A Big, Dry Slice of Humble Pie
May 15, 2012
(Huntington Beach, CA)
Tired, cranky, a bit creaky but, dammit, I earned it!
The night before, I had just worked an annual dinner, “Keep
The Promise”, which honors active duty troops who’ve done tours in the middle
east, along with veterans from Vietnam, Korea and World War II.
To the producer of the event, my job is as easy as opening a
can of soda. Just call my old
sports celebrity buddies and have them come to dinner and a show! Just because one was a sports reporter
dealing with athletes, doesn’t mean they become buddies. Geek-like-reporters are usually the
LAST people millionaire studs want to hang with. But, with a little Lew-charm and some help from some very
good friends who work with teams, my list has grown over five years.
I met a great kid at the dinner. A Navy Corpsman named ‘Doc’
Jacobs. Barely twenty-one years
old with a tour in Iraq on his military resume. By the way he walked through the Marriott LAX ballroom with
his buddy, former Angel pitcher Justin Speier, you would never know he had his
left leg amputated just below the knee, along with fingers and toes that were
blown off. His jaw was wired shut
from his forty-fifth surgery, this one on his jaw.
I was feeling particularly good about myself, not only
because all of my ‘guys’ showed up and I made no errors as the “Voice Of The
Theater”, but I made sure Doc had chicken broth special delivered to his table,
because he couldn’t have solids with his jaw wired shut.
That was a great night, I thought as I was catching up on
errands the next day.
Geez; why does this little, fake knee joint implant have to
hurt? Why does my back hurt? Why
does my shoulder have to hurt when I reach for that box of cereal? Just finish this last darned errand, then I can get home for my nap.
Oh, great! Now there’s a guy with sixteen or seventeen
things in the Express Check Out line for twelve items or less. Young punk! With that smug look and that bushy beard with no
mustache. Why does he look like
he’s gonna lose his balance? Is he
drunk or something?
Well, he does have an 82nd Airborne t-shirt
on. Wait; those aren’t funky socks
he has on coming out of his shorts, going into those Chuck Taylor
sneakers. They’re prosthetic legs!
With a lump in my throat, I ask him, “Iraq, or Afghanistan?”
His eyes widen as he turns to look at me over his left
shoulder, “Iraq. Right at the
beginning”.
All I could manage to do was to stick my right hand out
saying, “Thank you for your sacrifice”.
We chatted in that uneasy check out line banter, which
included bragging about my Army Captain son-in-law who’s now in Afghanistan
after two tours in Iraq. I wished
him well as he walked off with his too many items that I’d forgotten all about.
I also wished I could have done more than shake his hand, like invite him to
the next “Keep The Promise” event.
During the short drive home from that last errand, a tsunami
of guilt swelled up.
My little aches and pains aren’t crap compared to what those
two kids have to overcome every day for the little things we do without
thinking. They were sent into
harm’s way over there so we could live ‘normal’ lives over here. No matter how many dinners I help
produce and yell patriotically into a house microphone, no matter how many
“Hero Missions” I participate in with Honoring Our Fallen, it will never begin
to repay what these kids, or kids of ‘our’ war in Vietnam have sacrificed in
the name of the USA.
I don’t know what the 82nd Airborne kid does now,
but I do know he seems to be living his life. I do know what ‘Doc’ Jacobs is doing right now. He’s
training for three marathons this summer and putting together another amputee
softball team, while writing a book.
Google him, because I don’t have enough room in this little column.
After I put my groceries away, walked Maxine and got to bed
for my pre-overnight shift nap, I said a prayer for the 82nd
Airborne kid, ‘Doc’ Jacobs and other warriors like them. The safe return on Scottie and everyone
else in harm’s way. Then I prayed
for strength to not feel too sorry for myself as I swallowed that last big, dry
bite of humble pie.
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