Dr. Mike Colson is an active
duty Command Chaplain at NAS
Whidbey Island in support of
CONVAQWING and Patrol Wing 10,
who are actively involved in
the War on Terrorism. With PhD's
in psychology and human services,
he is the Navy's guru on "self
care" and "getting a life."
As a chaplain he is an advocate,
and offers support for servicemembers'
mental and emotional well-being.
Chaplain Colson has been married
for 27 years, has two almost
grown sons, and lives on Camano
Island in Washington's Puget
Sound. He takes his own boat
to work every day, has an active
international crisis intervention
and public speaking schedule,
and is slated to return to Iraq
and Afghanistan in the very
near future. He describes himself
as a "Military Chaplain - with
strength of character, words
of encouragement, and a face
made for radio!" His third and
most recent book, "In Irons
- Sailing Into the Wind for
Life's Sake," is a collection
of humorous vignettes from the
world around us. Other books
include "Accelerating Your Own
Life" and 'The Paradox of Underachievement,"
available from mikecolson.com.
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December 9, 2004
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[Read Part 1 of 2]
So what does the serving military member in Afghanistan do on Thanksgiving Weekend when not subjugating the Taliban or sniffing out Osama Bin Dipwad? In short - one hell of a lot. No matter how you slice it and dice it, Thanksgiving or not, Afghan military transplants can be found asleep in rough-hewn “B-huts”, running to and from “sort of outdoor” latrines, standing in line for their turn at the hot water bull, or jostling for position in the chow line - and this is all before sunrise! Now that I have you leaning into their foxhole for a while, what do you think are the troops’ top 3 pastimes in this Afghan “Valhalla” nestled in the shadow of the Hindu Kush? If you guessed chess, running the 7-mile Bagram minefield-rimmed loop, and pushups - you’d be right. It’s a bizarre kind of existence for most because anything operationally in Afghanistan is more than likely done at night. What that means is that the initiated have to be clever in how they outline their daily “survival regimen” in a place as foreign as you could ever imagine, where even Zulu time forces one to carry the one, add 4, and hope that the guy next to you got better than 2 D’s in high school math!
Most of the chess players - and there are many - have an aggressive “offense is better than defense any day” strategy that by its very nature takes no prisoners. Some guys lose games in 6 moves and then rally to conquer another in 5. During this holiday they’ve got a chess tournament going with one or two guys the odds on favorite to take it all. One would-be champion is a Petty Officer 3rd Class from Ohio who only just lost the last tournament go-round to a Marine Private 1st Class from Atlanta, GA.
Chess is not a game for the unsuspecting, and ditto for running the perimeter. This dust-by-truck extravaganza is not a game for suckers because it’s a sucker’s game! Everyone starts out running the pitted and dusty old track to break the monotony of working out in a clamshell gym hut that reeks of offal and musky sweat, with just a touch of diesel fuel thrown in. The run begins with promise, takes on its own odd form as you pass the Russian MIG jet graveyard (where about 40 are piled high like cord wood with the ejection seats still armed), and ends with praise and thanksgiving that another challenge - amidst mine fields and the odd finger-waving Afghan - has been met.
For Marine forces, pushups are quite another thing! Only Devil Dogs could concoct a game that employs the simple drawing from a deck of cards, pushing out the number on the card (all face cards are worth 10), and thinking victory is in the doing thereof. But it does break up the midnight revelry of weapons cleaning, food comparison, and talk of family and friends form home. And it is a categorical hands-down improvement over watching movies - 100% of which are shoot ’em up hunt ’em down “B” movies from the 1980s and 90s, played ad nauseam while you wait your number to be called for access to (and no, I ain’t complaining) the world’s SLOWEST internet service connection. Seriously though, letters and donkey delivery appear faster when you get 15 minutes to scan email that takes 8 minutes to load! One lonely heart - clearly out of desperation -tried his luck logging onto a naughty site, only to nabbed by the MWR police as one butt cheek appeared - a Zebra’s buttocks on Wild.com.
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There’s an ebb and flow to Bagram life that’s hard to fully get your brain wrapped around. Take, for example, the Egyptian hospital that apportions 3½ days a week for men only, and 1½ days for all women and children. Or the Marine and Army patrols that roll in and out constantly, running the gauntlet between supervising humanitarian operations (wells, schools, medical visits) and RPGs, snipers, and full-blown ambushes. The Army is in charge at Bagram - and everyone is glad to let them keep thinking that - ’cause Big Army and the base Sergeant Major are master’s at making things happen - Hooah! Every once in a while you feel real good here, like the day I saw on one of my rounds a very small Afghan child - a kid no bigger than 2 basketballs - who’d just had a cast removed from his entire leg. He looked rough with little tumble, and had that vacant look I’ve seen on the faces of other children in other conflicts. But he was being held by a medical officer whose specialty that day was hugs.
And so these volunteers stand in the shadow of the Hindu Kush - in a world where 165 children in every 1000 born die before year one and earthquakes and water shortages limit life to an average 42.46 years. But there’s a sort of joy. I believe like most of those in Bagram that there is power in good government and a people willing to do hard things for intrinsically good reasons. Oh, it would be easier for everyone here to be haters and “gloom and doomers” - but then we’d look like everyone else. Where’s the Thanksgiving joy in that?
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© 2004 Michael Colson. All opinions expressed
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