I’m Not Even Supposed to Be Here Today! by Steve

                So there I sat, as our small group slowly was picked up or continued to wait.  I did tell them that I’d be in like 40 minutes ago, right?  Well, how do I call that number again…slightly less bad connection this time…the voice on the other end of the line produced a string of expletives and rapidly utter comments about losing track of time…half muffled instructions to someone else…and assurances of a rapid pick-up.  Hmmm, wonder how long it’ll take em to drive here, what kind of vehicle am I looking for?  Hope it isn’t one of these folks already sitting in the parking lot and I’ve just missed a link-up by mere feet…oh, no, that’s not the case.  One young female E-5 sergeant comes wandering up from my left past a series of national flags…uh, where’s the ride?  After introductions, I stow my four duffel bags of assorted weighty crap in a rack with chain available for securing (it has always entertained me how we, in the military, lock up cloth duffle bags with bulky master locks to prevent pilfering, which I suppose would be a sound theory if it wasn’t possible to just gut the side of a cloth duffle bag with a knife and take whatever you want)….and away we…walk?

          

      She hands me a temporary badge and in we go directly into ISAF Joint Command HQ (IJC; reference again love of acronyms within acronym fetishes) about 100 yards away.  Now mind you, less than a week ago I had specifically asked my branch manager if I was still going to ISAF as agreed…we agreed on me being and ISAF planner, but my WIAS tasker says USFOR-A.  “Of course,” was the response, “USFOR-A just owns the people.”  What he failed to mention was that he considered IJC part of ISAF, one in the same.  That’s correct, isn’t it?  Well, not exactly…the International Security Assistance Force Headquarters would be the four star headquarters with the entire command of the coalition forces in Afghanistan and that commands relationship with NATO and the rest of the world.  ISAF Joint Command (IJC) is the three star headquarters (primarily filled with a U.S. conventional corps headquarters) that owns the coalition combat forces in Afghanistan focused down and in with the detail of operations in Afghanistan.  “Machts Nichts” you might say, “you’re getting what you want, a joint assignment (fingers crossed), deployed, and NATO/ISAF experience.”  True, but I’ll give you my two cents about why I would have rather been at ISAF.  

Although everyone at IJC says, “oh, you don’t want to be at ISAF”; I have been assigned/worked in/for three two or three star headquarters, even with the differences at IJC, I feel like I’ve checked this block.  The first task that I was introduced to involved counting troops in Afghanistan down to the individual and into the future, not exactly high-order thinking; and most importantly, IJC comes in as a set package; 3^rd Corps currently to be replaced soon by 18^th Airborne Corps.  I am already an outsider; the personnel assigned to 3^rd Corps come in together and then the SAMS individuals come in after being classmates for 10 months.  18^th ABC will also come in largely already set and then augmented by various individuals and a package of SAMS grads…I anticipate that I will be an relative outsider through the extent of my tour…but when it comes down to it, work is work, and one year is one year.  Both organizations are new to me, so I will learn a lot, get exposure to NATO/Coalition operations, and reset my dwell time with joint qualification as a bonus.  Beggars can’t be choosers, but I guarantee my branch manager realized quickly that I wasn’t 100% pleased, and responded with “I hope you didn’t think this was a bait-and-switch.”  I don’t necessarily blame him, but he probably should have known/kept me informed.  This reinforces my adage about the military in general: “the only person looking out for you and your career is you.”

                So starts in-processing: I meet the man who refers to himself as “The One” and he begins to in-process me.  First friction point:  you’re going to be here at IJC.  Oh well, I did break the number one rule in the military: “don’t volunteer for nuthin’”.   Second friction point:  this says you’re going to a SAMS planner job, but you’re not SAMS…uh, yeah, we all knew that going in.  Third friction point:  you say you’re going to a slot that DA has been delinquent in filling for five months, but there is still a guy in it for the next month.  Well isn’t this interesting.  At least I know my fate, and my final destination; I have come home.  The guy I am replacing is over to pick me up in short order, and we are off to start in-processing (always fun with the military).  Most interesting piece of information is my release date…that’s right, I now have a tangible goal to work toward…I know, I know, my goal should be mission accomplishment, or professional development, or something much more glorious and noble…sorry, in this type of assignment, the day of the 20^th of October 2014 is my immediate personal goal, and it’s now what I will plan towards.

                As we step off smartly to get lodging, linen, badges, and computer systems working, it becomes readily apparent to me that I am in my fourth straight day of travel, having had one shower, two shaves, and taken my boots off one evening when I actually made it into a bed.  My feet are a little throbby from hours of time on planes and waiting and now burn as I walk.  I remind myself that I used to be an infantryman who would operate for a month or more without showering in squalid conditions, but it always seemed better and more appropriate when I was in the woods.  As my first day draws to a close, I get an opportunity to sit down with my new boss, however temporary he may be.  During the conversation I am intimately aware that I’m sporting a 23 o’clock shadow and smell like the last passenger seat I sat in mixed with the smell of old leather shoes.  He welcomes me to the team and we discover that we closely crossed paths in Fort Riley, Kansas.  I also discover that his boss is someone who I’ve run into in the Army, including at Fort Riley, whom I’ve always respected.  Then he drops the next interesting note; “Welcome to Kabul, we’re going to send you to Brunssum in a week.”

                First question in my mind, what’s a Brunssum.  That would become evident fairly quickly, although I did spend half of a day nodding as if I knew what everyone was talking about, but then I discovered that NATO has several Joint Force Commands of their own, one at Brunssum in the Netherlands (JFC-BS)….I was going to Europe for Temporary DutY (TDY) from Afghanistan…well now, hasn’t the world turned on its head.

                The day ends meeting a new roommate in a dorm-like room in a two story barracks with a 7:15 am link-up time the next morning with my officemates for breakfast and work….

Traveling with the Army as a Travel Agent: Part Deux by Steve

I distinctly remember landing at Kuwait International Airport (KIA), the end of a Christmas Day journey in 2001, and thinking to myself, “every time they fly to the Middle East in a movie, like Indiana Jones, they always here the call to prayer, where’s my call to prayer?”  Only to gradually regret that thought as I spent a collective 25 hours over the next four days sitting in the KIA security office.  I heard more than my share of the calls to prayer as we worked through the paperwork to allow our weapons into the country.

At the end of yet another bus ride, we arrived at Camp Arifjan.  Camp Arifjan is actually a new locale for me, I had previously lived in Kuwait for three months when Camp Doha had been the prime hub, so it was a new experience.  Rolling in sometime after midnight, we were briefed and in-processed.  Of course the briefing consisted 80% of “you must wear your reflective belt even though no vehicles can drive here” and 20% “this is what is about to happen to you”.  We were released to find our bags and be back at 5:30 am.  At least they had a 24 hr Starbucks and Hardy’s.  I decided to pass on the 1 am triple bacon cheese burger and went with a cream cheese Danish and coffee instead.  I’ve always loved the “you’re here, we have facilities, but we’re not going to give you the opportunity to use them because we will find a way to make the process of getting a bunk so arduous that you won’t have time to do it all” briefings that every stop seems to give.  Weapons checked into theater, my first shave in days, and it was “sit on duffle bag” time until we got back on the buses.

Next stop, Ali Al Saleem Airbase.  One of my old frequent haunts that just used to be a small speck in the desert.  I remember when one airman in a container office on a 90 day deployment (yeah, that’s how the air farce rolls) used to run all of the movement out of this airbase into Afghanistan. Since the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq increased significantly in scale since ‘02, it has become a mini-metropolis.  Check in; flight at 7 am the next morning and it’s a much needed day in one spot with a bed and blanket…even a dining facility, gym, exchange, and pizza place.  Able to Face Time the family and grab a shower then we were ready to continue.  

This is where the Air Force became my air carrier.  C-17 ride ready to go.  C-17s used to be the key ride into and in theater, as often they are loaded with random cargo in the middle and seats along the outside; when a civilian carrier wouldn’t allow you to turn on your electronic devices, the inside of a mixed load C-17 becomes a free-for-all of soldiers finding floor space to lay out their poncho liner and go to sleep.  Sure it’s a little noisy and cold, but I’ll take the freedom of stretching out on a long flight over the drink cart and a bad meal any day.  Unfortunately this was a pax pure flight which had seat pallets occupying all of that lovely stretch space.

One of the neat features of “Ali Ali Oxen Free” are the French built Kuwaiti “bomb-proof” airplane hangars.  Since ’90-’91 each one of them has one neat penetration in the top courtesy of the USofA, so much for being bomb proof…even funnier is the small cement and sand-bad structure next to each that act as a bunker for ground crews to hide in while under attack…hello, you’re right next to a big-a** bunker with a large hole in it…if it didn’t survive, what makes you think your cute little Lincoln-Log playpen will?

The C-17 made a straight haul into Kandahar Airfield at 6:08 pm…what, wait a second, I need to go north to Bagram.   At least some seats were freed up with the 2 hour stop.  Now, another hop, and it’s finally off to Bagram arriving at 8:10 pm.  

“Well little Bagram, you’ve grown since I’ve seen you last in 2002, I remember when you were just a little toddler airfield…scrapped Soviet fighters still on the perimeter, unexploded ordinance everywhere, people massed into dusty tents that would tear and blow away in your wind, and cans of soda spontaneously exploding in the summer heat…even since I saw you in 2006 when you had buildings and air conditioning and had really started to fill in.  Now you’re full grown, almost bursting with stuff and containers and living quarters; I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Now at Bagram, flight availability was unclear but those of us going to Kabul knew there was a chance at 7:30 am.  What to do, what to do?…some chow, a little time in the USO trying to sleep in a leather chair and waking up feeling even worse while a movie played way to loud right next to my seat…it was only insult to injury when they finally turned the TV down after I had moved.  

7:30 pans out (barely under the allowable weight), and I was headed for my first STOL flight.  As we sat and waited to board, I did manage a phone call to the only point-of-contact (POC) I had in theater, and, through a very broken and static filled conversation, I understood that he would pick me up at the airport…whomever he, who answered the phone actually was.  As we moved to the aircraft, my impression was that this little two engine puddle jumper looked better suited to the Alaskan bush than to a war zone, but it reduced an hour plus drive (with a possibility of death or dismemberment) to a nine minute flight, theoretically, with fewer dangers.  

Up in a few feet and over the mountains.  All good fun until the automated plane voice starts chanting “Pull-up, Pull-up, Pull-up…” as we started our decent into Kabul.  Oh well, if we crash now at least I won’t have to spend a year in this hole.  It lands without incident, but now another leg of fun begins.  As much as I knew deploying here was that I was destined for Kabul, somewhere in ISAF (ISAF HQ, I assumed)…this was effectively the end of my knowledge base for future movement and at the end of common movement for our party that had been reduced to four folks headed for different but equally unknown futures.  It’s always nice to have a goal and companions, now I didn’t have either, but someone was coming to pick me up…right?...

Homeschooling

Homeschool : Because I didn’t like the “Village” 

Hillary Clinton once wrote a book by the title It Takes a Village. I’m not going to pretend that I read it, because I didn’t…reading the bible backwards on a Tilt-A-Whirl while being stoned sounds more interesting. Why? I don’t really subscribe to her views on “the collective” with regards to anything else, much less raising children. I also don’t think any village knows what’s best for my kids…and knowing our luck, my kid would be the one stuck with the Village Idiot as her teacher. 

While we were living at West Point, Katie Beth reached school age. I thought about sending her to the school on post, but then I also thought about the dynamics of attending a school on such a small military post. To understand, you’d have to understand the dynamics of West Point. The majority of those living on post were Field Grade Officers and above. There were more Majors at West Point than probably anywhere else in the Army…combined! (I’m only half kidding.) Now, this may make some question what could possibly be wrong with that. The problem was that everyone worked together, lived among each other, and socialized together. Your spouse’s boss was also an officer and likely had children in the same school; possibly in the same class. I don’t really see the advantage of her going to school with such a built-in rank structure, even though they claim there isn’t one; much less such a homogenous group of people… everyone was virtually the same. Yes. there were differences in our backgrounds, race, politics, religion, etc., but for the most part we were very much a white-washed (figuratively speaking) community. Almost every house on our street had at least one child in the same grade as everyone else on the street. Just off the top of my head, I can name 10 kids all in the same grade. 

We constantly hear public school advocates talk about how one of the benefits of the system is exposure to other cultures, races, religions, etc. etc. etc. There was very little diversity on our street…or on West Point for that matter. Every child’s parents had, virtually, the same background with the exception of their individual department or overall branch. The moms were typically stay-at-home moms (SAHMs) and the dads were either professors or tactical officers. There were a few dual-military families and there were even fewer moms who worked outside of the home. I was one of those in the “fewer” category. 

My point being, the school on post offered limited exposure to any outside influence or any relationship with children growing up in a civilian (non-military) lifestyle. I thought that exposure was not only important, but imperative. How would she know and understand what other kids' lives are like if all she sees are mirror images of her own? Steve will retire eventually and what will she know about life outside the Army if we don’t expose her to that lifestyle? 

There was another dynamic of the on-post school that I wanted to be as far removed from as possible. Not many non-military families, understand this…but it does exist and it does occur; more than anyone else will admit. Undue influence by a higher ranking officer over my child. What does that mean? I’ll give you an example. If my kid is on the playground and gets kicked in the shin by LTC So-and-So’s daughter, I don’t want to have to have that conversation. Why because LTC So-and-So may be golfing, fishing, or hunting buddies with the LTC that signs my husband’s OER. Another example. Katie Beth punches a little boy in the face one day for looking up her skirt. (A scenario never likely to happen, but just go with it for a second.) She gets disciplined for her actions. Maybe I disagree with the discipline given to her by her teacher…or maybe her teacher holds it over her head for some time. Come to find out Mrs. Teacher’s husband is in my husband’s chain-of-command and she’s unhappy that I didn’t come to a coffee she hosted. Oh, you are snickering and saying, “That’s childish. Something like that would never happen.” Ha Ha Ha…yes, people can be just that ridiculous....I've seen Army-Wife level ridiculous at its finest! And so, yet again…a conflict of interest that you can’t avoid. 

Now, I’m not saying this happened often…I’m not saying it happened ever, although I did hear some PTA horror stories. My point is that I never wanted to put my husband’s career or my child in that position. 

So, we decided to send her to this very small Catholic school just outside the gates. (Note: we’re not catholic, but the education and the teachers were amazing.) Almost half of the kids in her class were actually West Point kids, but the other half were all children who lived “normal” non-military lives off post. She ended up best friends with two of her non-military classmates, whom she keeps in touch with still, which I find great because she’ll have that connection to New York for years to come I hope. The backgrounds of her classmates varied, socioeconomically and culturally…religious diversity was "somewhat" lacking, but it was a Catholic school, remember! Some of the parents had lived in that town their entire lives and some only lived there because of the relative ease to commute to their jobs in NYC. 

 It was a great fit for what we were wanting for her, academically and socially. 

Fast forward to San Antonio. 

Prior to moving here, I had done an extensive amount of research on the private schools. Once we had located and purchased a house, I realized that the private schools I was interested in were no longer feasible, as it would have been about a 45 minute commute in rush-hour traffic, both ways. I had been told by many familiar with San Antonio that the public schools were amazing. So, reluctantly, I began doing a little research in to those as well. Everything I was able to find on the internet talked about how the schools were great, top-rated schools…brand-new buildings, facilities, equipment, blah blah blah. Fan-freakin’-tastic! Right? Right! Wrong!!!! 

We enrolled her in 2nd grade at a school less than a mile away from our house; a house we purchased in a location specifically because the schools were "so amazing"...it was only a year or two old at the time. After the first week of school, I was completely perplexed. Her weekly homework consisted of one sheet of paper, with what looked like a very small version of a checker board…about 12 squares in all. Within each square was one question; a math problem, a vocabulary word, a geography question…or something of that nature. Of the ENTIRE page, there was but only 1 math problem…ONE!  Never did I see more than 1 math question. Each week, they had to complete 7 of these squares…that’s it. Nothing else for the week. Complete 7 for the week and you’re done. Needless to say, she only had homework one night a week and it lasted about 15 minutes, max! 

 Now here’s an even more shocking development that occurred about 3 or 4 weeks down the road…Katie Beth brings home a note with her homework explaining that the kids will only be required to complete 5 of the homework questions each week because of all the complaints they had received from other parents about excessive homework! Wha…Wha…WTF? I’ll just leave that one alone, because I think the absolute idiocy of that is evident. 

Finally the parent-teacher conference rolled around. I went, armed with a handful of questions. What math curriculum is being used? English Grammar? History? Aside from the obvious question of “What the heck is up with this homework?”…. Boy, was I shocked and dismayed! There was not a single text book in that entire class. Nothing…nada…zilch! Huh? Yeah, well…we’ll get to that in a second. 

I started off asking about the lack of work being sent home for her to complete? I was informed that their homework was developed district-wide so that each and every kid within the district had the same quality and quantity of homework. Crazy say huh? Ok, ok…that’s somewhere within the the range of borderline logical. But what about this amount? One math question a week?...and usually one that doesn’t even pertain to what was discussed in class, according to my child? Explain that one? I was, politely, told that there was nothing she (the teacher) could do about it but I was certainly welcome to supplement anything at home if I so chose to do so. Well no shit, Sherlock! I didn’t assume that I would need your permission for that, but whatevs. Let’s move on… 

When I requested to see what they were using as a curriculum my request was batted around like a badmitton birdie…it was a giant smack that was said so politely that it seemed to hang in the air and float down ever so whimsically. Oh, ok…I get it. She finally spilled it. The district did not have textbooks! Let me repeat that. The District Did Not Have Textbooks! What they do have is a Director of Curriculum who physically writes the math curriculum, and other subjects, that each and every class works off. So I guess we now know how they can afford such shiny, bright, new schools…the size of the college that I attended, by the way! They’re saving that textbook budgeted line-item and paying someone to write it…why? Because they have a state test that THEY MUST PASS …so they design the curriculum around the state’s testing guidelines. In other words, they straight-up, blatantly, no sugar-coating…TEACH TO THE TEST! Holy crapola! They not only teach TO the test…they actually teach THE TEST! 

So now let’s talk about some little assessment that was given to Katie Beth the first week of school. Her teacher handed it over to me and all she said was, “Katie Beth is right on target. She’ll do great this year.” So, as I sat there for a moment and looked at these test "results", I realized that on each and every benchmark it stated Exceeds Grade Level. Um…quantitatively speaking, that seems a little more than “right on target” but I’ll humor her for a couple more of her stupid comments. Then I asked how she was doing when compared to the other kids in her class…yeah...her teacher admitted to me that she believed Katie Beth was,  no less than, 3 grade levels ahead of where the other kids where academically. 

So next we have a discussion about the gifted program. I asked about her eligibility for enrolling in that program. I was told that, as a new student, she would not be considered for the gifted program until she completed the full academic year. Stupid says what? Oh yes, you read that right…she would have to sit in that class, twiddling her thumbs, learning absolutely squat before they would even consider her for the gifted program.

Next up:  library access.  I asked why Katie Beth had never been to the library, never brought home a library book (not that it was really necessary, because she’s stocked up on books)?… I was told that 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders weren’t allowed to check out books from the library. Wha…What…WHAT? So, it’s not actually a library, but more like a museum that you aren't allowed to go into? Oh, and did I mention most of the kids in her class couldn’t even read yet? Yeah, so no wonder they can’t go to the library…because most of them can’t even frickin’ read! 

So, by this point I’m realizing that this was just a shiny little box…all wrapped up in a beautiful little package…but completely devoid of anything on the inside! Holy crap, what are we doing with her stuck here? I guess a good education is now based solely on the quality of the facilities and not the quality of the academics.

After less than 2 months in this joke of a school…and I mean that in all sincerity…we pulled her out of the public school and placed her into a very expensive private school, albeit a Christian one, that was just up from the house. We decided to overlook the incessant Christian indoctrination because of its high quality academics. While it was a great school academically, and incorporated the Core Knowledge Scope and Sequence, it was snooty and over-priced. Hardly surprising, as I have found most Christian schools to be riddled with snobbery. The moral equivalent of a hugely over-priced Acura that thinks it’s a Mercedes. 

Her teacher at this school was good. She was experienced, taught very well, and Katie Beth learned so much from her that year. It was the philosophical differences, abstracts, and overall approach that I had trouble understanding; i.e. reading as a competition, judging one by their age instead of their ability to learn. Want to turn a highly non-competitive child who reads incessantly into one that no longer wants to read at all? Encourage her to read by making her compete with other kids…the kid who reads the most books wins. 

So after she completed the year…We made the decision that the best educational choice for her was to homeschool. Is it a choice that I think everyone should consider? Yes. Is it a choice that I think everyone should make? No. There are some out there are just better off with the Village at the wheel!...only kidding! 

We have been homeschooling now for almost a year and a half. It has its ups and downs, and moments when I want to completely throw in the towel. I’m not great at every subject or topic. What I lack, I know where to find the person that can take up the slack; most of those occasions the computer is our best resource. Some days, I don’t want to do schoolwork. Other days, we realize that it’s 9:30pm and we forgot to do her schoolwork. We aren’t perfect, but we are learning. More importantly, SHE is learning. She has the opportunity to do the things that she is most interested; mainly theater, dance, and pottery. She spends no less than 20 hours each week at her “extra-curricular” activities (I dislike referring to them as extra-curricular because they truly are of equal importance). 

Homeschooling lends a ton of flexibility to a military family like ours. We don’t have typical school schedules holding us back, and it allows us to travel together when possible. And, during times like now when Steve is deployed, it allows us to visit family easier or go on vacation at our luxury…although these days her theater and performance schedule keeps us from being as flexible as we would really like. 

The best part of being able to homeschool? Well, there are a lot of “best parts,” but getting to be together, spending time together, learning together…that’s truly the best part! 

And she gets to be a part of many different, smaller villages…ones that she chooses to be a part of, not forced into…and not just one big Village where she’s just another kid.