The early part of last week brought a distressed call from a client turned friend I hadn't heard from in a while. Trouble was afoot with his son; a 22 year old soldier, retired from the military after two tours in Iraq, was now enrolled in a culinary school not far from where I lived.
I didn't think twice, dropping what I was doing, about meeting my friend's son and delivering some much needed cash to him. A couple of phone calls back and forth, a meeting place was arranged in the front of Costco. I wasn't even sure if I'd recognize his son. Other than pictures, I'd only met him briefly right after he'd enlisted in the army 4 years ago. (yes, the son was one of many soldiers I sent care packages to outside of the
Kandahar Project.)Nervous, with his cell phone planted to his ear, I spotted our half soldier half kid restlessly pacing in front of the wide open Costco doors. Waiting. Watching. Worried. Wearing his chef school uniform, despite not attending school that day. I couldn't help but notice the million and one fears being broadcast across his forehead in an invisible neon banner. It echoed and vibrated, spinning a mirage of silent, invisible words in a whirl wind around him.
Filled with a nurturing calm, I ushered him inside to the sitting area filled with white plastic picnic style tables next to the food court inside of Costco. He wanted nothing to eat or drink. We sat and talked and soon the Soldier Kid's story began to unfold, a nervous sweat beading across his forehead, his hands clasped together reaching for prayers I'm not sure he believed in any longer.
I listened, I nodded, I encouraged him to tell more. Sitting patiently while the frustration, side steps, missteps and confusion of the past couple of months (amounting really to the past several years) was verbally placed neatly before me in a torn and tangled map of his life.
Two words came to mind. Boy. Lost.
Two more words. Boy.
Running.When he finished telling me his story (some of it tales), I played it back to him through the eyes of a Sprite. The confusion. The hurt. The fear... the running. Then I gave him options sprinkled with solutions ...
The Soldier Kid's plan, at that time, was to drop out of culinary school, move to Wisconsin and work in a steak house for $13 an hour. A rental of only $375, which he could afford on his recently cut in half GI Bill pay, was available. As well as dropping out of culinary school he would also be leaving behind him his recently broken relationship and a 4 month old son.
How about this, I told him,
"You can stay at my place, I have a guest room, wifi & cable. You can stay in the area, finish school, and have a safe place to bring your son on the weekends you have him." Then I slid the pristine white envelope secreting the money his dad had asked me to deliver across the table.
At the sight of the envelope the Soldier Kid's eyes lit up.
"You still get the money, but you don't have to run," I told him.
We bear hugged and I left the Soldier Kid to his thoughts. At that time he still seemed fairly certain he wanted to go to Wisconsin.
Run.On my way home from the drop off, while updating his father, I got the anticipated call on my cell from the Soldier Kid,
"Can you come back and talk to me longer over dinner?" "Sure," I said.
"Meet me back in the front of Costco"That night I moved the Soldier Kid into my home. A young man who has served our country and fought not one, but two tours in the devastation and chaos of Iraq. I knew him before he enlisted. He entered the service a troubled young man (more kid than man), he spent time being a valiant young man in war, and now he'd arrived back at that place where the spinning head of a troubled young man, aided by the devastation of Iraq was taking it's tole.
Boy Lost.I'd like to tell you the Soldier Kid is on his computer in my guest room, googling recipes.
He's not.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink.I listened, during the course of several days to the stories of his relationships, what made him happy and what didn't make him happy. I listened as he told me about the past couple of months in his life. Some true, some half true, some pieces escaping totally from the truth.
Boy Lost.While neither his father nor I have given up on the Soldier Kid, we're both holding our breath, wondering how long it will take until he actually does hit bottom. He needs to be on medication he's not taking. He needs help he's not allowing others to give. I was able to get him to take care of school, and while he's missed more classes than he'd originally told us, he was able to get into a fast track certification program and begin his culinary internship the end of October.
Instead of staying here this weekend to work on getting his room set up and seeing his son, he went on a three hour journey to meet an online girlfriend he's been talking to for the past several months.
I think you can see the rest of this story...Our Soldier Kid started moving his stuff today and is now going to live three hours away. But! (cross your fingers) hopefully will do his internship, as he says he will, up there. (He did promise me he'd finish school and I'd really hate to have to hunt him down.
*grins*)
Kids will be kids. Even soldiers become kids once they've left the valiant task and bravery of fighting a war.
I want to
THANK all of You that have offered help with baby clothes and assistance for our Soldier Kid. When he slows down long enough to get the help he needs, I'll gladly accept ALL of those offers. For now, I'm grateful and I love you all for stepping up to the plate and offering to help so freely. At this moment, everything is on hold.
Thank you for understanding and for being the awesome people that you are.*hugs and love*Sprite
