Right before retiring from the Army, I received a call from one of my old NCOs. He knew that I was getting close to the 20-year mark and had a job opening that he wanted to offer me. He was a JROTC instructor in West Virginia, and the program had grown to the point that they needed a third instructor. He wanted to know if I was interested.
I told him that I had always wanted to be a JROTC instructor, but I didn’t think there was a chance that my wife would let me move two states away from Indiana, where she was from. See, Indiana girls don’t leave the state. A close friend of mine made that warning very clear to me before I married my (beautiful and ridiculously patient and understanding) wife.
If you find yourself in a situation where you know of children of deployed service members, reach out to them.
In the surprise of a lifetime, she agreed and we moved to West Virginia, where I started what can only be called the best job I have ever had in my life. I was able to make a direct and lasting impact on kids who really needed it. The school was located in an area directly and substantially hit by the collapse of the coal industry, so the families there lived in varying states of poverty. I was able to go to work every day and teach life lessons to kids and then see that spark take hold. It was beyond amazing.
Unfortunately, life has a funny way of knocking you back into reality when you least expect it. We had a family member get sick, which required us to move back to Indiana. However, the relationships that I built with those kids still last. In fact, I made a five-hour trip just before their Christmas break to see them and drop off Christmas — not holiday — cookies and some really poorly made caramel popcorn. I still have some of them contact me from time to time to let me know how they are doing or ask my advice.
Today I received a message from one of my favorite students. This kid had more heart than Rudy did (for those who don’t get the reference, watch the movie “Rudy” — it is a great life lesson on perseverance), and competed for every team event that we had. He comes from a great and supportive family where his father still serves as a firefighter in the Air National Guard.
His message today really hit home with me. He wanted me to know that his father was getting activated for a deployment. The area that he was being sent to would not fall into an area I would classify as having active enemy engagements, but anything can happen. Needless to say, he is a little bit more than worried, especially since this is his father’s first deployment. He doesn’t know what to expect out of the whole situation — what is his role, is he now the man of the house (he is the only boy in the family), what is going to happen to his father, will he be able to talk to him while he is there, will he be safe, will he change?
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As I was messaging back and forth with him, I started to think about my own children and the effect that multiple deployments had on them. All my deployments were always short notice — no more than 45 days before (not quite as short as an 18-hour recall, but still pretty short). Since I was an officer by the time I had kids, once we got the call, my total focus became getting the shop prepped and packed for deployment. I had to close out all the awards, evaluations, and other administrative items before leaving. We had to restructure the organization and get in/train up replacements.
From the moment I was notified until the moment I left, I was knee-deep in planning for this operation. I am certain that will be the same thing that will happen to my student’s dad. He needs to go through training, receive no less than 450 million relevant and helpful briefings, and conduct the tedious process of prepping his equipment for deployment.
Thinking about all of this made me realize on a deep level how much of a burden is placed upon the children of the military when we deploy — the people we care for more than anyone else in the world, the ones we would die or kill for. I have on different occasions thought and grieved over the time that I have lost with my children due to military service, but that was most often done in a selfish view. Rarely did I think about the time they lost with me.
This was very clear to me when I came home from my deployment in Afghanistan and went to give my sons a hug and kiss. My oldest was clearly thrilled to see me again. He wrapped his arms around me and cried in happiness. My youngest, however, didn’t even recognize me. He cried and pulled away, and it took him an hour or so before he realized who I was. Granted, he was only two years old, but it was a hard pill to swallow.
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This was a moment that has often haunted me and caused me to even question my decisions with my service.
Children don’t understand the “why” of what we do. I could explain to my children over and over my reason for deploying. I could try to make them see that I had to go because it would not be right to expect someone else to bear the weight of my responsibility. I could try to get them to rationalize how there were men and women out in my unit that needed my leadership. Unfortunately, all that children understand is that they need their parent.
I had a friend once, long before I had children of my own, who tried to get me to leave the service. His father was a police officer, and right before he was born, his father was killed in the line of duty. Of course, he understood why his father did what he did. He understood the words that people spoke when referencing his sacrifice. Yet words like honor, dedication, and commitment rang hollow for him. He resented the fact that his father had been stolen from him, that there were so many memories they would never be able to share.
Children live in daily fear of what could happen.
As I spoke to my student, I gave him what words of encouragement I could. I asked that he do me a favor as well. I asked him to realize that his father would be scared himself; scared of leaving his family, scared about what he would come home to after his deployment. So I asked him to make sure that his father knew he loved and supported him. I asked him to make sure that his dad knew that he stood beside him on this decision so that his father could deploy without the worry of the welfare of his family on his mind.
Such a simple thing to ask for, yet such a burden to place on a child of any age. Maybe that is the lesson to be learned here. Maybe the true cost of war is not in the warriors that we sacrifice. Maybe the true cost of war is in the children who are marred in its wake.
Please, do not get me wrong. I believe completely now, just as I did when I served, that there are causes worth dying for. I believe that if you are not willing to defend freedom with your life, then your children are sure to never enjoy that freedom. But with all that said, I think that we could do more for the children out there — and not just those Gold Star families who have had their lives irrevocably changed. Think of that next time you know of someone who is deploying. While that service member is clearly going to miss their family, they leave with the assurance that their family is safe at home. When that service member leaves, his or her children have none of those assurances. They live in daily fear of what could happen.
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If you find yourself in a situation where you know of children of deployed service members, reach out to them. Be there for them. Reassure them. That service will be worth more than any care package you could send.
Matthew Wadler is a U.S. Army veteran and a senior OpsLens contributor. He served in the Army for 20 years as both enlisted and officer before retiring; his service includes time in the military police, field artillery, adjutant general, and recruiting areas. His deployments include Somalia and two tours to Afghanistan. He holds a master’s degree in HR Management, and is a strong supporter of the Constitution and an advocate for the military and veteran communities. This article is from OpsLens and is used by permission.
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