Sanity and Sobriety, Pride of Purpose: Reflections on a Year Past

Step #1:  DONE. Today marks one full year on my quest to stop drinking, and I could not be happier or more proud of myself than I am right now as I sit and type these words. I have spent the last few weeks sorta collecting my thought into a pool with a singular purpose: To reaffirm belief in myself and my progress. You may have thought I would write this as part of a healing process. Nope, this is a purely selfish act on my part. It is about me, what I have accomplished and the future. Sure, there all kinds of people in my support group that deserve credit; they will be acknowledged.

Why did I stop drinking, BAM!, just like that? Doctor's orders? Blew'em off. Family pleas? Nope, weren't there and I would've blown them off also. Wanted to stay alive long enough to see my grtandkids? Didn't care. Time to set a good example for my grown boys? Nah, I would've done that long ago. So, why did I stop? Pretty simple, really: I wanted to. I was tired of "having the flu". It seemd like a never-ending mountain that I chose as my task. How does someone go from a GALLON of vodka every other day, to not an ounce, semmingly overnight? I'll tell you, it was harder than I would have ever imagined, but it had an easy flow along beside it.

When my trek first began, I knew my support group would back me up, but in essence they were worthless. I don't mean that in a horrible way. It is just that if I wanted to drink, I would have. Plain truth. I promised no one nothing, except myself. This project was mine and mine alone. No Alcoholics Anonymous, no rehab centers in the mountains of Colorado, no warm, steamy weather of Florida. The last thing I wanted to do was try and recover while listening to all the horror stories you hear at AA meetings, or the reasons why I was an alcoholic from the doctors at a rehab facility. Those places would have sent me back to drink faster than a luge run at the Olympics. I made myself a promise, and I was gonna do it on my own terms. I'm 48 years old. I didn't need a doctor who only drinks decaf or diet soda to tell me what alcohol does to my system. I knew what it was doing to me, and I finally chose to stop. And I didn't need a bunch of people just like me to tell me what alcohol did to their lives. I knew. It was my life, after all. I screwed it up, and I was bound and determined to fix it, by myself.

As an alcoholic, you lose all manner of trust and respect among your circle of friends. Damned if I wasn't going to get that back. My spouse never knews the bounds of my situation. I came clean with her. I told her exactly where I hid the bottles. I 'fessed up that I drank more each day than (I thought)  she knew (she knew). Every time I spoke or visited with my parents, they couldn't understand a single word I said. I couldn't hold a semi-intelligent with any of my cats, for cryin' out loud. They would go to Momma and say "What the hell did that mean?". I missed out on a whole lot of things from the age of 17 to 47. Alcohol was a major factor in the disengration of my first marriage, and I'm surprised it didn't contribute to the demise of my current marriage.

I never set out to prove whether or not alcohol is a disease, a learned behavior, or a chosen lifestyle, but my view on that was inevitable. I firmly believe it is one part of each, in varying degrees. The disease part of the equation is the least; it is a by-product of the other two. Learned behavior is the primary culprit. My maternal granfather and 3 uncles closest to me all drank to excess. It killed my Uncle Gary, my mom's youngest brother. According to my Dad, his Father was known to pour down a few, but I never really knew him, let alone see him drink. Alcohol was always a part of family gatherings, so I learned about alcohol. But, who where the primary teachers? The parents of my friends growing up. Alcohol was always prevalent in certain households, and it was so cool to go back to school on Monday and tell your peers that you spent all day Sunday puking your guts out. I was stylin', yes sir. So I learned about alcohol from my family, but I learned how to drink to excess from childhood friends and their parents. Alcohol took the life of my best friend, his only sibling and their parents, as I would find out later in life.

After I joined the military, things got worse. Compared to today's standards, there was a very high tolerance for drinking among the troops. In fact, sometimes it seemed like you had to, just like high school. I never smoked a cigarette until I enlisted in basic training,  and the reason was simple: If you smoked, you got a 5 minute break during your studies to "light 'em up". So I started smoking to get outside. That simple. After all that, the learned behavior became a chosen lifestyle.

I went to church as a teen with my family, and one thing they continually taught was free agency. Each human being has the power to make their own decisions. So, my choice was to drink or not to drink, and I chose the former. Little did I know what evil I had awakened. As a single man trawling the world with the United States military, things started to get out of control. After I got married, I knew my wild ways would disappear (insert big stupid laugh here). They only went into hibernation. When it awoke, it was hungry. I retired and went to school, where I had way too much time on my hands, and so I filled the time and empty hands with a bottle. It didn't matter which bottle was in which hand, as long as they were together. Again, a chosen lifestyle. My middle son doesn't drink, but my two other boys do. The oldest is not my biological child, but he is my son nonetheless. How can someone tell me it's "in your genes", when Darin does not have my genes? It is because he learned it from me, as did my youngest son Travis. The chose their lifestyle based on my example. On the other hand, Steven chose a lifestyle that was far different than what he could have inherited from me. Rarely drinks, but I proudly tell anyone within earshot that he is serving his country as his Father did.

Alcoholism is not a disease, it is a learned behavior, and a person chooses to maintain that behavior, until they die or change. I don't know if my support group knew that, but I figured it out rather quickly. You can't fix a disease, completely, but you can change behavior. That is what I chose to do, and I am so much healthier, happier, and confident in my life right now. I show my peacock feathers when someone asks why I choose to not drink any longer. If they want to hear it, I gladly tell them, and I know my pride-in-self and confidence shows through like a sheer curtain. And that's OK. I will not lecture, or describe the "sins" of drinking. They should know, if they are asking. Surprisingly, most listen intently (yes, they do; I would know if they were just placating me), and they profess good wishes and good luck on my continuing journey. That, right there, is a major reason I am able to continue to do well. Pride.

When a project this immense goes into effect, a support system  is essential. Mine consisted of my spouse, my family, all my friends and my former spouse. Just the fact that I knew they were there provided a comfort level I had never had before. I knew they would come running if I started to falter, and in a weird way that made it easier. Not only did I not want to break a promise I made to myself, but people were rooting for me to succeed. It made me that much more determined. And, boy, have I reaped the benefits. I can hold intelligent conversations again, I make sense, I don't mumble my vocabulary. I was once an intelligent person, only fogged out by alcohol. Now that the fog has dissipated, things got scary for awhile. Much of my memory is gone because of an unrelated illness. But the memories I have retained are very unsightly. I will not discuss these things. Just believe me when I say that they aren't nice.

Back to the essential support group. I was so mad at them at first. Why didn't someone shake the crap out of me and yell STOP! Norman, you're killing yourself? Why was I enabled by certain factions around me? Where in the hell were they? One single person actually confronted me. My former spouse, Tami, told me to choose between her and my three young boys, or the bottle. I grabbed the bottle and ran as fast as I could. Left my boys behind, growing up without me. Some things in life you do are so freaking horrible that you don't even want to acknowledge that you were responsible for a crime like that. I was responsible. Later on in my downward spiral, loved ones from my Ma, Dr. Kawachi (primary care doctor), numerous emergency room doctor's and my spouse, Nickie, tried to talk to me about my situation. All to no avail. See, I knew I had no problem, but they sure had one. Leave me alone, I'm fine, I would manage to mumble out. Mind your own business. I am not throwing blame around. After all, what could they do? I had already ignored one ominous warning. Why would I heed another, that didn't have my children at stake?

At last, I chose the one thing that mattered: my heart. I pulled up my britches, rolled up my sleeves and went to work on fixing ME. Do not get the wrong impression, please. I am not, by any means, fixed. But I am repairing myself. It is imperative that I view my situation as a lifelong repair job. I simply cannot afford to let my guard down, for even a split second. I am well aware of that, and I accept  that. At times, it becomes physically and mentally exhausting. Over the past year, there have been a few situations that have arisen that if I had chosen to have a drink no one would have said a thing, just because of the gravity of the issue. But I came to know one important truth: If I had just one drink, I would have had 21 drinks. No thanks.

For all those who provided support this past year, no measure of thanks is appropriate. It is immeasureable. This group was not particularly visible or vocal, but they were strong for me. I could feel the strenth that enveloped me. To all those I have hurt, embarassed or humiliated in years past, my profound and sincere apologies. I am in love with the new and improved Norman. I hope you are, also. Today, I celebrate my first birthday. My best gift on this day is the pride my Father now has for me. I am his son, and he will tell everybody. That is one gift I can't wait to unwrap next year.

Olympians and the Military: Proudly Serving Their Country

As a retired member of the United States Armed Forces, I know what it takes to eagerly serve your country. Professionalism. Extensive training. Pride, sacrifice, aand passion. Time away from family to travel the globe in pursuit of the objective. Even more extensive training. Sometimes it's a bloodthirsty calling. At other times, you must work side-by-side with your teammates. Sounds like job of an everyday U.S. soldier. Well, I'm talking about the Olympians from Team USA.

Sure, the military and the Olympics are different, but at the same time the similarities are uncanny. You are the face of the red, white and blue. The entire world is looking at you for your next move. An entire country is riveted, waiting for the literal, and figurative, bomb to drop. You ply your skills in far off countries, testing your training techniques. Adapt and adjust seems to be an apt motto for both groups.

When you are away for training, providing military duties or competing internationally, there is no difference. They both miss their families. They also must have a rock-solid supporting cast behind them. Life isn't always going to be a walk in the park. Trials, tribulations, setbacks; they all come with the job. Your supporting cast has to be there for you, to prop you up and urge you to continue when giving up is not an option.

I watched Lindsey Vonn cruise to a gold medal in women's downhill. Did you see how her family reacted? The glowing smiles and flowing tears? A look of disbelief, but with a confidence that the job was done as they had forecast. The long, proud loving hug she shared with her husband and biggest supporter, Thomas Vonn. If I project, I can see that bright smile and river of tears on my former wife's face when our son Steven stepped off the plane from Iraq in January 2010. What's not to like about victory celebrations and homecomings?

If you watched Shaun White, "The Flying Tomato", launch each of his runs during the men's halfpipe, what you saw was this: Steely determination, confidence, an almost "knowing" look that the gold was his. That look would be no different than that of a Marine about to take the last hill in a campaign. Failure is not an option. Shaun White guarenteed, with that look in his eyes, that he was the better man on this night. He wasn't chasing you; you were in a losing fight to maintain him. Hell, you knew that the world had already deemed it so.

During the NBC telecast, you viewed soldiers from Camp Eggers in Afghanistan wildly cheering for Team USA. That was a poignant moment for me: Two seemlessly disconnected groups pulling for one another, both wearing patches of Old Glory on their respective uniforms. You can't help but to get juiced by that!

It seems to me that, in fact, there is only one difference between Team USA and Team Military; The Armed Force of the USA fights for your right to wave that flag; Team USA proudly waves it in victory. Nothing quite like the historic raising the flag on Iwo Jima, but the effects reverbrate around the globe. Ask any service member or Olympian who has returned home after a victory in battle, and they'll tell you this: I served my country well in the international foum, and I'm raising the flag just to show you.

United States Air Forces Security Forces: A Fraternity

The USAF Security Forces are a tighly knit and proud member of the national security team. Within the military community, both active and retired members are both noted and recognized for their achievements and sacrifices. Though our feats are little known to the general civilian populace, the USAF Security Forces conducts a wide variety of safety, security and general police duties throughout the world.

Does anyone know USAF SF's are stationed in Australia? How about Iceland? Or Greenland? We provided protection for the Panama Canal. What do we do in those remote locations? What have we done anywhere? Anything single thing you can think of, in any place you can point to on a world atlas.

Tromping through too-high snowdrifts in the nation's heartland to protect the integrity of our missile silos. Hours upon hours standing watch in front of alert aircraft assigned to NATO and the European Union. Radar sites scattered throughtout the world. We work in concert with our host countries' military's, to provide better communication and security to prevent conflict. Securing transport flights for sensitive material world-wide.

The initial training for an incoming SF recruit is an intense, driven period of learning skills to be used for survival, weapons training, and national resource protection. How intense? I completed my training in early 1980, and still remember every single bit of data, advice and skill-set that was presented to me. It was not an easy program, but it was a profoundly life-altering one.

Raise your hands if you know that USAF SF's (or SP's, as earlier known), maintained security of the runways of DaNang and Khe Sahn? Yes, Vietnam.  The times and relationships I experienced as a USAF SF member were culled from time spent in Germany, Panama and even California and Texas. We provided security for the West Coast Space Shuttle Launch Complex, SLC-6, at Vandenberg Air Force Base, in Lompoc, Ca. We took over security responsibility for the first "new bomber" in decades, the B-1B, at Dyess Air Force Base, in Abilene, Tx.

We do not compete with the United States Army, Navy or Marine Corps. Nor do we compete with the United States Coast Guard. We work in concert when required, we play together when able, and we fight together if necessary.There is always going to be intra-service rivalry, that's just a fact of life in the military services. But, in the end, we are all knitted together into a single, well-tied knot: the protection of all citizens of our country, our resources and our borders. When called upon, we provide the same exact services for other countries.

So, while the United States Air Forces Security Forces are but a small piece in the larger national security picture, we have our jobs to do. And we do it well. To all retired, active duty and former members of the USAF Security Forces, I raise my beret and badge in salute. May we continue our grand record of superlative service to our nation.

First Year Reflections

One year. Yes, I voted for Barack Obama. Why? I don't really have an answer. Both sides of my family are Republican. The United States Armed Forces historically votes Republican, at least during my period of service. So, why would I decide to change parties, after 7 presendential elections? I can think of only two reasons, and I'm not sure which fits better, or if it is a combination of both: The Republicans presented no viable, acceptable alternative candidate, or if I was swept up in the sea of 'change, transparency, and' hope' that Obama preached. I reflected over the last 365 days, and things have become clearer, sort of.

I switched to independent before the election, so I had a choice. That's what an election is all about, right? Well, six hours after I marked my ballot, I could not believe that, for only the second time in 30 years, I had marked the Democrat side on anything (the first being Rep. Ellen Tauscher of California, for all the assistance she provided me with The Vetreans Affairs Department).  Then the results came sweeping in, and I thought I was onto something.

Three months later, the Democrats had my head spinning. Billions, if not trillions of taxpayer dollars went to irresponsible businesses and their leaders. General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, anyone on Wall Street who needed a handout. Maybe these bailouts were needed, I don't know. Nobody ever explained it to me so I could make sense of it. I'm not even sure which bailout made me more angry. I think I was more able to reconcile the Big Three auto companies, as they are a huge part of our economy. But rewarding Wall Street for dubious business practices, and then having to read about board members getting huge bonuses? Give me a job on Wall Street and I'll screw it up big time, then retire. Now, I know this bailout initiated with the Bush Administration, but Obama was left holding the bag.

Six months later, health-care reform was being shoved down my throat. Don't get me wrong, we need it. But the packages being bandied about seemed to miss the whole cause of rising health care costs. Insurance carrriers and their insane policy requirements and costs. Why was there no one standing up to them? I just couldn't get it right in my head. It felt as if the schoolyard little boy was being punished for getting his rear kicked around by the bully. Everyday! I watched this circus play out for a long time, and it's still playing in our lives.

Nine months later, and healthcare has taken over every headline, TV newscast, and blog site that you see, watch or hear about. It was all the talk, with no answers. President Obama wanted health care reform on his desk for signing by 2010. So, it became time to just cram reform into approximately 2,000 pages and send it to him. I simply cannot believe that every Senator and Representative on Capitol Hill read the entire bill, much less understood it, except where it concerned them, not the entire country. Just pick one Senator and ask them about a portion of the bill that does not concern their home state, and they will probably have the same look I have every time I open the paper. President Obama semed overwhelmed to be able to stop the 24 hour, back-door deals that were taking place. Not only did Capitol Hill go behind the back of the Amereican public, but of their own President as well.

Twelve months later, maybe it's catching up. Massachusetts, of all places, voted Republican. Masssachusetts! Republican! The brave people of that state may have set off a country-wide swarm of new Republican fervor. I'm not sure if that's good, either. The GOP is no less responsible for our country's ills than the Democrats. In the wake of the historic election of Republican Scott Brown as the junior Senator from Massachusetts, the will of the country is strenghting. My main  gripe (of many) regarding health-care reform was that the politicians on Capitol Hill were not listening to the polls. America doesn't want reform as it is currently being  presented. The politicians want only to back President Obana's goal, not listen to the electorate to whom they answer. Pathetic.

18 months later after I decided that Obama was my man, my emotions and concerns have become like a rollercoaster, one in which you cannot get off. Health care reform. What to do with the GITMO detainees (no easy answer there). Rising unemployment ( no easy answer there, either). But the President has made some solid decisions. Getting out of Iraq, where that war was simply a matter of George W. Bush avenging his daddy's incomplete operation. An infusion of troops to Afghanistan, where the war on terrorism should have been focused in the first place. 

So, my evaluation of President Obama's first year? He was inexperienced for the job,which most newly-elected presidents are. I think the Democrats stuck their necks out with his selection to lead their party. But Obama has proved one thing to me, and it is very important. He knows how to learn on the job. He was a rookie. Sen. Harry Reid (D-Nv), the Senate Majority Leader, and Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-Ca), House Speaker, were pulling the strings, playing de facto president. Those are two of the most very wrong people to run this country. To his credit, Obama has seemed to shed them off his shoulders, little by little, and is becoming his own president, following his agenda for the American people. That really is all you can ask of a president. Lead the poeple, provide safety and security, and if there are any issue, deal with them swiftly and accordingly. It was not President Obama's fault that one Islamic extremist was screened through to Detroit despite numerous warning signs, short of him wearing a sign stating "I am a Terrorist". Now, maybe Homeland Security may have caught that. But Obama was quick to accept responsibility. That I respect. He is our leader, like it or not. I'm liking it more and more every day. Remember, none of us has a job description quite like that of The President of the United States. I think he is catching on quite well.

The War on Terror: Is it Really?

For years, I have wanted to publicly state my views and thoughts on the "war on terror". I mean, I was chomping at the bit. But I had a problem. For commentary to be successful, a journalist must not be biased, and I was. How could I write an unbiased and objective viewpoint when I had too much on the line; My son was on his second tour in Iraq, so it would have been practically impossible to write a fair posting. Well, he has returned safely, and I'm gonna to pull the gloves off.

This so-called "war on terror" is in fact a war, by any calcutation. However, it is a war previously unknown to mankind. It is not your great-granfather's in WWI, your grandfather's in WWII, or even your father's in Korea or Vietnam. Those engagements were basically simple: You knew the enemy, hopeful that they were where they were suppossed to be, then tracked them down and shot them. All of them. Then you occupied their empty space, and started anew. It doesn't get much more basic than that. Identify, find, shoot and occupy. Hell, even G.I. Joe knew that.

This new war we are engaged in has no such easily defined strategy. We don't know the enemy, don't know where he is,and face stiff restrictions on who, when, where and if we should shoot them. Identifying, finding and removing them have become problematic. There are so many stumbling blocks strewn across the path to winning this war that I don't ever see it happening. And, to make matters worse, President Obama made a huge blunder. He "declared war on Al-Qaeda".

You must understand this. A declaration of war means strict compliance with the Geneva Convention standards of warfare. Well, now we have put ourselves under an umbrella of rules and regulations that must be followed. Picture Osama bin-Laden huddled in a cave with his followers, somewhere in the world, saying "Okay guys, here are the rules. No more cowardly acts. We must now fight fair". Now, imagine all those eyes going glowing white with incredulity, as if they are saying, "Well, what do we do now?.

This war on terror is no traditional war and doesn't fit well with traditional standards of conduct. Al-Qaeda has written their own set of rules, and we must write ours if we are to have any chance of victory. During the two Great Wars, we gathered intelligence from the local populace. They had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Now, a huge majority of the locals are at least mildly sympathetic to the terrorists, and are not as forthcoming in their information.

There is no defined front in this new war. The enemy isn't wearing a Vietnamese pith helmet or a German 'SS' patch on his soldier. He is wearing clothing considered casual, blending right in with normal citizenry of any and all countries. Yet, he does not have any rules, while our hands our so entirely tied we ain't getting loose.
Our intelligence gathering community is at great risk, as seen by the cowardly suicide bombing on a remote CIA outpost in Afghanistan. 7 dead United States officers. This country relies too much on our 'allies' help. The intel guys need to develop their own intelligence, and have the ability to act once it is in their own hands.

If there is credible information available, why must those intel guys go through all the bureaucratic b.s. to remove one threat? Taking him down, immediaetly, must be allowable, right there in the field. Then, allow our guys any means necessary to get more intelligence. Yes, I mean up to and including torture. You get what you need, in any way you can, to prevent more attacks against the United States and her citizens. How someone can justify killing innocent men, women and children is beyond my comprehension.

I'm not much for the Bible, but "an eye for an eye" sticks out for me. I do not mean wholesale slaughter of civilians in terrorists' safe haven countries. But we must be allowed to maximize the use of force necessary to combat bin-Laden and the string-pullers, and the pesky minions that do their dirty work. Find, capture and retrieve information as needed, playing by their rules. See how they react to payback, using the same formula they themselves use.

The misguided political agendas running this war must face reality and reset themselves to play a whole different game. The rules have changed dramatically, and so must we. Give our guys what they need to protect us. I don't care one whit if the President of France says he is outraged by our actions. See what happens if the Eiffel Tower gets blown up. I just bet that France takes another look at the role his country plays (doesn't play) in world affairs.

The war on terrorism is global, and every country, save a few, are at risk. If you want to win, take off the kid gloves, screw world opinion, and go get what intelligance you need, any way you can. Al-Qaeda has set the bar and the rules. We cannot continue to react to what they have done. We must be proactive to what they are going to do. Let the United Nations moan and groan and complain. The U.N. is a useless, toothless body anyway. We must use the Old West mantra of shot first and ask questions later. Only, don't shoot to kill if possible. Shoot to maim, to allow us to glean any information possible. To fight the savages and criminals, we must be likewise.. Our very survival depends on it.

Back from Iraq: A Father's Joy

My son, Steven, is now resting comfortably in Kuwait, awaiting transport back to Texas. His mother and Randy will be waiting, along with his brothers. Chances are good that Mom will be holding a big bag of wet, sloppy "attack sugars", and favorite game they played since he was a baby. I'll miss the homecoming, but I'm comfortable in knowing that he will be met with much love and happiness. I'll have my own homecoming in a few weeks.

Steven just completed his second tour in Iraq. He's not going back, and that is just sheer relief you hear dripping off of me. I, personally, went through the whole gantlet of emotions during his first tour, and even added a few more during his second. I know there are thousands of other parents nationwide that are going through the cycle of feelings, in their own way. Here is my story.

When Steven first decided to enlist in the United States Air Force Security Forces, wow, was I proud. He followed his Dad's footsteps, albeit on his own terms. The blue beret. The Security Forces badge. I held my grin so long I got a face cramp. Then on to Iraq, and we knew that it was coming,  but not when. So, expectations were still met with apprehension. As a parent, we all want and need to control our children's safety, but he had his training and his well-trained fellow troops. My comfort zone for his deployment was somewhere between "he'll be alright" to "WHAT!" I put my faith in his training.

Steven's first tour was unevenful (if you can imagine that scenario), as far as war zones go. He met and talked with local villagers, and engaged the Iraqi children, doing his tiny part to be an ambassador for our country. It may seem trvial to some,  but the smile he displayued told me everything I wanted to know about his state of mind. I was in a comfort zone with my son's activities.

The second tour, however, was a totally different and stressful year or so. He started to get depressed with his mission. He felt as if there was no reason that he could understand. It is hard to help from thousands of miles away, but his Mother and I tried. But what, really, can we do? Key word: Listen, listen and listen some more. Sounds pretty easy, but in reality, not a chance. Because, even as you try and listen and offer comforting words, you just don't know the effect, if any, they are having. His Mother and I would talk weekly about Steven, I think just to settle our own feelings of not knowing. For me it worked, until we would hang up.

The emotions are hard to put into words so that you may understand, but I'll try.  Let's attempt it anyway, okay? Here is how I felt: I was out in the middle of a frozen lake, not knowing the thickness of the ice. I took a step, and, CRACK! I knew I couldn't take another step, but at the same time I had to. Which way could I turn? There was no choice. I had to stay and wait for the next (maybe final) crack. I was in that position for 7-8 months.

I was vacationg in Texas during this next period. The morning  I was preparing to fly back home, came the phone call from Tami, my former wife. Well, that phone call at 3 a.m. was the final crack I couldn't avoid. She received a very short call, saying Steven had been involved in a roadside bombing while on routine patrol. How the hell can you call a patrol in a war zone routine? That's military talk for ("He's not attacking the enemy, yet"). She did not have much information to share. I know how I felt after her call to me. I cannot, in no way, imagine her thoughts after receiving the all-important initial notification.

Well, the final crack had split wide open. I felt enmeshed in such a heavy weight. I was not in a position to help Steven, and nobody, my wife, my mother, nobody could help me. I couldn't help myself. I was under the ice, with no escape evident. Everywhere I touched  was only ice, and I was running out of air, fast! God, how I struggled emotionally. I was petrified, scared, utter terror coursing through my veins. I didn't know anything for a long time, the longest period of my life, bar none.

Finally, Tami called again. Steven was okay, just shaken up a little. Then, another call and it was Steven! You know how the Grinch's heart grows three sizes as his smile widens on Christmas morning? That was me. Not the Grinch per se, but the smile and the heartfelt relief. My son was going to be fine, after all. The tears flowed even more than after the initial phone call from Tami.

My wife Nickie, upon my arrival back in California, became the pillow I would clutch and cling to, waiting alongside me during the next few gut-wrenching days. Thanks to Nickie, I was able to understand that Steven was okay. She had to stop me from donning my old uniform, drawing an M-16, and flying to Iraq to exact some good old-fashioned pissed off Dad's revenge. Slowly, the relief I felt with Steven's condition gave way to heartbreak. Two members of his patrol were gone. Why was I so happy? Sure, Steven was fine. But two sets of parents and siblings were not. That guilt bore down on me hard. Nickie, again, was there to guide me through my latest crisis.

To the militarys credit, they were proactive in their response to the needs of the remaining patrol members, Steven included. They were allowed to talk their way through the situation, and heal a little bit. But nothing will erase the memories.  Steven is okay, as are his parents and members of his family and friends. But how many parents and family and friends of our lost troops are not? Of course, I stand behind the military so completely it consumes me at times. But the questions my son has does have me wondering what the hell we're doing sometimes. Though I may be against our activies in Iraq and Afghanistan, it is not my job to question the country's leadership. I can only ensure that my son, and the thousands of others like him, get the emotional support they need to survive as best they can. That is my contribution, and, I hope, yours as well.

To the many members of the military families that have suffered so much more than me, my hope is that you can rest easy knowing your sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, did their duty, for their fellow citizens, and for their country. I salute them, and I salute you as well, for your loss.

Steven, welcome home, son. You made it, and I am so grateful. You have raised the family pride another notch. Much luck in your future assignments. I hope that you have learned some things. I know I have, about myself. I'm stronger now, but I'm not unbreakable. Your home, Steven. God bless you.

California's Penal System: Untangle the Mess!

To the surprise of absolutely no one, the prisons in California are massivlely overcrowded. This no shock to the cirtizens of the Golden State, and no immediate fix is in the offing. However, it says here that a few simple changes may affect which criminals live on the taxpayers dime. This commentary intertwines two recent articles in the Contra Costa Times, to try and make sense of nonsense.

Assembly Jerry Hill, D-San Mateo, wants to pass legislation that would revoke the drivers' licenses of anyone convicted of  three DUI'S. It includes a provision similar to the "three strike law", wherein a third conviction results in a permanent revocation. This proposed legislation has not one tooth, sharp or otherwise. I have no scientific data, but I'm willing to bet that depsite the law, repeat DUI offenders will NOT march to the bus station and taxi cabs. You can revoke, revoke and revoke, but if you are a repeat offender over several times, you're just gonna do it again. Why not?

Laws already on the books provide for jail time for the repeaters, but there is just no more room. Yet we continue to jail people, support them with taxpayer funds, and a lot of these don't need to be there, compared to a repeat DUI'er, who is a constant to danger to society, once that first bit of alcohol passes the lips. Repeat offenders seem to follow this mantra: a) I don't care, or b) What are they going to do to me? or, c) A little bit of a & b. I say c says it all.

Now, on to the "overcrowding issue. Yes, I know that the California prison system is like a widely stocked lake with bad fish. There is no room for repeat DUI offenders. Well, make room. Here's how. The system has in its hands immigrants, both legal and illegal, serving sentences for  mainly "slap on the wrist" offenses. A lady in San Lorenzo, convicted of petty theft and receiving stolen property, in the 1980's, was imprisoned when United States Immigration and Customs (ICE) agents tracked her down. Good detective work, ICE. It only took two decades to find a legal immigrant, and chances are there is a repeat DUI offender living within 10 miles of an ICE agent. Let her go, and replace her with the man with 9 DUI conviction. Yep, you read it correctly: NINE DUI convictions.  Who would you rather have jailed, as a bigger risk? I could live next door to the San Lorenzo woman, but I couldn't walk down the streets with the other guy, without looking over my shoulder. He scares me; her, I'd have over for lunch.

There are scores of stories like this in California, and probably nationwide. The Iranian man with a master's degree in chemistry jailed after ICE discovered a 30 year crime. Another legal imigrant who has given back to society. His case probably makes him want to drink. Or how about Victor Garabay, an immigrant from Mexico. He moved here with his mother when he  was 15, 30 years ago. He held good, steady jobs, until he became unemplyed and homeless. His crime? Stealing food because he was hungry. Wrong? No doubt. But is he really a bigger threat to the lives and property of citizens than the person who blew a .22 blood-alcohol content test, then finally, was sentenced? I'll take my chances with the immigrants.

I'm all for immigration reform, but it must be used as designed. If they are here illegally, and they commit a crime, pack 'em up and send them home. If they are legal, effectively a U.S. citizen, mete out punishment as you would to a regular citizen. The Iranian man spent 16 months behind bars, now on home detention, for a minor 30 year old crime. Hell, Americans get less time than that for assault. Stealing food, while living under a freeway underpass? Okay, he was wrong. But the chances of him running down my family are pretty remote. So, he too, can have lunch with me.

Am I making any connections here? The California Department of Corrections (DOC) is overrun with prisoners, and ninety-nine percent deserve exactly what they got. But common sense and discretion are ringing their bells, and everybody in a California leadership position seems to be tone deaf. The Nicaraguan woman in San Lorenzo, the Iranian man in San Jose, and the Mexican man in the South Bay do not need to be taking up precious space that could be used to keep a possible killer off the streets. Overcrowding is an on-going issue in DOC, and may never be resolved. But while we are waiting for that miracle, put the right people behind bars. People barrelling down roads and sometimes sidewalks, doing double the speed limit while doubling (at least) the legal alcohol limit scare me. A homeless, jobless immigrant from Mexico does not instill the slightest ounce of fear. I challenge the governor and his fellow lawmakers to make room in DOC for the societal threats all around them.

Once last option I have in mind: After your first DUI conviction, try this requirement. Your vehicle insurance policy must include a provision that your policy will include a mandatory one year stay in a rehabilation center. You did it, you pay for it. Two things might be accomplished: This one year rehab stay just may be successful, and the now required traffic classes within the framework of the rehab center's mission. I don't know if this would work; I'm not any kind of expert. But, has anybody tried?