Learning to Walk

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Some people might think I’d become too invested in my reaction to the nine eleven attacks. I don’t see how anyone could just let it go. If you were someone who didn’t care, then you were obviously part of a larger issue, but that’s an entry for another time. Now, I began to feel that in order to do anything at this point, was to take a direct approach, so I started thinking about military service. Up to this point, I had spent so much time in school that I knew nothing about the military outside of the media. Beyond that, I knew that the military promoted order, structure, and discipline and if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could be killed. Yet, I suppose that one’s chances of being killed went up dramatically simply by crossing the street. I also came to admire what the military had been doing over the past few years. A good example might be ‘Operation Restore Hope’. The Marines had been deployed to Somalia to hand deliver food and water, feeding thousands of starving men, women, and children. Since then, I came to think of them as ‘humanitarian warriors’. I know that sounds a bit grandiose but I am at a lack for any other description. Now, in the aftermath of nine eleven, I wanted to be a part of that. The idea of making a difference on such a personal level was too compelling to ignore. So, on a day off from classes, I went down to the local recruiting office.

I spoke to the recruiter of each branch, spending about two hours there. They all had pamphlets to hand out and videos that glamorized their particular branch of service. It all came down to two questions: Which branch would I join and did I want to become an officer? With a four-year degree, it was possible that I could become an officer, but a degree in philosophy wasn’t exactly in high demand, although, the Marines would accept at least a two-year degree in any area. So, that was a possibility. After giving it some thought, I decided that I probably would not be of much use behind a desk and wanted something more ‘hands-on’. Now, it was just a matter of which branch to join. I didn’t want to make a career out of the military and I did want to continue with my education, so I began to take a good look at the army. It would be a four-year enlistment. But, the decision maker was when I was told about the G.I. Bill and that the army would pay for college when I got out. I considered the other branches, but I wanted to go where help was needed and I thought the Marines might be a bit much for a philosophy student and four years would earn a lot of tuition. There didn’t seem to be too much of a downside to my decision, or so I thought.

I thought it would be best to finish out the semester. At least I’d have one semester done and wouldn’t have to start over four years down the road. When classes ended in December, I went back to the recruiters’ office and made an appointment to take the ASVAB test. This was the aptitude test given by the military that would tell them what field I would be best suited for and it had been determined that I would be most useful as a cavalry scout. They said my reasoning ability and spatial perception made me an ideal candidate for training in that field.

Now came the hard part. How do I tell my parents that I had essentially volunteered to kill terrorists? With that thought, I realized exactly what I’d be doing. Could I actually kill another human being? I suppose it depends on how you define ‘human’. Some people believe that we are born human, that we are born with something that animals are not - a soul - whatever that is. Even Plato, in his theory of emanation, suggested that we, as human beings, are an expression of God but not nearly as pure. Yet, B.F. Skinner tells us that we are born with the potential for humanness and that the qualities of being human are learned. I’m not sure how complicated this issue really is. Maybe issues like this are only as complicated as we make them. But, I don’t think it’s right for one person, or even a few people, to decide what’s human on behalf of all humanity. I guess if I’m going to end up shooting people I need to find an answer for myself. What does it mean to be human and can the answer justify killing a complete stranger without so much as a thought? I wouldn’t have an answer to those questions until much later when the act of killing was staring me in the face.

Christmas found me at home with my family. For days, I’d been thinking about how to tell my parents what I had decided to do. I still hadn’t come up with the right words, but my parents knew there was something on my mind. I guess I seemed pretty preoccupied. Both my parents were Harvard graduates. My father was a graduate professor of bioethics and had written several important papers on medical ethics. His latest writing was specifically on the subject of ‘terminal sedation’, where one of the questions he asks is: Do people have the right to face death without medical intervention? He also brought up the argument between the rights of the individual versus the intent and decisions of the family. Certainly, there are more questions than answers, but his work has been reviewed by politicians, hospitals, and ethics committees across the country. My mother, on the other hand, is head of the research and development arm of a large pharmaceutical company and has the final word on how new drugs get tested. She also holds the chair of the company’s ethics oversight committee, deciding how far to go with both human and animal trials. If it’s one thing she’d learned during her career, it’s that not everything works out as intended. They met at Harvard. I’m not even sure how they managed to get along all these years. They always seem to be arguing. Not over marital issues or anything like that. It was always over ethical and philosophical points, especially where world events were concerned. I think they found the arguments intellectually stimulating and would be bored to tears without them.

After dinner, we sat in the living room and opened gifts. The wind howled outside as a Nor’easter was making its way up the coast. The living room had become warmed by the crackling of the fireplace, brought to life by the glow of dancing flames. My father was sitting in his favorite chair holding a brandy snifter and glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

“So, Clarence,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

I could no longer avoid the conversation and I still didn’t know how to tell them.

"I’ve decided to put grad school on hold for a bit,” I answered.

His expression went unchanged, preferring to know all the facts before reacting in any way. My mother, however, looked up in complete shock.

"On hold?!” she said. “Are you out of your mind?!”

"Now hang on a second,” my father began. “Let’s not react too quickly.”

My parents seemed to be polar opposites of each other. My mother was the excitable one, while my father was usually the calm voice of reason. He looked back at me with an expression of concern.

"Alright,” he began. “What led to this decision?”

I took a breath and glanced down at the floor.

"Well,” I started. “Ever since nine eleven, I’ve felt… lost. I need to do something. I know that I can’t fix the world, but I feel driven to do something. I need to get involved - to fight back. So, I’m going to join the Army.”

I thought my mother was going to faint. The last thing she ever imagined her son doing was marching around carrying a g*n. My father, however, was putting a great deal of thought into my response.

"So,” he began. “You want to go over to the middle-east and fight?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Okay,” he said. “Why you?”

Now he was testing me. He wanted to be sure that I knew why I wanted to do this. He wanted me to think.

"I just need to do this,” I replied. “I’m sick of the way things are. I know that I can’t change anything but these people should be stopped and if this country is going over there to stop them, then I want to be part of that. You always told me how important it is to do the right thing. Now, it’s time for me to step up to the plate.”

My father nodded his head.

"What about grad school?” he asked.

"Well,” I began. “It’s just four years and when I get out the G.I. Bill will help pay for grad school. It might even be able to help pay for a Ph.D. program.”

"You know, Clarence,” my father responded. “We can continue to help you pay for grad school, just like we did for your bachelor’s degree.”

"I know and I’ve always appreciated that,” I said. “I just don’t see how anyone can appreciate getting an education if someone else is picking up the tab.”

He looked down at the floor and slowly nodded his head.

"So, you’ve figured this all out?” he asked.

"Yeah,” I answered. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I need to do this.”

He calmly looked over at my mother who was looking at him like a deer caught in a car’s headlights.

"You can’t possibly condone this!” she said.

"This isn’t up to us,” he said. “Not this time.”

My mother became panicked. I suppose it’s a mother’s prerogative to want to keep her children out of harm’s way, but the real world is full of hazards and any idea of a relatively safe world came crumbling down with the twin towers.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can say to change your mind,” she said.

She was slowly beginning to understand that the reasons for my decision were both important and personal. She also understood that I was no longer insulated from the pain that the world could inflict. However, she would never resign herself to what I was about to do.

"When are you leaving?” my father asked.

"I don’t know yet,” I answered. “More than likely after the first of the year.”

I thought it would be a good idea to leave after New Year’s Day. I could spend a bit more time with my parents over the holidays - may-be do some reading. I found out through the news that some of our troops were engaged at the caves of Tore Bora, somewhere in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. The caves had been there for thousands of years, but they were now being occupied by members of the Taliban and al-Qaeda. The military had been sent in to clear the caves with whatever force was needed. Some of these terrorists simply surrendered themselves, while most tried to put up a fight only for their bodies to be dragged out by U.S. troops.

We were all on the same page now, even though my parents were far from comfortable with my decision, but at least they understood why I was doing it. My father and I continued to talk about it. My mother, on the other hand, wanted nothing more to do with it. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She just didn’t want to think about it and over the next couple of weeks, she managed to find a lot of things to busy herself with, so she wouldn’t have time to stop and think. New Year’s arrived and naturally, we were invited to the yearly holiday party. This year it was being hosted by a family whose daughter had just returned from Stanford University with a Master’s degree in law. Her parents, like mine, had also attended Harvard and like many people of that level of income, they saw me as something of an oddity. While most of the people my parents associated with were unable or unwilling to see beyond their wealthy, well-insulated lives, I chose to see the world without the dollar signs. There’s much more to the world than gated communities and well-manicured lawns or who possessed more net worth. To be honest, the idea of status symbols and old money made me sick. Perhaps, deep down there might be a bit of a socialist hidden inside me. I know it’s more than a bit of a contradiction - an idealist growing up in a wealthy family of Ivy League graduates. But, I wasn’t rebelling against my parents. They didn’t seem to have that ‘rich b***h’ attitude I saw in other people associated with my parents. Conversations always seemed to come back to them and how many lawyers they had or how many businesses they had invested in. Some of them even tried to speak what I would call ‘sanitized English’, speaking with such perfectionistic accuracy that they often dropped their contractions - ‘I’ve’ became ‘I have’; ‘didn’t’ became ‘did not’. They tried very hard to seem important in a world that likely didn’t give a s**t about them, never realizing that they were just people who had fallen into a very fortunate set of circumstances.

Given the direction my life was about to take my mother did what almost any mother would do. She tried to hook me up and walking over, took me by the arm.

“Clarence,” she said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Her tone of voice made it obvious that she had an ulterior motive and began dragging me into a large crowded room where I immediately felt overwhelmed by the clamoring sound of conversation. The hosts of the party called it the ‘great room’ because of its size and opulence. To me, it was just a space surrounded by walls.

"Mom,” I replied. “You know how I feel about crowds.”

The truth of the matter was I couldn’t stand these parties. It wasn’t just having to deal with all the people, it was the attitude. They seemed to spend a lot of time patting each other on the back. That is when they weren’t patting themselves on the back.

“Oh, come now, Clarence,” she said. “Mingle a little.”

She pulled me over to a slim young black-haired woman.

"Clarence, this is Gloria,” she began. “Her parents are hosting the party tonight. Gloria, this is my son, Clarence.”

It was one of the most awkward moments of my life. We shook hands and uncomfortably exchanged hellos as my mother disappeared into the crowd. Gloria was stunningly beautiful, wearing a royal blue cocktail dress that came down to just above the knee. Her hair was jet black and her eyes a deep brown. For a brief moment, I found myself getting lost in them, only to be torn away by a sudden flash of self-consciousness.

"So,” I began. “I understand you just got back from Stanford.”

"Yes,” Gloria replied.

She spoke with an elocution that one could only learn at an Ivy League college like Stanford.

"I’ve been back for about a month or so.”

"So your degree is in law,” I said. “What do you plan on doing?”

She hesitated as a shy grin came to her face.

"I’m not entirely certain,” she began. “My parents want me to go into bankruptcy law, given the direction of the economy.”

"Oh, yes,” I replied. “But what do ‘you’ want to do? I mean, you can make all the money in the world and still be unhappy.”

She looked at me with a slightly puzzled expression.

"I don’t think I ever considered that.”

A tense moment quickly grew between us. Gloria took a breath and quickly changed the subject.

"So, your mother tells me you’re going into the Army, why is that?”

She was completely bewildered as to why someone from a wealthy family would enlist in the military. I couldn’t really blame her. She had become so well insulated by her family’s wealth that she seemed unable to see beyond the walls of privilege and I had a feeling that Gloria would not understand the direction I had committed myself to.

"Just trying to do my part,” I answered casually.

"I see,” she said. “Will you be enlisting as an officer?”

I actually held out a bit of hope that she might be anything but superficial, but now she was trying to tag a status symbol on me.

"Actually, no,” I answered. “I think I’ll get a higher quality of life experience by skipping the whole officer thing.”

She hesitated again. But this time, it was with a slight expression of disappointment.

"Oh,” she said.

She became somewhat uncomfortable as she glanced off to one side.

"Would you excuse me?”

"Oh, of course,” I answered.

She left before I could even finish speaking and as the moments ticked by, I suddenly felt as though everyone in the room was watching me.

After that brief moment of embarrassment, I walked out of the room with the impression that Gloria was just another spoiled rich b***h and that she wasn’t worth getting upset over. Not that I was upset, but I was angry about what I believed to be a ‘holier than thou’ attitude. Now, I just needed to get some air and I thought that the January chill might help to take the edge off the resentment I was feeling. It wasn’t just Gloria’s attitude. It was about all of them, with the exception of my parents who seemed to always have their feet on the ground. However, none of these people would ever understand anything about the world beyond their offshore accounts and private planes.

After about ten minutes, my mother walked up behind me and touched my shoulder.

“Clarence,” she began. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”

"I just needed some air,” I answered. “It’s a bit too crowded in there.”

She again took me by the arm and gently pulled me back inside.

"So,” she began. “What do you think of Gloria?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what had happened, nor my opinion of Gloria. She was obviously trying to give me a reason to stay.

“I don’t think she’s my type,” I replied.

“Oh, nonsense,” my mother said, “She’s gorgeous! You just need to give her another chance.”

There was no arguing that Gloria was very beautiful and any man would be lucky to have her on his arm. I just didn’t see myself as that man. My mother walked me to the dining room where everyone was now gathering. There were nine large mahogany tables set up in such a perfect arrangement that it could only have been done by someone with OCD. There were several well-dressed servants waiting for everyone to be seated while ushers showed each guest to their place. Naturally, my mother had arranged for me to sit next to Gloria.

By this time, dinner was being served. The main course was Quail served with a white wine sauce. Personally, I would have been happy with chicken fingers and a cold beer. At this point, I just wanted to leave. The idea of spending money on that kind of food just to satisfy the appetites of the wealthy made me sick and, of course, they had to be fashionable about how they ate, meaning that no one ever finished what they were served and rarely accepted seconds. The thought of all that food simply going to waste infuriated me and it was a pretty good bet that no one in the room ever gave to a charity unless their accountant told them it would be tax advantageous to do so. As I approached the table where an empty chair sat next to Gloria, I turned back to my mother with a hand on my stomach.

"Mom,” I began. “Suddenly, I don’t feel all that well.”

"Well, have some dinner,” she replied.

I looked back at the table while dinner was being served and noticed that Gloria was doing a poor job of ignoring me.

"Mom,” I said. “I really don’t handle rich food all that well. I think I’d just rather go home and get something small to eat.”

My mother gave me the look of concern that only a mother can as she nodded her head in resignation.

"Alright,” she said. “I’ll have someone bring the car around."

I told her that I preferred to walk, but she quickly pointed out that it was the middle of winter and insisted that I be driven home. It was true that my stomach couldn’t cope with the food that was served at these parties. But truth be told, I just didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t stand the atmosphere; the people were arrogant and judgmental and there were way too many of them. The valet was kind enough to drop me off at home, but before I got out of the car I handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill.

"Oh, I can’t accept this!” he said.

"Do you have a family?” I asked.

"Yeah,” he answered.

"Then you take this,” I continued. “And tell them happy New Year for me, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. "Thank you, sir.”

I hesitated as I opened the door.

"And my name isn’t sir, it’s Clarence, okay?”

"Gotcha’,” he answered. “Happy New Year!”

"You too,” I replied.

He drove off before I could get his name. I always thought that if you do something for someone you should at least get their name. I also felt that was especially true if they were doing something for you.