Today he turns fifteen. He’s probably entering the final year that the lovely and talented and downright sexy Mrs. Hook and I will have any influence on the formation of his character. His core values.

Like most parents, I worry that we’ve done a good job of preparing him for what lay ahead. I know that life has a lot of decisions for him to face, and that the tough ones are just around the corner. Our oldest boy has had his share of challenges and has fought through them. I suspect he’ll continue to fight and succeed. He is a good kid and I know he’ll become a great man.

Renegade Ryan is the type of person that runs into a burning building, leaving the task of calling 911 to someone else. He does so not because of some weird fascination with fire, but to help others. Almost to a fault, he is always there to lend a hand.

Happy Birthday Son, I love you and I’m very proud of you. I hope that I’ll be home for the next one. Sgt Hook Dad out.

Posted by Hook @ 1157 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (9) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Homefront & My Swashbucklers

In the months leading up to my deployment, discussions at home with my merry band of pirates occassionally covered dad leaving and for how long and why. They were usually pretty short talks with only a couple of questions to be answered and not a lot of debate.

On the eve of my departure I broached the subject of my leaving with my swashbucklers as they were feasting on that evening’s bounty. The ever philosphic 9-year old Andrew the Adventurous set down his drumstick and matter of factly asked, “What abour your retirement?”

D: What about my retirement?

AA: Yeah, what about your retirement dad?

D: Do you want me to retire?

AA: Don’t you think it is time? Yes.

D: blink, blink, blink

AA: When are you going to retire?

D: I don’t know exactly, there is a lot to consider son. I have to provide for you and your brothers and mom and…

AA: Right.

He picked up his drumstick and resumed eating. The discussion was apparently over.

The following morning I drove the boys to school, saying my goodbyes to each corsair as I dropped them off. When Castaway Conner and Anderw the Adventurous hopped out of the truck and started walking to the front door of their school, backpacks bouncing on their shoulders, I said, “Hey! I won’t be here when you get home from school.”

Castaway Conner stopped, turned and ran into my arms giving me a huge hug and sloppy kiss and off he went to school.

Andrew the Adventurous cinched up his backpack, looked sideways at me as he kept walking and said, “I know dad, I’m disappointed. I’m very disappointed.”

Not your traditional “good bye” but heartfelt nonetheless. Sgt Hook out.

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On the eve of the new year we received our first snowfall of the season. Castaway Conner, my 5-year old dashing corsair experienced snow for the first time in his life and suffice to say, I had to drag him in from the snow late into the evening. He and his brothers had a blast, as did our 1-year old puppy who also experienced snow for the first time; she went nuts chasing the falling flakes while making tracks in those that had accumulated.

I enjoyed it myself, having grown up in the northeast. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…. Sgt Hook out.

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It was nine years ago today that my clever, brave, and adventurous swashbuckler Andrew came into the world. This little pirate never ceases to amaze me with his wit.

I’m reminded of halloween night two years ago, when he and his little brother Castaway Conner, and me went around the dark neighborhood knocking on doors. At one particular house, we knocked, waited, rang the bell, waited some more and began to wonder if we were mistaken in thinking that this house was indeed inviting trick or treaters to knock. The facade was brightly lit and decorated to the hilt with halloween stuff and music could be heard through the window. A crowd of other trick or treaters had joined us, knocking and ringing and wondering themselves. Then, just as all were about to give up, a hideous, evil looking monster jumped from behind a bush wailing and weilding an ax.

All of the kids, and most of the parents, ran screaming at the tops of their lungs. All but one that is. Andrew the Adventurous stood there looking at the creature, eyes bulging, blood dripping from its fangs, and said, “trick or treat” holding out his candy sack.

I love you son and am damned proud of you. Happy Birthday fearless one. Sgt Hook out.

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Transcript of an earlier conversation…

Castaway Conner: Dad, when you are a Soldier and when the flag music plays, do you have to salute and stand still, and can’t move your eyes? (placing his right hand to his forehead above his eyebrows to demonstrate)

Me: Yes son, I do.

CC: Me too Dad! When the flag music plays in my school, ‘cept I put my hand on my heart, I’m not a Soldier you know.

Me: Just smiled and thought to myself, No, you aren’t a Soldier son, but you are an inspiration.

Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 1508 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (8) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Homefront & My Swashbucklers

Castaway Conner, my five year old swashbuckling corsair, is in his first year at the elementary school, otherwise known as a kindergartener. He comes home everyday filled with newfound knowledge that he eagerly shares with me and the lovely and talented and downright sexy Mrs. Hook.

Today was no exception. My young Castaway was diligently explaining to me the concept of A-B patterns, all the while his eyes dancing with excitement. Unfortunately for him, Dad wasn’t grasping the concept. After a few puzzled looks and dumb questions from me, a frustrated Conner pointed to the U.S. Flag on the right shoulder of my uniform blouse and said, “Like the stripes on the flag Dad! Red, white, red, white…” Duh.

The light bulb suddenly going on in my head I replied, “Oh, you mean like Iran, North Korea, Iran…”

After quietly staring at me for a moment, he just sort of dropped his head with embarassment and walked away, undoubtedly thinking that his Dad will get it one day. Sgt Hook out.

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I was sitting on the sofa, catching up on the day’s news playing out on the television while pecking away on the laptop in an effort to complete a little work that I had brought home with me when Castaway Conner came downstairs and into the living.

“Conner, everybody is asleep, what are you still doing up?” I asked my youngest swashbuckler.

“Dad?” he replied, then asked in a scratchy, tired yet very cute 5-year old voice, “Can I lay in your spot until you come up to bed?”

I looked at him for a moment, thinking about how good he had been about going to bed in his room and sleeping through the night for quite some time now, and asked, “But what about Mom?”

“She’s sleeping and she won’t mind if I just tuggle in until you come up,” he answered as if he had expected the question.

“O.K. son, but only until I come up to bed.”

Running down the hall and back up the stairs he yelled over his shoulder, “thanks Dad!”

About an hour or so later, I closed the laptop, checked to make sure the house was secure, shut the lights and headed upstairs myself. I found our handsome corsair sleeping soundly in my spot, next to his mom, the lovely and talented and downright sexy Mrs. Hook.

Scooping Castaway Conner in my arms I marveled at how much he had grown, thinking it was just yesterday that he sought comfort by wrapping his tiny little hand around my index finger.

Ever so gently laying him onto his bed, I was startled when he opened his eyes, raised his head, and stared at me momentarily with a confused look on his face. After several seconds, his eyes smiled and he said, “Da da!” And just as quickly, layed his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, smiled and drifted back to sleep.

My last night was a great night. How was your last night? Sgt Hook out.

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Like most of my days, yesterday started early and ended late. I’m usually on the road by about 0600 hours each morning. By “on the road” I mean out for a jog, anywhere from 2 to 4 miles, then a quick shower, cup of jo and I’m in the office. After checking the overnight emails, I meet with the boss and the XO for a quick huddle and it’s out the door to check on soldiers. Throw in a few meetings and/or briefings, a quick lunch if I’m lucky, some administrative crap, counseling sessions, putting out a few fires, and before I know it the clock on the wall displays 1830 or 1900. I usually get home after the 20-minute drive to find I’ve missed dinner and am in time only to help get our merry band of pirates showered and off to bed.

Yesterday, however, I managed to get out of the office and off of the airfield at 1730 (thanks largely in part to a telephonic reminder from the lovely and talented and downright sexy Mrs. Hook) arriving late in the first quarter to Renegade Ryan’s football game. The 8th graders on both sides of the field played their hearts out, despite the cold, rainy weather. The parents in the bleachers, I’m sorry to say, weren’t as tough. By the end of the third quarter, the winds were whipping the cold rain nearly horizontal and though soaking wet and freezing cold, I looked around the bleachers to find just three other parents still with me.

The lead changed 3 times during the game, but in the end, my tough, athletic swashbuckler’s team lost by a mere 2 points (damned refs). I marveled as I watched these 13-year old boys, and girl, play football in horrible conditions, two-thirds of them having to play both offense and defense (Ryan included) because of their small numbers, giving their all and never once showing signs of quitting. I was equally as proud of the other three soaking wet, freezing cold parents who hung in there until the end, regardless of the outcome.

I met my disappointed pirate as he walked off the field, slapped his shoulder pads and said, “Good game son, you made some great tackles out there!” receiving a quiet grunt and a nod in reply.

Attempting to change the subject I asked my soaking wet pre-teen, his hed hung low, muddy helmet in hand, if he was cold.

Looking up and as if I’d just asked the dumbest question on Earth he replied, “No dad, we don’t get cold running on the field.”

Knowing when to shut up, I offered him a lifesaver and said, “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

While driving home I thought about how glad I was to have taken off from work early enough to watch my son play football, then thought about the thousands of other moms and dads currently deployed who missed their child’s game yesterday.

I hope your yesterday was as good as mine. Sgt Hook out.

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This post is filed under: My Swashbucklers & The Soldier

I had the distinct pleasure and honor of attending a graduation ceremony for the local Young Marines recruit platoon this morning and though I was in uniform, I was not there as a guest speaker, or VIP; I was in attendance as a dad (a damned proud dad at that).

Renegade Ryan stood rigidly at the position of attention in the 4th squad of Young Marine Recruit Platoon 3061, his boots highly shined and BDUs crisply starched, sporting a fresh Marine style high-and-tight haircut (that I gave him last night). He was proud and so was his dad. In fact, my vision became blurred at one point by a mysterious misting of the eyes.

The Young Marine Obligation

From this day forward, I sincerely promise, I will set an example for all other youth to follow and I shall never do anything that would bring disgrace or dishonor upon my God, my country and its flag, my parents, myself or the Young Marines. These I will honor and respect in a manner that will reflect credit upon them and myself. Semper Fidelis.

For the past 16 weeks, Renegade Ryan and his fellow recruits attended Boot Camp each Saturday morning learning drill and ceremonies, history of the USMC, teamwork, discipline, and personal responsibility. He loved every push-up of it. Today he and his brothers/sisters are no longer referred to as “recruits,” but as “Young Marines.”

After the ceremony at the reception, Renegade Ryan’s Commanding Officer approached us asking, “Sergeant Major, is this Young Marine yours?”

To wit I replied, “Yes Sir he is, but I think the Army has lost him to the Corps.”

The CO looked at RR and asked, “Well what’s it gonna be Hook, Army or Marines?”

“Marines Sir!” my son bellowed without a nanosecond of hesitation.

There you have it.

For those interested, you can find more about the Young Marines here, an outstanding organization, in my opinion, for developing our youth. When asked, I usually jokingly describe it as the “Boy/Girl Scouts on Steroids.” The 16-week boot camp is tough, run by drill intructors (all former Marines) complete with the brown rounds and “in your face” instruction. They’ve got my endorsement. Semper Fidelis. Sgt Hook out.

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The following is a transcript of a conversation overheard between Andrew the Adventurous (age 8 ) and Castaway Conner (age 4) as they played Battleship this morning. You can imagine two salty, battle hardened pirates going head to head over a game of Battleship.

AA: Miss! You stink at this game. Beee Five.

CC: No I don’t. Hit.

AA: See, another hit, I’m the best.

CC: No you aren’t.

AA: Yes I am.

CC: Ah aah.

AA: Then why am I sinking all of your ships?

CC: Then why do mom and dad always say I’m cute?

AA: stares at his younger brother

CC: smiling from ear to ear

Judge Alito would have trouble answering questions from these two. Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0412 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (7) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Homefront & La Vita Dolce & My Swashbucklers