It’s been eight years since my son entered the United States Naval Academy, endured Plebe Summer, and reconnected with us during Plebe Parents Weekend.
The past eight years have clouded many memories, but there are numerous aspects of that weekend that remain clear as day. As he was practically the last one out of Bancroft, I recall my heart rising to my throat as I saw him stride toward us with majestic Bancroft Hall as the backdrop. After he hugged his mom and sister (yes, even then I know Moms get the first – and last – hug), I embraced him and I could feel the emotional weight as he squeezed me a bit stronger than normal and sank his face into my shoulder. I couldn’t wait to hear more about the Plebe experience than we could gather through the all-too-brief phone calls and the sporadic notes. But wait I would because I let him take the lead on both the weekend’s itinerary and the topic of conversations.
Over those precious couple of days, I could practically feel the exhaustion emanating from every pore of his body. At no point during that weekend did we have an extended conversation delving into the details of the past six weeks, instead treasuring every anecdote he portioned out.
Now eight years later, I pulled into the driveway of a nondescript house late on a sultry Georgia morning. As I stepped out of the rental car, my sunglasses fogged up, obscuring my vision. I took them off and there he was, not in his pristine summer whites but instead in the clothes that would blend in, well, just about anywhere. We quietly took a few steps toward each other and embraced, his face quietly burying into my shoulder and his arms squeezing me more than firmly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he sighed.
He had just come off his third deployment aboard the USS Florida, one of our Navy’s guided missile submarines, and this one had tested both the crew and this particular parent. While much couldn’t be said before or during the deployment, much has now been made public and this East Coast submarine returned to home port after being at sea more than 700 days (with multiple crew swaps) and going from the Mediterranean to the South Pacific, then on to Kings Bay, Georgia (literally circling the globe). This last five-month stretch took some of Plebe Summer’s lessons and elevated them 1,000-fold.
During Plebe Summer, we had little knowledge of what our kids were up to. Every so often, you’d see a post announcing such-and-such company/platoon was on the O Course, but for the most part, you knew they were doing training and that’s about it. News about the Florida’s arrival in Guam became public and, well, that was about it. I knew he would leave for Guam, but that was pretty much all.
Mail during Plebe Summer was a source of anxiety. I would send numerous notes, cards and packages. Some never made it to him and those that did were often delayed by normal standards. I sent regular emails to his Florida Gold crew email address but for months they went unacknowledged and unanswered. When I received an email from the ship’s Ombudsman (God bless these women) saying there would be a physical mail call when the ship came back to Guam for a brief port call before returning to its mission, I happily put pen to paper (no time to print anything), authored a 7-page letter, and dropped it in the mail. He never received it.
I had a three-minute conversation with him during that port call then it would again be radio silence until I finally got an email saying, essentially, I’ll be home soon.
We plunked down on the overstuffed couch in his living room and he said what was obvious from his carriage – “This deployment crushed me, I’m exhausted.” His face carried a similar look to that one I saw on PPW.
I didn’t press him on the details, instead I listened to him talk in general terms about working 12-to-14-hour shifts, racking out for 4 hours then getting rousted out of bed for some question or another. Mostly, he wanted to talk about a return to something approaching normalcy. Nearing the end of his time with the Florida, he needed to sort through his shore duty slate and wanted to balance the things he needed to do (“the truck needs a new U bolt”) and those he wanted to do (“I’d like to see X before I leave”).
I let him take the lead for dinner and we ended up at, wouldn’t you know it, a submarine-theme place called the Horse & Cow Pub & Grill. Once seated, he casually pointed to this item and that item, provided some background then, unexpectedly and without prompting, connected it to an anecdote from his time on the Florida. I soaked in every story, occasionally asking a follow up which he would usually answer but not without a moment’s hesitation, likely to consider OPSEC.
One of the first things we did on PPW was, at our Plebe’s request, go to the mall on a specific mission – get sunglasses and a watch. On the second day of my visit, I arrived at his house and while he didn’t have a fully formed plan, he had a few errands to run … “and we have a clogged drain, so maybe we can pick up a plunger, too.” So we set about a rather mundane Saturday, picking up the needed plunger and a few other items (“you know the Bluetooth speaker I have isn’t really big enough for when I’m lifting weights” … “I lost some weight. I should probably get some shorts that fit”). All the while, we talked about things big and small, all at his discretion. His sister connected via video chat and though she was suffering from a cold and the restrictions imposed by a new superintendent at the Air Force Academy, we had a lively reunion.
He asked me to pick a restaurant for dinner, which thrilled me as there was a Spanish restaurant in nearby Fernandia Beach I had seen when I came down during his second deployment and I was dying to try it. He was exctied with the choice and we made our way there for a (very) early dinner. The waiter was superb and one by one our table filled with a variety of tapas. The only thing better than the delicious food was the company and conversation. We both fawned over the food – I love Spanish food and this was really good Spanish food – and just enjoyed a great meal in a cozy spot.
Afterward, we took a stroll toward the waterfront. We stopped at the marina, leaned against a railing, and watched the sun drizzle sparkles on the ripples that gently crossed the bay. The conversation slowly turned serious, though not somber, as we talked about leadership styles and paying it forward and servant leadership and life lessons he learned from his time as a junior officer aboard a forward-deployed submarine (“the tip of the spear”).
My final day there, without prompting, he called up a folder on his laptop, filled with photos of his three-deployment adventure. I recalled that when I interviewed Kristin Cronic for my book, she said something to the effect of “honestly, about 95% of it was pretty rough but oh that 5%.” After two days of some not-so-pretty stories, ones that would prompt most anyone to firmly shake the hand of any member of the military and say “thank you for your service” before turning away to say “I could never do that,” these photos were clearly the 5%.
Photos (and video) of him cannonballing off the Steel Beech, spectacular views from a castle in Scotland, the aurora borealis over the rugged mountains of Norway, hiking up a lush mountain to thermal pools in Guam, atop the mast while “driving” the boat into Souda Bay. Then there were moments aboard the boat – cake to celebrate the ship’s “birthday,” more photos I hadn’t yet seen of the admiral pinning on his dolphin pin, junior officers sharing a laugh in the wardroom. All the while, he spun stories about his escapades, usually preceded by a burst of laughter.
As we watched the US women’s volleyball team succumb to Italy, a torrential downpour began outside, and I looked at my watch. Somehow, it was time to go. When we said goodbye after PPW, it was rushed as he felt the pressure to be on time. Before that, we had seen his countenance shift dramatically to his game face, knowing what lie ahead. This time, he smiled a genuine smile, thanked me for coming, and we embraced … more than once. We talked about the various times we might see each other (and, hopefully), his sister over the next few months. There were no more deployments to prepare for, no more months-long stretches of OPSEC-imposed radio silence.
At the end of PPW 2016, I saw a tense and exhausted Plebe gritting his teeth upon return to USNA. On this trip, I left behind a confident and comfortable, if tired, Navy lieutenant, getting back into the groove of a nearly normal life. Both times, his father exhaled a sigh of relief.
Clearly, the USNA experience prepared us both pretty well, which is a great reminder to current parents to embrace your training.
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My Kid The Mid 