I recall the day I learned my father was being deployed to Iraq. It was about a month before I started high school. I was at a Family Readiness Group (FRG) meeting, and the sweltering midnight sun of Fort Wainwright, Alaska baked the interior of the old Army classroom. Needless to say, my friends found out right after I did. I figured if they knew right away, they’d be able to help me through the entire deployment, from start to finish.

I was excited at that time. I knew full well of the risk of my dad being hurt or even killed, but it seemed so abstract and tucked away. My dad, having over 20 years in the Army, was a young, adventurous man with the age and wisdom of a 40 year old. To this day, I’ve never met an individual like him.

The next months flew by, starting high school, participating in cross country running, training for wrestling, and struggling to maintain an average grade in biology took my mind off of losing my dad for a year, until the fateful day in mid-January. It was just a few days before my birthday, and I sat in the back seat of our SUV, shivering from the frigid Alaskan air. My dad, dressed in his desert combat uniform (DCU), hugged my mom, brother, and I individually, and finally stepped off to the hangar. I was sure there was no other person in the world who felt the way I did at that moment. I was bleeding with pride, but shivering at the idea of living a year without a quarter of my family. Then I saw another pilot, and another. They walked with the same solemn stride–masculine in a patriarchal, almost old-fashioned sort of way. At that time, I realized that our family couldn’t make it through the deployment alone, neither could the rest of the battalion. Babies had just been born, kids were graduating, and newly wedded wives looked at the future in confusion.

So time went on. My birthday, was celebrated a few days later, wrestling continued, and eventually the snow began to melt. My grandparents arrived to visit and to see my brother graduate from high school, we visited them a few months later, time generally marched on. The night before tenth grade started was the hardest. My brother was leaving for college in a few days, I was starting school, and it had been more than half a year since I last saw my dad.

Then wrestling started. I’d spend literally 12 hours per day outside the house, at school then at practice. I’d come home, do my homework downstairs and chat casually with my mom. We only had each other then, so I’d look forward to eating out and going to plays for weeks in advance. I even took her out for dinner on her birthday, sort of as a surprise. There was no question about it, about the way I was acting. My thoughts no longer were just on what was best for me, but for what was best for my mom. She is not a needy person by nature, but this was my time to shine.

I heard about people in my dad’s battalion from their wives, I tried to accompany my mom to any FRG function as often as I could. I learned names, and the history of all my dad’s comrades, as well as their wives stateside. A few months later I would put faces to the names, already knowing all about them for the first time actually seeing them.

Then came Christmas, the most sentimental time of the year for my family. My brother came home from college, and my dad came home from Iraq in a matter of a week. In just a few short days, my family was reunited once again, I loved seeing their faces again and hearing their stories.

My brother returned to college after a while, but my dad stayed home. I’d like to say he noticed a change in me, or that anyone noticed. All in all, I learned a lot from my dad being gone for a year in a combat zone. I learned that we could adapt to situations as they changed, and that we could essentially make it over any obstacles.
Through this time, I never lost faith in anything. My God, my Country, and my President all remained in the highest regard both in my mind and my actions. My peers at school would ask me about my dad being gone, almost expecting me to denounce his presence there, and say that I hated President Bush for taking my dad from me. They seemed almost disappointed when I told them my sense of pride and patriotism was stronger than ever, and I saw the necessity in him being gone. He was a soldier for America, serving America in her time of need. There’s nothing that could have made me more proud than knowing that in my heart.