Pondering....
So here I sit at my parent's house. They are out of the state until Friday, because they're driving to Kentucky so they can drive my brother's car back here. He leaves to Iraq on Friday.
I feel like the seasoned one in this position. In essence, I am. This time, though, it's my brother. When I sit down and really think about it, I get scared. Then I snap back into reality and think, hey, he's not going to be in Fallujah, Baghdad or even Ramadi. He may be in Saddam's home town, but he's a mechanic. The chances of him leaving base often are only so much. And as much of a pain in the ass as any brother can be in life, he knows how to take care of himself. I've found he's tougher than most would give him credit for, and then I don't feel so worried.
Now the task is to tell this to my parents. My dad, a Vietnam veteran, would have chosen any other fate for his son. My mom, like any other mother, can only do so much to keep her son in safe keeping. Truth be told, I'm concerned about my parents for the next year more so than my brother. We're Vromans though. A very seasoned, military-oriented family.
Being back in the suburbs, even for a few moments, provides these feelings. First, I realize how great of an area this is for raising a family. It's safe, the schools are nice, houses and public property are well kept. When you leave the window open at night, you can hear crickets chirping and the rustle of the leaves; sirens are few and far between on any night of the week. Then you see teenagers driving a Lexus down the street with a subwoofer so high it vibrates my car- and I realize, wow, I really hate those spoiled kids who don't think they're spoiled. Wow, am I glad I don't associate with them anymore, nor do I live around here where people I went to school with (most of which I don't care to see) spot me. And it makes me realize another thing.
I am happy. I am really, truly, madly, deeply happy to be where I am. I live in the cutest house ever in a nice area. Our neighbors all look out for each other. I'm actually sitting down at night to do homework like I never did living at home with my parents. I enjoy working at Victoria's Secret, as frequent as it's been (it's been between 20 and 30 hours lately; right where I want it!). As reading-intensive as my school classes are, it all balances out nicely. I write for the school newspaper, so one more thing to make up for the insanely boring fall semester I had last year. I can't wait to start my internship, apply for graduation, actually graduate, and then start a full-time job in a strong, successful firm where I will be a damn good paralegal.
Ulitmately, I am happy because I live with the one man I love, and I couldn't even begin to imagine my life without him in it.
I feel like the seasoned one in this position. In essence, I am. This time, though, it's my brother. When I sit down and really think about it, I get scared. Then I snap back into reality and think, hey, he's not going to be in Fallujah, Baghdad or even Ramadi. He may be in Saddam's home town, but he's a mechanic. The chances of him leaving base often are only so much. And as much of a pain in the ass as any brother can be in life, he knows how to take care of himself. I've found he's tougher than most would give him credit for, and then I don't feel so worried.
Now the task is to tell this to my parents. My dad, a Vietnam veteran, would have chosen any other fate for his son. My mom, like any other mother, can only do so much to keep her son in safe keeping. Truth be told, I'm concerned about my parents for the next year more so than my brother. We're Vromans though. A very seasoned, military-oriented family.
Being back in the suburbs, even for a few moments, provides these feelings. First, I realize how great of an area this is for raising a family. It's safe, the schools are nice, houses and public property are well kept. When you leave the window open at night, you can hear crickets chirping and the rustle of the leaves; sirens are few and far between on any night of the week. Then you see teenagers driving a Lexus down the street with a subwoofer so high it vibrates my car- and I realize, wow, I really hate those spoiled kids who don't think they're spoiled. Wow, am I glad I don't associate with them anymore, nor do I live around here where people I went to school with (most of which I don't care to see) spot me. And it makes me realize another thing.
I am happy. I am really, truly, madly, deeply happy to be where I am. I live in the cutest house ever in a nice area. Our neighbors all look out for each other. I'm actually sitting down at night to do homework like I never did living at home with my parents. I enjoy working at Victoria's Secret, as frequent as it's been (it's been between 20 and 30 hours lately; right where I want it!). As reading-intensive as my school classes are, it all balances out nicely. I write for the school newspaper, so one more thing to make up for the insanely boring fall semester I had last year. I can't wait to start my internship, apply for graduation, actually graduate, and then start a full-time job in a strong, successful firm where I will be a damn good paralegal.
Ulitmately, I am happy because I live with the one man I love, and I couldn't even begin to imagine my life without him in it.