted to sign up anyway.  God bless them, and all the others like them.

That tall, handsome cadet in the middle?  That one is my baby.

On Friday, my husband and I went on a spur-of-the-moment date, and we had a late lunch out at Uno's, followed by an early evening matinee.  We decided to see the movie "Captain Phillips," intrigued because it was based upon true events that we can remember watching as they unfolded in real time on the news.  It tells the story of the 2009 hijacking of a US merchant ship called the Maersk Alabama by a small band of Somali pirates.  The ship's captain, a mild-mannered VT native named Rich Phillips, ends up being taken hostage by the pirates aboard one of the ship's tiny lifeboats.  With a story like that (not to mention the talented and always watchable Tom Hanks in the title role), we figured it would be an edge-of-your-seat, action-packed thrill ride.  We were not disappointed.

Toward the end of the movie, just as the action was reaching a climax and it seemed that Captain Phillips would never come out of his horrifying ordeal alive, my eyes filled with tears.  But they were not tears of pity for this poor innocent American (whose ship, ironically, was carrying among other things some aid in the form of food and water for the people of Somalia); in part they were, but not totally.  I mean, you would have to have a pretty hard heart not to find yourself immensely moved by the captain's bravery and decency.  This ordinary-turned-extraordinary man never lost his humanity, no matter how brutally he was treated--indeed, his actions toward his kidnappers, despite their brutality toward him, were heroic and even at times saintly.  But the thing that really got the waterworks going was the sight of three US Navy ships--three giant ships!--and a Navy Seal team, rushing to the scene and carefully coordinating a rescue plan, all to save the life of a single American soul.  All those resources were called upon--the very best the US military has to offer--to save one man's life.  The realization that that is what we do, what we always do--that we never leave one of ours behind, that we risk life and limb for our countrymen in harm's way--is what brought tears to my eyes.

What I took away from "Captain Phillips" is this: OUR MILITARY IS AWESOME!  OUR COUNTRY IS AWESOME!  WHERE ELSE IN THE WORLD WOULD SO MUCH MONEY BE SPENT, SO MANY ASSETS BE DEPLOYED...ALL FOR THE SAKE OF ONE MAN?

Nowhere, that's where.  And when the US military is called upon to get a job done--look out, bad guys.

I repeat: OUR MILITARY IS AWESOME!

HAPPY VETERANS DAY, TO ALL THOSE WHO SERVE OR HAVE SERVED (OR WHO HAVE PLEDGED TO ONE DAY SERVE) THIS COUNTRY.  WE SALUTE YOU!

Life is Good Today

Today as I sat waiting for Mass to start, I kept thinking about how inordinately blessed I am to be living the life I'm living. I don't have much of a "bucket list": from the time I was a little girl, I just wanted more than anything else to be a wife and a mother, and then--God willing--to live long enough to be a grandmother, too. At fifty-three, all my dreams have been fulfilled; I couldn't ask for anyting more. My cup overflows! I adore my husband and my sons, I have a sweet daughter-in-law who feels like a true daughter to me, and I have two of the most beautiful baby granddaughters that have ever graced the planet. (You may think that's a bit of hyperbole; but if so, it's because you've never seen these particular babies!)

I already posted this picture of Our Lord watching over members of the different branches of our military in a previous blog post, but I wanted to post it again, because it is so beautiful that it brings a lump to my throat--and it reminds me to say THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! A million times, THANK YOU! God in His infinite mercy watched over my oldest son while he was on his year-long deployment in Afghanistan, so that he could return safely home to his family last week. It is because of God's loving protection that my granddaughters will get to know the extraordinary man who is their father. It is because of the goodness of God that I was able to experience a moment of pure happiness that looks like this:
In the words of one of those songs from the Zac Brown Band (a new Pearl family favorite), "Life is good today."

Daddy's Home!

I thought I was going to have to wait until I got back home to New England this weekend to post some pictures of my son's homecoming from Afghanistan, because the internet at his house in Upstate NY (where my husband and I have been staying with our daughter-in-law for the past week, to help her out until her hubby's arrival--getting the nursery set up, for one thing!) won't be hooked up until next week. I never thought I'd become so addicted to my computer, but I have missed the internet sorely--mostly because I've been dying to post pictures of my darling little granddaughters, who get cuter and funnier by the minute. I've been with them for two whole weeks now: first at my daughter-in-law's family home out in the Midwest, then on a three-day road trip cross-country to NY, and now at their sweet little house (a whole new world to them) in the country. It's been unbelievably great doing the Grammy thing--in every possible way it has been a joy and a privilege, even getting up to help with middle of the night feedings; the only thing I've missed is the ability to blog about the babies! But today, my husband and I were able to go on post and use the free internet at the base library--and I am just so excited to be back at it. My heart is full to bursting with great news that I want to share!

Yesterday was a good day--a very, very good day. My husband and I went with our daughter-in-law and our granddaughters over to an airplane hangar at the base for a welcome home ceremony, and it was so moving and joyful. An Army band was playing, little boys were dressed up in mini ACU's, little girls were decked out in sparkly red, white, and blue dresses, and miniature American flags were waving everywhere.

(Daddy's girls await his arrival.)

I can't quite describe the feeling that washed over me when they announced that our soldiers were about to enter...then the door of the hangar was raised, and in they marched. After all the worries, the tears, the sleepless nights, and the prayers, our boy was back! Our daughter-in-law's other half was back! Our granddaughters' doting daddy was back! It was so cute, because as soon as he spied his wife and baby girls in the crowd, our son couldn't keep from grinning, even when the group was standing at attention--all squared away, Army style--in formation.

It has been so wonderful watching our boy get reaquainted with his little girls--helping with the feedings and the diapers, cuddling them and getting them to smile. I'm having some withdrawal pains, though; it was a little strange to sleep through the night last night, from about 11:30 to 7:30, without being awoken by my daughter-in-law's soft, sweet voice letting me know that the babies were up. It was strange not sitting in a darkened room, holding a warm, cuddly bundle in the crook of my arm. I'm going to miss those peaceful moments in the wee hours, bonding with those little girls! But all is right in the world now, because their daddy is the one who should be doing that, not me. Yes, Daddy's home! I thank God for watching over him throughout the past year when he was in harm's way, so that he can be here now with his adorable little family--right where he should be.