En las verdes montañas de Lares,
y en lucha con la adversidad,
nuestros padres lanzaron el grito,
aquel primer grito de la libertad.
Nuestros padres soñaron un día
una patria feliz conquistar,
y murieron sin ver realizado
el ideal soñado de patria y libertad.
Brazo de oro que fue en Puerto Rico
la mas noble y valiente mujer,
Brazo de oro bordó la bandera
que los puertorriqueños
sabremos defender.
La blanca cruz en ella significa
ansia de patria y redención,
el rojo, la sangre vertida
por los héroes de la rebelión.
Y la estrella en la azul soledad,
LIBERTAD, LIBERTAD, LIBERTAD.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Monday, September 7, 2009
Racism in America: Who's to blame?
This is an email that I wrote to a friend of mine. My friend is a woman, a liberal and black. She's a very good woman. A Christian. A very good mother and extremely intelligent. But in regards to politics, we disagree almost completely. We have similar values but our approaches to solving them are different as are our experiences that have led us to our beliefs. This email is a result of one that she had sent to me where a "white" person was upset about racism in America. Im not racist at all but I am not blind to the fact that we "minorities" (blacks, hispanics, women, etc. etc.) are the cause and reason for alot of the stereotypes in America. Does racism exist? Yes. But alot of us arent helping the cause by walking around with our pants below our ass, saying "niggah" to our friends and causing crimes and being on drugs constantly. Enough of an introduction. As always, this is not politically correct. So if your feelings get hurt easily, you shouldnt read this and you should go check into reality as soon as possible.
With complete honesty, as everything else that I've ever said to you, I have to admit that I'm one of those that says that blacks AND hispanics need to stop "pulling out the race card" whenever we want. The unfortunate thing is that we don't pull it all of the time. ONLY when it benefits us.
Yes, there is still racism in our country. I can not deny that. But we "minorities", as a whole need to stop giving those that are racist more "ammo" for their arguments by no longer playing the stereotype that we have built for ourselves. I (personally) can't stand New YoRicans. I feel that they give US real Puerto Ricans a bad name. New YoRicans constantly play up the stereotype of being little thugs and "gangstas". REAL Puerto Ricans are actually one of the most courteous, respectful and hard working communities you will ever meet. Were very patriotic and proud of not only our Puerto Rican heritage but also our American compatriots. Unfortunately, most Americans don't know "real" Puerto Ricans. They only know those from New York. Those that wear the PR flag as a tshirt and parade in New York once a year but don't speak a lick of Spanish except for maybe "Abuelita". So those New YoRicans set a stereotype that gives the rest of us (the REAL Puerto Ricans) a bad name. It's no wonder why the majority of Puerto Ricans hate those that pose as us but know nothing about us.
The same goes for Cubans here in Miami. Cubans in Miami are some of the most stuck up people I've ever met in my life. Cubans from the island are some of the nicest people I've ever met. The "Cubans" here look down their nose at every other Hispanic group. Yet they do a hell of alot less for what they have. As soon as Cubans touch US soil they get all kinds of benefits. Homes, jobs, federal money. What about the Haitians, Dominicans and Mexicans? If were going to have equality, let's have it for all. Not just some. It's no wonder Cubans on the island and pretty much every Hispanic group can't stand the "Cubans" on the US.
And lastly, blacks in America. Personally, I refuse to refer to black people as African Americans. Blacks have about as much African in them as I do Polish. (My great grandfather was Polish). But I don't consider myself Polish Puerto Rican. I consider myself Puerto Rican-Dominican because I was born in Puerto Rico, so was my mom and my dad was born in the Dominican Republic. But alot of blacks (not all) play the same stereotypes that the responsible ones are trying to get away from. Baggy, Saggy pants that hang below the butt and expose boxer shorts. Walking down the street in jeans and a tank top. And uttering the word "niggah" constantly (which baffles me). It's no wonder blacks in other countries can't stand the ones here in the US.
Alot of the racism that exists in our country is because of the ignorance of a few. But alot of the bias in our country is because of the fault of our own. If we want it to stop, we need to stop pointing fingers at the "white" people and instead point out those in our own cultures. Blacks should correct blacks. Puerto Ricans should correct Puerto Ricans. So on and so forth.
Personally, I think that nowadays "whites" are the ones getting treated unequal. Someone that is completely qualified for a job (who is white) gets passed over and a job is given to a black, Hispanic or woman because of the color of their skin, their race or gender. I think that is BS. THAT, to me is wrong. If I was an employer, Id rather have the one that is most qualified and I will have the backbone to stand up to the Jesse Jackson's and the Al Sharpton's when they put on some parade for their own publicity.
By the way... I don't think it's "white" people making a big deal out of race anymore. I see it as it being the media and indeed ourselves. During the elections, at any given time, you would see polls showing 92% of blacks voting for Obama or 84% of women voting for Hillary. That to me shows the obvious. That people don't vote for who they think is the best qualified. Instead they vote for who THEY want to see in office. I hated to get into conversations with liberals and ask them why they voted for Obama. They always said the same thing.
We need "change"!!
But when I would ask them to define "change", they would stumble and drool over themselves because they couldn't answer a simple question.
My generation (the Nintendo generation) is the worst about that. They don't vote for who is the most qualified or who has SHOWN and PROVEN to work in the interest of the people. They vote for the guy that is "cool" and attractive. McCain's speeches (I'll admit) were terribly boring. But his record showed to be an honest one. He is the ONLY Senator to have NEVER requested for any earmarks for his state. Yet his constituents love him. What does that show? As far as Obama goes... I've got a binder full of his record and who he has worked with. I've got hundreds of reasons why I strongly believe that he is the worst our country could have chosen. But I would be here all night typing.
Hopefully, blacks, hispanics, women, EVERYBODY will stop crying "poor me, poor me". Hopefully everybody will stop making such a big deal over race, gender and religion. Hopefully everybody will look past sexy speeches, rolled up sleeves, loosened ties and architectured speeches and performances. Because if we don't, America's future will be a very sad one. I'm already worried about the America that my son will grow up in. If my generation is so simple, narrow minded and irresponsible in their daily actions, then God protect my son and his peers. Because my simple, narrow minded and irresponsible generation is the one raising them.
With complete honesty, as everything else that I've ever said to you, I have to admit that I'm one of those that says that blacks AND hispanics need to stop "pulling out the race card" whenever we want. The unfortunate thing is that we don't pull it all of the time. ONLY when it benefits us.
Yes, there is still racism in our country. I can not deny that. But we "minorities", as a whole need to stop giving those that are racist more "ammo" for their arguments by no longer playing the stereotype that we have built for ourselves. I (personally) can't stand New YoRicans. I feel that they give US real Puerto Ricans a bad name. New YoRicans constantly play up the stereotype of being little thugs and "gangstas". REAL Puerto Ricans are actually one of the most courteous, respectful and hard working communities you will ever meet. Were very patriotic and proud of not only our Puerto Rican heritage but also our American compatriots. Unfortunately, most Americans don't know "real" Puerto Ricans. They only know those from New York. Those that wear the PR flag as a tshirt and parade in New York once a year but don't speak a lick of Spanish except for maybe "Abuelita". So those New YoRicans set a stereotype that gives the rest of us (the REAL Puerto Ricans) a bad name. It's no wonder why the majority of Puerto Ricans hate those that pose as us but know nothing about us.
The same goes for Cubans here in Miami. Cubans in Miami are some of the most stuck up people I've ever met in my life. Cubans from the island are some of the nicest people I've ever met. The "Cubans" here look down their nose at every other Hispanic group. Yet they do a hell of alot less for what they have. As soon as Cubans touch US soil they get all kinds of benefits. Homes, jobs, federal money. What about the Haitians, Dominicans and Mexicans? If were going to have equality, let's have it for all. Not just some. It's no wonder Cubans on the island and pretty much every Hispanic group can't stand the "Cubans" on the US.
And lastly, blacks in America. Personally, I refuse to refer to black people as African Americans. Blacks have about as much African in them as I do Polish. (My great grandfather was Polish). But I don't consider myself Polish Puerto Rican. I consider myself Puerto Rican-Dominican because I was born in Puerto Rico, so was my mom and my dad was born in the Dominican Republic. But alot of blacks (not all) play the same stereotypes that the responsible ones are trying to get away from. Baggy, Saggy pants that hang below the butt and expose boxer shorts. Walking down the street in jeans and a tank top. And uttering the word "niggah" constantly (which baffles me). It's no wonder blacks in other countries can't stand the ones here in the US.
Alot of the racism that exists in our country is because of the ignorance of a few. But alot of the bias in our country is because of the fault of our own. If we want it to stop, we need to stop pointing fingers at the "white" people and instead point out those in our own cultures. Blacks should correct blacks. Puerto Ricans should correct Puerto Ricans. So on and so forth.
Personally, I think that nowadays "whites" are the ones getting treated unequal. Someone that is completely qualified for a job (who is white) gets passed over and a job is given to a black, Hispanic or woman because of the color of their skin, their race or gender. I think that is BS. THAT, to me is wrong. If I was an employer, Id rather have the one that is most qualified and I will have the backbone to stand up to the Jesse Jackson's and the Al Sharpton's when they put on some parade for their own publicity.
By the way... I don't think it's "white" people making a big deal out of race anymore. I see it as it being the media and indeed ourselves. During the elections, at any given time, you would see polls showing 92% of blacks voting for Obama or 84% of women voting for Hillary. That to me shows the obvious. That people don't vote for who they think is the best qualified. Instead they vote for who THEY want to see in office. I hated to get into conversations with liberals and ask them why they voted for Obama. They always said the same thing.
We need "change"!!
But when I would ask them to define "change", they would stumble and drool over themselves because they couldn't answer a simple question.
My generation (the Nintendo generation) is the worst about that. They don't vote for who is the most qualified or who has SHOWN and PROVEN to work in the interest of the people. They vote for the guy that is "cool" and attractive. McCain's speeches (I'll admit) were terribly boring. But his record showed to be an honest one. He is the ONLY Senator to have NEVER requested for any earmarks for his state. Yet his constituents love him. What does that show? As far as Obama goes... I've got a binder full of his record and who he has worked with. I've got hundreds of reasons why I strongly believe that he is the worst our country could have chosen. But I would be here all night typing.
Hopefully, blacks, hispanics, women, EVERYBODY will stop crying "poor me, poor me". Hopefully everybody will stop making such a big deal over race, gender and religion. Hopefully everybody will look past sexy speeches, rolled up sleeves, loosened ties and architectured speeches and performances. Because if we don't, America's future will be a very sad one. I'm already worried about the America that my son will grow up in. If my generation is so simple, narrow minded and irresponsible in their daily actions, then God protect my son and his peers. Because my simple, narrow minded and irresponsible generation is the one raising them.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Iraq: Should we be there?
There probably hasnt been a single day since March 2003, that any of us hasnt been able to turn on the TV and on some channel, be able to find someone protesting the war in Iraq. Certain names or words come to mind whenever I think of that.
Cindy Sheehan, 4000 servicemembers killed, WMD's, etc. etc.
Im sure most of you would think of the same and probably more. As Ive mentioned in previous blogs, there probably isnt a single person in this nation that doesnt know somebody or know OF somebody that currently serves or has served in the military. Chances are that that person served in Iraq and/or Afghanistan.
Iraq has become a very controversial subject when it comes to matters of politics. Most people, when they talk about it are completely convinced that we either should or should not be there, Depending on what your values are, what you've experienced in your life and how you see the world. Im probably one of the biggest advocates FOR free speech. I have been constantly reminded that my tongue will get me into trouble someday. I can tell you it already has. My tongue has been my greatest weakness. But it has also been my greatest strength.
I have no problem with voicing my opinion. I believe that "if you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything". The fact that I voice my opinion, specifically when I think something is f*cked up, kept me from being promoted to Staff Sergeant for a year while I was in the Army. But it DIDNT keep me from being one of the youngest Staff Sergeants in the 101st Airborne Division. I definitely moved up in rank very quickly during the time I was in the Army. I was a Sergeant at the age of 19 and a Staff Sergeant shortly after my 22nd birthday. (Remember I got held back for a year) When I was told by my platoon sergeant that he had decided not to send me to the "E-6 Board" because I needed to learn how to control what I said, it completely caught me off guard even though I should have expected it. Throughout the whole time I was in the Army, Ive had different levels of leadership tell me that my mouth was gonna come back and bite me in the ass. Sure enough it did. I didnt resent my platoon sergeant. Instead, my already high view of him only raised even more. Him and I were very good friends before he became my platoon sergeant and at work, we still maintained the professionalism needed to accomplish the mission. So when he told me that I would not be going before the board for promotion, I didnt take it personally. I decided that it was time for me to reflect on why I had this road block in front of me. Although Ive definitely learned to pick and choose my battles now, I still have that drive in me to stand up when things are going in the wrong direction. This time is no different. And THAT is why Im writing this blog.
I completely understand the pain that a parent,sibling, spouse or grandparent must feel when their loved one is lost in battle. It is a demoralizing feeling that the first human instinct is to find someone to blame. The problem with the war in Iraq is that for some people, the person (or persons) to blame may at times be unclear. Alot of people blame President Bush. Their defending argument is that we went in there for oil. That because the Bush family has a history in the petroleum business, it is a definite fact that they went in there to seek out the many oil reserves that Iraq contains. Although this argument sounds almost convincing, I believe that it is simply not true. President Bush may not have been as eloquent or as well spoken as President Obama, but he certainly is no fool. I had the honor to meet President Bush two years ago and I can tell you personally that he is intelligent as he is humorous. Another reason why Im convinced that the war in Iraq was not motivated by interests in oil is because with the constant exposure that the media provides, any possible hint of such a thing would have been exposed like the whole Monica Lewinsky thing. And that was because the media LIKED President Clinton. Imagine how they would been with President Bush, someone who they clearly could not stand.
Another "reason" that people usually come up with for our involvement in Iraq is WMD's. Well...That one I'll leave alone. I wholeheartedly believe that in time, people will see that Bush wasnt completely full of shit. Understand that a hell of a lot more happens over there than what the media will show and a hell of alot more happens over there that civilians back home wouldnt be able to understand or accept.
The point of this blog posting is to explain a different side to the war in Iraq. Currently, one of the biggest (if not THE biggest) debates going on in politics is the possibility of a nationalized healthcare program made available to everyone in the United States. President Obama (whom I have not hidden the fact that Im not his biggest fan) is running around from townhall meeting to townhall meeting, touting how we have a "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than we are. I COMPLETELY AGREE!!! But not at the expense of those that cannot afford it. Americans are generally a giving society. Although you wouldnt see this characteristic too often if you were to go to New York City. (Ironically one of the most liberal cities in the US and one of the biggest supporting communities for a nationalized healthcare program...Go Figure!!)
My point with the whole "moral obligation" thing is....If President Obama is so concerned about caring for those less fortunate than ourselves, then where was this compassion, better yet, where IS this compassion in regards to the Iraqi people? If anything, the Iraqis are FAR less fortunate than any American currently living within our borders. So if he is so concerned about the welfare of those less fortunate than ourselves, then why isnt he choosing to continue the fight in Iraq to bring Democracy there? Why isnt he choosing to stay there until "Mission Complete"? To stabilize the country. To finish bringing water to small towns that have never had running water. To establish security in a country that has been at war longer than most of us have been alive.
I will end this blog regarding our dilemma of whether or not we should stay in Iraq or not, with a few questions....
If the French wouldnt have intervened in the war between the American Colonies and the British, wouldnt we still be under British rule? Dont we have the same "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than ourselves in another country as we do for the people of our own country? Or does the term moral only apply to situations that benefit us politically?
If the North had chosen not to intervene in the cessation of the South from the American Union, wouldnt blacks still be considered slaves?
I believe that the decision for the United States to intervene in Iraq to get rid of Saddam Hussein, was a correct decision. I spent two years over there and would spend another two if my presence there ensured that the Iraqi people could look forward to the same peace and security that we Americans so easily take for granted.
Cindy Sheehan, 4000 servicemembers killed, WMD's, etc. etc.
Im sure most of you would think of the same and probably more. As Ive mentioned in previous blogs, there probably isnt a single person in this nation that doesnt know somebody or know OF somebody that currently serves or has served in the military. Chances are that that person served in Iraq and/or Afghanistan.
Iraq has become a very controversial subject when it comes to matters of politics. Most people, when they talk about it are completely convinced that we either should or should not be there, Depending on what your values are, what you've experienced in your life and how you see the world. Im probably one of the biggest advocates FOR free speech. I have been constantly reminded that my tongue will get me into trouble someday. I can tell you it already has. My tongue has been my greatest weakness. But it has also been my greatest strength.
I have no problem with voicing my opinion. I believe that "if you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything". The fact that I voice my opinion, specifically when I think something is f*cked up, kept me from being promoted to Staff Sergeant for a year while I was in the Army. But it DIDNT keep me from being one of the youngest Staff Sergeants in the 101st Airborne Division. I definitely moved up in rank very quickly during the time I was in the Army. I was a Sergeant at the age of 19 and a Staff Sergeant shortly after my 22nd birthday. (Remember I got held back for a year) When I was told by my platoon sergeant that he had decided not to send me to the "E-6 Board" because I needed to learn how to control what I said, it completely caught me off guard even though I should have expected it. Throughout the whole time I was in the Army, Ive had different levels of leadership tell me that my mouth was gonna come back and bite me in the ass. Sure enough it did. I didnt resent my platoon sergeant. Instead, my already high view of him only raised even more. Him and I were very good friends before he became my platoon sergeant and at work, we still maintained the professionalism needed to accomplish the mission. So when he told me that I would not be going before the board for promotion, I didnt take it personally. I decided that it was time for me to reflect on why I had this road block in front of me. Although Ive definitely learned to pick and choose my battles now, I still have that drive in me to stand up when things are going in the wrong direction. This time is no different. And THAT is why Im writing this blog.
I completely understand the pain that a parent,sibling, spouse or grandparent must feel when their loved one is lost in battle. It is a demoralizing feeling that the first human instinct is to find someone to blame. The problem with the war in Iraq is that for some people, the person (or persons) to blame may at times be unclear. Alot of people blame President Bush. Their defending argument is that we went in there for oil. That because the Bush family has a history in the petroleum business, it is a definite fact that they went in there to seek out the many oil reserves that Iraq contains. Although this argument sounds almost convincing, I believe that it is simply not true. President Bush may not have been as eloquent or as well spoken as President Obama, but he certainly is no fool. I had the honor to meet President Bush two years ago and I can tell you personally that he is intelligent as he is humorous. Another reason why Im convinced that the war in Iraq was not motivated by interests in oil is because with the constant exposure that the media provides, any possible hint of such a thing would have been exposed like the whole Monica Lewinsky thing. And that was because the media LIKED President Clinton. Imagine how they would been with President Bush, someone who they clearly could not stand.
Another "reason" that people usually come up with for our involvement in Iraq is WMD's. Well...That one I'll leave alone. I wholeheartedly believe that in time, people will see that Bush wasnt completely full of shit. Understand that a hell of a lot more happens over there than what the media will show and a hell of alot more happens over there that civilians back home wouldnt be able to understand or accept.
The point of this blog posting is to explain a different side to the war in Iraq. Currently, one of the biggest (if not THE biggest) debates going on in politics is the possibility of a nationalized healthcare program made available to everyone in the United States. President Obama (whom I have not hidden the fact that Im not his biggest fan) is running around from townhall meeting to townhall meeting, touting how we have a "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than we are. I COMPLETELY AGREE!!! But not at the expense of those that cannot afford it. Americans are generally a giving society. Although you wouldnt see this characteristic too often if you were to go to New York City. (Ironically one of the most liberal cities in the US and one of the biggest supporting communities for a nationalized healthcare program...Go Figure!!)
My point with the whole "moral obligation" thing is....If President Obama is so concerned about caring for those less fortunate than ourselves, then where was this compassion, better yet, where IS this compassion in regards to the Iraqi people? If anything, the Iraqis are FAR less fortunate than any American currently living within our borders. So if he is so concerned about the welfare of those less fortunate than ourselves, then why isnt he choosing to continue the fight in Iraq to bring Democracy there? Why isnt he choosing to stay there until "Mission Complete"? To stabilize the country. To finish bringing water to small towns that have never had running water. To establish security in a country that has been at war longer than most of us have been alive.
I will end this blog regarding our dilemma of whether or not we should stay in Iraq or not, with a few questions....
If the French wouldnt have intervened in the war between the American Colonies and the British, wouldnt we still be under British rule? Dont we have the same "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than ourselves in another country as we do for the people of our own country? Or does the term moral only apply to situations that benefit us politically?
If the North had chosen not to intervene in the cessation of the South from the American Union, wouldnt blacks still be considered slaves?
I believe that the decision for the United States to intervene in Iraq to get rid of Saddam Hussein, was a correct decision. I spent two years over there and would spend another two if my presence there ensured that the Iraqi people could look forward to the same peace and security that we Americans so easily take for granted.
Monday, July 13, 2009
July 13th: A Rebirth
Exactly three years ago today, I was reborn. But a part of me died. A BIG part!
Three years ago today, I was on a night mission with my team from 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 1st Squadron, 32nd RSTA (Reconnaissance, Surveillance and Target Acquisition) or C.Co, 1/32 RSTA. This was my second deployment to Iraq and we had already been in country for 11 months. As a matter of fact, we were only 3 weeks away from coming back home. So in reality, we were counting down the days till we got on the "freedom bird" to return back home to our loved ones. Our bags were already packed and we were doing the last few missions in our sector while we awaited the official orders stating that we were going home.
It was late in the night and I had just dropped off two of my surveillance teams at different locations and we were driving around basically to ensure that the area was safe. It sure seemed like it was. Iraqis for the most part drop everything they're doing once the sun goes down and head into their houses. The day is over for them. But for us, days and nights merge. We don't work 9 to 5 jobs. Not when were back stateside and certainly not when were deployed. At least this is true for Infantry units.
When we're in the States, our day "officially" starts at 0630hrs. I say officially because for the NCO's and Officers, were usually there about an hour early just getting stuff prepared for whatever it is that we will be doing that day. The day ends...well...Whenever were done! Sometimes at 1600hrs. Sometimes at 1800hrs. Sometimes at 2100hrs. Whenever the day's tasks are accomplished. The rest of the Army has the luxury of closing up at 1600hrs. Although by 1530hrs, the POGs are usually nowhere to be found. (POGs is the term we Infantry use to refer to those that are not us. It officially stands for "Personnel Other than Grunt" and can easily be characterized as those that sit behind a desk or are so fat that their uniform barely fits. For those of you in the Army that are curious if you fall under that "POG" status, if your MOS is not part of the 11 series (i.e. 11B, 11C, 11A), then you are a POG. The exception to the rule are those of the 18 series MOS. (Special Forces))
Back to the story:
In Iraq though, are schedule is not as "comfortable" as that of when were back in the States. POGs still get their cute little schedule. On occasion, they might have to pull a night shift of guard but for the most part after 1700hrs, you will find the POGs in either their PT uniforms or (I couldn't believe it when I saw it) civilian clothes. We (the Infantry) still kept to our missions and didn't have the 9 to 5 schedule. Our missions were day AND night, regardless of how hot it was or how much sleep we did or did not get. If something was going on outside "the wire" you better believe that you were going out.
On July 13, 2006, it was no different. I was just getting ready to radio my trail vehicle to let them know to start turning around when all of a sudden, WHOOOMF!! The loudest, most God awful sound came from under my vehicle. My vehicle had just rolled over an IED (Improvised Explosive Device or "bomb" in lamens terms).
I remember looking through the night vision device in my Bradley and seeing the same thing we do every other night. Nothing...We were scheduled to pick up the teams we had just dropped off later on in the night (before sun up), and as I picked up the hand mic to radio my trail vehicle, I dropped my pencil, which I kept on me for notes, from my lap. As I reached down to get it, I saw the bottom of the floor open up and a flash of orange, yellow and green surrounded the cabin of the Bradley. Not to mention an immense amount of heat. I felt the Bradley shake and immediately heard the sound that will forever stay in my memories. The sound of an explosion literally just a few feet beneath me and the sound of flames cracking all around me. I felt the fire cooking the skin off of my face and I immediately tried to put it out with my hands. It was no use. The explosion had ruptured the fuel cell of my vehicle and covered my gunner (Tommy) and I in diesel fuel. So whatever (if any) flames I was putting out on my face, were immediately re-ignited due to our fuel drenched uniforms. I remember trying to scream but the oxygen in the small turret had been burned up so quickly that neither of us were able to breath. I tried to inhale air but all that went down my throat were the flames of the fire all around me. I could feel it burning my throat and tongue. My gunner and I immediately climbed out of the turret and that was the last I saw of him.
I remember getting out of the turret faster than I had ever been able to do so before. The opening of the turret is so small that an average sized human would have trouble climbing in and out. We had body armor and magazines strapped to our chests, so the task is even harder to accomplish. But I did nonetheless. I remember running down the sloped front hatch of the Bradley and jumping onto the ground to try to roll around and put out the flames. The Bradley, since it was still moving from the convoy, stopped just inches from my body as I was rolling around. A hard and painful lesson to learn is the fact that pavement doesn't put out fire very well, regardless of how much you roll around. Especially if your uniform is doused in diesel fuel. I got up and ran to the north side of the road, where there was (maybe) a quarter inch of sand that would hopefully do better at putting out the fire than the pavement did. It didn't.
On the south side of the road, there was a small creek that paralleled the road all the way down. But 3 weeks prior an almost identical incident happened to another one of my teams. They had also been travelling down the road on a similar mission when their vehicle rolled over an IED. One of the crew members of the vehicle that had been hit, ran into the creek and immediately put out the flames that covered his body. What almost killed him wasn't the burns that he sustained but instead the infections that took over his body. The water in Iraq is so incredibly filthy that you will never find any fish swimming around in any of those creeks.
During all of the chaos that was going on, I somehow managed to remember that. So despite the fact that I was literally watching myself burn to death, I refused to jump into the water. So that in the chance that I might live, I wouldn't die from infectious water seeping into my body.
After rolling around in the sand, not much of the fire was going out. My uniform had been completely burned off and I was now naked on the side of the road with the only items left on my body were my boots, my pistol (which I kept in a leg holster), my gloves and my bullet proof vest. Everything else was gone. There was still some fire left on my boots and I tried to kick them to put it out. It helped a little but small flames kept popping back up. I figured that there was nothing else I could do in regards to the fire.
I immediately jumped to my feet and ran to the rear of my vehicle to tell my Assistant Team Leader (Gary) to call for a MEDEVAC (Medical Evacuation). As I was pointing towards him, I saw that his head was popped out of the vehicle and that he was already doing that. In the midst of all of that commotion, I felt very proud (and thankful) to have had him as my assistant. That short lived sense of ease quickly disappeared when, as I was pointing towards him, I saw that the skin from my forearm was hanging from my arm in a half moon shape (literally hanging). I didn't dwell on that for too long because I remember running back towards the fron of my vehicle and I saw my driver (Sigsbee) on his back with flames on his chest. He had successfully gotten out of the vehicle but his chest plate had caught fire and was now trying to keep his face away from the flames. I ran over to him and dropped to my knees and started to pat the flames away. My gloves, which until this point had miraculously not caught fire, immediately went up in flames. They lit up so fast and so much that all I did was shake them off and they fell to the ground next to me. I continued to pat out Sigsbees chest until the fire went out completely.
Seeing that he was good to go, I started to run back around to the rear of the vehicle. Unfortunately, my body had enough. My legs gave out from under me and I could no longer get up. Upon realizing that I was no longer useful to my team in regards to evacuating wounded, I did the only thing I could (or at least would have tried to) do. I kept security.
When the explosion happened and I jumped out of the vehicle, I had forgotten to grab my rifle. Now this seems like a pretty careless thing to do but in the midst of all of that, I was more worried about putting out the fire than I was about having accountability of my equipment. Due to that, my rifle was no burning up inside of my Bradley. Probably a black spot of burning metal amongst the rest of the now melting Bradley. The only thing I had on me that could now provide some sort of security was my 9mm pistol which was in the leg holster. I tried to grab it but my fingers had been so badly burnt that I couldn't unsnap the button that kept it in its place. I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time. I took the safety off and used my right leg as an aiming device. The theory that I had in mind was that if someone were to take the opportunity to ambush us, I would basically point my leg at them and shoot. This probably wouldn't have worked out the way I had reasoned but it was the only option I felt I had at the moment.
As I was laying there on the side of the road, Gary's gunner (Wortman) ran up to me and asked me if I was ok.
Wortman is one of those few soldiers nowadays that will do whatever is asked of them and will never complain, mutter or even make a face. A former Marine, he had come to me only a few weeks before but I really didn't have to teach him anything. He was already familiar with Infantry tactics and the only thing I had to do is to get him familiar with our unit's SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures). Seeing him come up to me put me at ease.
I told him I was fine but that he needed to get accountability of the team and to let Gary know that he was now in charge. He ran off to do just that.
A few seconds later, my medic (Garcia), (whom we had just received as a replacement after our old medic was injured in the previous incident 3 weeks before), walked up next to me. (This next part, I will omit from this blog. The only thing I will say is that if I ever see Garcia again in my life, I will slam his body against a wall and he will see a side of me that no one has ever seen before)
Wortman came back to me, this time with a fire blanket and covered me with it. My body, since it was completely without skin, was now exposed and whatever gel it is that was on that blanket, immediately stung me. That was the first pain I felt during this whole incident. I told him, "get that fucking blanket off of me. That shit fucking burns". He took it off.
I asked him if he was able to get accountability of everyone. He mentioned that he found everyone except for Tommy.
I told him that he needs to go find Tommy and to not come back until he had accountability of EVERYONE, including Tommy.
Wortman wanted to stay there with me and make sure I stayed awake but I told him Id be fine and that he needed to make sure that everyone was found and taken care of.
He didn't want to leave me there by myself but he did as he was told and ran off.
A few minutes later, Wortman came back to me and told me that Tommy had been found. Gary's driver, Henry (Probably the most motivated soldier Ive ever met) had jumped out of Gary's vehicle and found Tommy inside the creek on the south side of the road. (The same one I mentioned earlier) Tommy, having been badly burnt himself, had successfully extinguished the flames but did not have the strength to pull himself out of the water and almost drowned. Tommy was big man. He was about 6'2-6'4" and weighed about 220-230lbs. Henry was about 5'7"-5'8" and weighed about 140lbs (soaked and wet). Little Henry wouldn't have been able to pull out Tommy from the creek by himself and Wortman was able to help him pull Tommy out.
I felt better now that I knew that all my guys were accounted for.
Shortly after, I started to hear the sound of the MEDEVAC helicopters approaching. It probably took them only a few minutes to land after I first heard the sound of the helicopter blades, but it felt like an eternity. I remember thinking to myself, "just land already".
The MEDEVAC crew was truly outstanding. They not only loaded up my guys but the helped my team maintain security throughout the whole process. When the flight medic approached me, I told him that I wanted to be the last to be loaded up on the bird. (Bird is the term we use to refer to helicopters or airplanes) He said ok.
When it was my turn to load me up on the helicopter, Wortman and the flight medic came to me with a stretcher. The medic tried to cut away my body armor but because of the intense heat of the fire, the body armor had melted to my chest and he could not get it off. Instead they tried to lift me onto the stretcher and I immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain around my crotch and my ass. In the midst of me rolling to face the north side of the road to maintain security, I had rolled onto a strand of barbed wire and it was now tangled around my lower body. It ran down my crotch and up my ass and God knows where else. The flight medic pulled out his Multi-tool and attempted to cut it but the barbed wire was too thick. He tried pulling it but that just made it tighten around my lower body even more. I don't know how they eventually got it off but they soon had me loaded up in the helicopter.
Once in the MEDEVAC, I tried to yell out to my guys but only Sigsbee answered. He said he was ok.
I asked the flight medic where my other two guys were and he said that they were in the other bird and that they were ok.
This next part is kind of funny given the current circumstances...
Once I saw that we were in the air and safe from anything on the ground, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed my dick and my balls. Everything was still there. Whew!!
While still in flight, I started to feel the first signs of actual pain from within my body. Due to the burns, my body had started to swell immensely and since my boots were still on, they were starting to cut off circulation to my feet. This was extremely painful and I yelled to the medic to cut them off. He first tried to untie them but since my feet were so swollen, he couldn't grab the laces which I always kept tucked inside the boots. He ended up cutting the laces off and was able to loosen the boots enough to bring me some relief.
But at this point, my body started to really hurt. The whip of the wind was now affecting my mostly skinless body and I felt every bit of it. I remember trying to keep myself from screaming in pain but the medic noticed my apparent distress. He asked me what was wrong and through tears in my eyes, I told him that I was hurting. He asked me where and I said, "everywhere". He immediately started to inject me with morphine. I remember him injecting me with dose after dose of morphine and it felt like none of it would do any good.
At this point, I looked out into the night sky and saw every star that was out that night. Ive never been a religious person in my life and felt guilty if I ever prayed because Ive never liked asking for anything. But I realized the seriousness of my condition and on that night, I made my first and till this day, only true and honest prayer Ive ever made in my life. I asked God that regardless of what happened to me that night. Whether I live or died, I asked that little Victor be taken care of. That he would grow up to be a responsible man and that he knew that his "Papi" always loved him. I then started to ask that all of my soldiers, their families, my family and friends be taken care of. I named them one by one. Making sure that each one was covered. I felt guilty if I had mentioned one and not another. At some point in my prayer, I passed out.
I woke up in Balad, Iraq at the Field Hospital they had set up for receiving the wounded. All I remember is waking up screaming asking for Tommy. I passed out again
I woke up again in Germany and remember a nurse cutting the rim of my glasses right in the middle. Once they were cut, she pulled my glasses from my face and I remember hearing my skin peel off with the glasses. I passed out again.
I woke up a few days later at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. I came to learn that I had actually died 4 times but was revived each time. (Lucky me)
Not so lucky, was Sgt. Tommy Turner.
Tommy had made it through Balad but died the second we landed in Landsthul, Germany, from heart complications. I didn't find out of this until a few months later. Everyone had kept the news from me for a long time because they were afraid that the news would put me into such a deep depression that I could have died from knowing. They were probably right. Everyday and every person that came into my room, I would ask them to find out about Tommy. I gave them his full name, his wife's name and his phone number which I still had memorized. Everyone promised to get back with me as soon as they would find something out but either, Id never see that person again or they would come back with "were still trying to locate him". That frustrated the hell out of me because I knew that if he was there, he would be accounted for. I had it set in my mind that they had just forgotten to actually look for him. Never did it enter into my head that he had actually not made it.
On a visit from my Company Commander, First Sergeant, Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major, I asked them about Tommy. My First Sergeant spoke up. He said, "Sergeant Dominguez...Sgt. Turner didn't make it. He died when you guys landed in Germany".
I felt like if my heart and throat were pulled out of my body. I couldn't speak and I couldn't breathe. The only thing I could do was look away and cry. I spoke to no one for weeks.
***This was my story of the events that took place on July 13, 2006. Exactly three years ago today. All of these events happened exactly as Ive written them and I haven't changed anything in order to make it seem less or more than it really was. This event, brief as it was in time, has changed the rest of my life completely. I had planned to make the Army a career way before I had even enlisted but now find myself out of the Army due to my injuries. I still keep in touch with my soldiers, some of whom have decided to get out of the Army as well, others who are still in but have moved on to other units. I hope you have enjoyed (maybe that's not the right word to describe it) what Ive written here and it gives you a better idea of some of the things that happen in combat. Some people have asked me, if I had the opportunity to change the way things worked out, would I? If you'd like to know my answer, by all means, leave me a comment. I will answer you the way Ive answered everyone else.
I will write more of the events that have taken place since this incident, in the future. But it is now late and I need to get to bed. Life goes on and Ive got to get to work very early in the morning. I will be posting a link soon to a story that was done on me in the Miami Herald last year based on these events. Please check back sometime to see when I post it. It was a very good story and Im sure you'll enjoy it.
Take care.
Ranger Vic
"Rangers Lead The Way"
Three years ago today, I was on a night mission with my team from 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 1st Squadron, 32nd RSTA (Reconnaissance, Surveillance and Target Acquisition) or C.Co, 1/32 RSTA. This was my second deployment to Iraq and we had already been in country for 11 months. As a matter of fact, we were only 3 weeks away from coming back home. So in reality, we were counting down the days till we got on the "freedom bird" to return back home to our loved ones. Our bags were already packed and we were doing the last few missions in our sector while we awaited the official orders stating that we were going home.
It was late in the night and I had just dropped off two of my surveillance teams at different locations and we were driving around basically to ensure that the area was safe. It sure seemed like it was. Iraqis for the most part drop everything they're doing once the sun goes down and head into their houses. The day is over for them. But for us, days and nights merge. We don't work 9 to 5 jobs. Not when were back stateside and certainly not when were deployed. At least this is true for Infantry units.
When we're in the States, our day "officially" starts at 0630hrs. I say officially because for the NCO's and Officers, were usually there about an hour early just getting stuff prepared for whatever it is that we will be doing that day. The day ends...well...Whenever were done! Sometimes at 1600hrs. Sometimes at 1800hrs. Sometimes at 2100hrs. Whenever the day's tasks are accomplished. The rest of the Army has the luxury of closing up at 1600hrs. Although by 1530hrs, the POGs are usually nowhere to be found. (POGs is the term we Infantry use to refer to those that are not us. It officially stands for "Personnel Other than Grunt" and can easily be characterized as those that sit behind a desk or are so fat that their uniform barely fits. For those of you in the Army that are curious if you fall under that "POG" status, if your MOS is not part of the 11 series (i.e. 11B, 11C, 11A), then you are a POG. The exception to the rule are those of the 18 series MOS. (Special Forces))
Back to the story:
In Iraq though, are schedule is not as "comfortable" as that of when were back in the States. POGs still get their cute little schedule. On occasion, they might have to pull a night shift of guard but for the most part after 1700hrs, you will find the POGs in either their PT uniforms or (I couldn't believe it when I saw it) civilian clothes. We (the Infantry) still kept to our missions and didn't have the 9 to 5 schedule. Our missions were day AND night, regardless of how hot it was or how much sleep we did or did not get. If something was going on outside "the wire" you better believe that you were going out.
On July 13, 2006, it was no different. I was just getting ready to radio my trail vehicle to let them know to start turning around when all of a sudden, WHOOOMF!! The loudest, most God awful sound came from under my vehicle. My vehicle had just rolled over an IED (Improvised Explosive Device or "bomb" in lamens terms).
I remember looking through the night vision device in my Bradley and seeing the same thing we do every other night. Nothing...We were scheduled to pick up the teams we had just dropped off later on in the night (before sun up), and as I picked up the hand mic to radio my trail vehicle, I dropped my pencil, which I kept on me for notes, from my lap. As I reached down to get it, I saw the bottom of the floor open up and a flash of orange, yellow and green surrounded the cabin of the Bradley. Not to mention an immense amount of heat. I felt the Bradley shake and immediately heard the sound that will forever stay in my memories. The sound of an explosion literally just a few feet beneath me and the sound of flames cracking all around me. I felt the fire cooking the skin off of my face and I immediately tried to put it out with my hands. It was no use. The explosion had ruptured the fuel cell of my vehicle and covered my gunner (Tommy) and I in diesel fuel. So whatever (if any) flames I was putting out on my face, were immediately re-ignited due to our fuel drenched uniforms. I remember trying to scream but the oxygen in the small turret had been burned up so quickly that neither of us were able to breath. I tried to inhale air but all that went down my throat were the flames of the fire all around me. I could feel it burning my throat and tongue. My gunner and I immediately climbed out of the turret and that was the last I saw of him.
I remember getting out of the turret faster than I had ever been able to do so before. The opening of the turret is so small that an average sized human would have trouble climbing in and out. We had body armor and magazines strapped to our chests, so the task is even harder to accomplish. But I did nonetheless. I remember running down the sloped front hatch of the Bradley and jumping onto the ground to try to roll around and put out the flames. The Bradley, since it was still moving from the convoy, stopped just inches from my body as I was rolling around. A hard and painful lesson to learn is the fact that pavement doesn't put out fire very well, regardless of how much you roll around. Especially if your uniform is doused in diesel fuel. I got up and ran to the north side of the road, where there was (maybe) a quarter inch of sand that would hopefully do better at putting out the fire than the pavement did. It didn't.
On the south side of the road, there was a small creek that paralleled the road all the way down. But 3 weeks prior an almost identical incident happened to another one of my teams. They had also been travelling down the road on a similar mission when their vehicle rolled over an IED. One of the crew members of the vehicle that had been hit, ran into the creek and immediately put out the flames that covered his body. What almost killed him wasn't the burns that he sustained but instead the infections that took over his body. The water in Iraq is so incredibly filthy that you will never find any fish swimming around in any of those creeks.
During all of the chaos that was going on, I somehow managed to remember that. So despite the fact that I was literally watching myself burn to death, I refused to jump into the water. So that in the chance that I might live, I wouldn't die from infectious water seeping into my body.
After rolling around in the sand, not much of the fire was going out. My uniform had been completely burned off and I was now naked on the side of the road with the only items left on my body were my boots, my pistol (which I kept in a leg holster), my gloves and my bullet proof vest. Everything else was gone. There was still some fire left on my boots and I tried to kick them to put it out. It helped a little but small flames kept popping back up. I figured that there was nothing else I could do in regards to the fire.
I immediately jumped to my feet and ran to the rear of my vehicle to tell my Assistant Team Leader (Gary) to call for a MEDEVAC (Medical Evacuation). As I was pointing towards him, I saw that his head was popped out of the vehicle and that he was already doing that. In the midst of all of that commotion, I felt very proud (and thankful) to have had him as my assistant. That short lived sense of ease quickly disappeared when, as I was pointing towards him, I saw that the skin from my forearm was hanging from my arm in a half moon shape (literally hanging). I didn't dwell on that for too long because I remember running back towards the fron of my vehicle and I saw my driver (Sigsbee) on his back with flames on his chest. He had successfully gotten out of the vehicle but his chest plate had caught fire and was now trying to keep his face away from the flames. I ran over to him and dropped to my knees and started to pat the flames away. My gloves, which until this point had miraculously not caught fire, immediately went up in flames. They lit up so fast and so much that all I did was shake them off and they fell to the ground next to me. I continued to pat out Sigsbees chest until the fire went out completely.
Seeing that he was good to go, I started to run back around to the rear of the vehicle. Unfortunately, my body had enough. My legs gave out from under me and I could no longer get up. Upon realizing that I was no longer useful to my team in regards to evacuating wounded, I did the only thing I could (or at least would have tried to) do. I kept security.
When the explosion happened and I jumped out of the vehicle, I had forgotten to grab my rifle. Now this seems like a pretty careless thing to do but in the midst of all of that, I was more worried about putting out the fire than I was about having accountability of my equipment. Due to that, my rifle was no burning up inside of my Bradley. Probably a black spot of burning metal amongst the rest of the now melting Bradley. The only thing I had on me that could now provide some sort of security was my 9mm pistol which was in the leg holster. I tried to grab it but my fingers had been so badly burnt that I couldn't unsnap the button that kept it in its place. I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time. I took the safety off and used my right leg as an aiming device. The theory that I had in mind was that if someone were to take the opportunity to ambush us, I would basically point my leg at them and shoot. This probably wouldn't have worked out the way I had reasoned but it was the only option I felt I had at the moment.
As I was laying there on the side of the road, Gary's gunner (Wortman) ran up to me and asked me if I was ok.
Wortman is one of those few soldiers nowadays that will do whatever is asked of them and will never complain, mutter or even make a face. A former Marine, he had come to me only a few weeks before but I really didn't have to teach him anything. He was already familiar with Infantry tactics and the only thing I had to do is to get him familiar with our unit's SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures). Seeing him come up to me put me at ease.
I told him I was fine but that he needed to get accountability of the team and to let Gary know that he was now in charge. He ran off to do just that.
A few seconds later, my medic (Garcia), (whom we had just received as a replacement after our old medic was injured in the previous incident 3 weeks before), walked up next to me. (This next part, I will omit from this blog. The only thing I will say is that if I ever see Garcia again in my life, I will slam his body against a wall and he will see a side of me that no one has ever seen before)
Wortman came back to me, this time with a fire blanket and covered me with it. My body, since it was completely without skin, was now exposed and whatever gel it is that was on that blanket, immediately stung me. That was the first pain I felt during this whole incident. I told him, "get that fucking blanket off of me. That shit fucking burns". He took it off.
I asked him if he was able to get accountability of everyone. He mentioned that he found everyone except for Tommy.
I told him that he needs to go find Tommy and to not come back until he had accountability of EVERYONE, including Tommy.
Wortman wanted to stay there with me and make sure I stayed awake but I told him Id be fine and that he needed to make sure that everyone was found and taken care of.
He didn't want to leave me there by myself but he did as he was told and ran off.
A few minutes later, Wortman came back to me and told me that Tommy had been found. Gary's driver, Henry (Probably the most motivated soldier Ive ever met) had jumped out of Gary's vehicle and found Tommy inside the creek on the south side of the road. (The same one I mentioned earlier) Tommy, having been badly burnt himself, had successfully extinguished the flames but did not have the strength to pull himself out of the water and almost drowned. Tommy was big man. He was about 6'2-6'4" and weighed about 220-230lbs. Henry was about 5'7"-5'8" and weighed about 140lbs (soaked and wet). Little Henry wouldn't have been able to pull out Tommy from the creek by himself and Wortman was able to help him pull Tommy out.
I felt better now that I knew that all my guys were accounted for.
Shortly after, I started to hear the sound of the MEDEVAC helicopters approaching. It probably took them only a few minutes to land after I first heard the sound of the helicopter blades, but it felt like an eternity. I remember thinking to myself, "just land already".
The MEDEVAC crew was truly outstanding. They not only loaded up my guys but the helped my team maintain security throughout the whole process. When the flight medic approached me, I told him that I wanted to be the last to be loaded up on the bird. (Bird is the term we use to refer to helicopters or airplanes) He said ok.
When it was my turn to load me up on the helicopter, Wortman and the flight medic came to me with a stretcher. The medic tried to cut away my body armor but because of the intense heat of the fire, the body armor had melted to my chest and he could not get it off. Instead they tried to lift me onto the stretcher and I immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain around my crotch and my ass. In the midst of me rolling to face the north side of the road to maintain security, I had rolled onto a strand of barbed wire and it was now tangled around my lower body. It ran down my crotch and up my ass and God knows where else. The flight medic pulled out his Multi-tool and attempted to cut it but the barbed wire was too thick. He tried pulling it but that just made it tighten around my lower body even more. I don't know how they eventually got it off but they soon had me loaded up in the helicopter.
Once in the MEDEVAC, I tried to yell out to my guys but only Sigsbee answered. He said he was ok.
I asked the flight medic where my other two guys were and he said that they were in the other bird and that they were ok.
This next part is kind of funny given the current circumstances...
Once I saw that we were in the air and safe from anything on the ground, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed my dick and my balls. Everything was still there. Whew!!
While still in flight, I started to feel the first signs of actual pain from within my body. Due to the burns, my body had started to swell immensely and since my boots were still on, they were starting to cut off circulation to my feet. This was extremely painful and I yelled to the medic to cut them off. He first tried to untie them but since my feet were so swollen, he couldn't grab the laces which I always kept tucked inside the boots. He ended up cutting the laces off and was able to loosen the boots enough to bring me some relief.
But at this point, my body started to really hurt. The whip of the wind was now affecting my mostly skinless body and I felt every bit of it. I remember trying to keep myself from screaming in pain but the medic noticed my apparent distress. He asked me what was wrong and through tears in my eyes, I told him that I was hurting. He asked me where and I said, "everywhere". He immediately started to inject me with morphine. I remember him injecting me with dose after dose of morphine and it felt like none of it would do any good.
At this point, I looked out into the night sky and saw every star that was out that night. Ive never been a religious person in my life and felt guilty if I ever prayed because Ive never liked asking for anything. But I realized the seriousness of my condition and on that night, I made my first and till this day, only true and honest prayer Ive ever made in my life. I asked God that regardless of what happened to me that night. Whether I live or died, I asked that little Victor be taken care of. That he would grow up to be a responsible man and that he knew that his "Papi" always loved him. I then started to ask that all of my soldiers, their families, my family and friends be taken care of. I named them one by one. Making sure that each one was covered. I felt guilty if I had mentioned one and not another. At some point in my prayer, I passed out.
I woke up in Balad, Iraq at the Field Hospital they had set up for receiving the wounded. All I remember is waking up screaming asking for Tommy. I passed out again
I woke up again in Germany and remember a nurse cutting the rim of my glasses right in the middle. Once they were cut, she pulled my glasses from my face and I remember hearing my skin peel off with the glasses. I passed out again.
I woke up a few days later at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. I came to learn that I had actually died 4 times but was revived each time. (Lucky me)
Not so lucky, was Sgt. Tommy Turner.
Tommy had made it through Balad but died the second we landed in Landsthul, Germany, from heart complications. I didn't find out of this until a few months later. Everyone had kept the news from me for a long time because they were afraid that the news would put me into such a deep depression that I could have died from knowing. They were probably right. Everyday and every person that came into my room, I would ask them to find out about Tommy. I gave them his full name, his wife's name and his phone number which I still had memorized. Everyone promised to get back with me as soon as they would find something out but either, Id never see that person again or they would come back with "were still trying to locate him". That frustrated the hell out of me because I knew that if he was there, he would be accounted for. I had it set in my mind that they had just forgotten to actually look for him. Never did it enter into my head that he had actually not made it.
On a visit from my Company Commander, First Sergeant, Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major, I asked them about Tommy. My First Sergeant spoke up. He said, "Sergeant Dominguez...Sgt. Turner didn't make it. He died when you guys landed in Germany".
I felt like if my heart and throat were pulled out of my body. I couldn't speak and I couldn't breathe. The only thing I could do was look away and cry. I spoke to no one for weeks.
***This was my story of the events that took place on July 13, 2006. Exactly three years ago today. All of these events happened exactly as Ive written them and I haven't changed anything in order to make it seem less or more than it really was. This event, brief as it was in time, has changed the rest of my life completely. I had planned to make the Army a career way before I had even enlisted but now find myself out of the Army due to my injuries. I still keep in touch with my soldiers, some of whom have decided to get out of the Army as well, others who are still in but have moved on to other units. I hope you have enjoyed (maybe that's not the right word to describe it) what Ive written here and it gives you a better idea of some of the things that happen in combat. Some people have asked me, if I had the opportunity to change the way things worked out, would I? If you'd like to know my answer, by all means, leave me a comment. I will answer you the way Ive answered everyone else.
I will write more of the events that have taken place since this incident, in the future. But it is now late and I need to get to bed. Life goes on and Ive got to get to work very early in the morning. I will be posting a link soon to a story that was done on me in the Miami Herald last year based on these events. Please check back sometime to see when I post it. It was a very good story and Im sure you'll enjoy it.
Take care.
Ranger Vic
"Rangers Lead The Way"
Sunday, July 5, 2009
4th of July - Fireworks Day or Michael Jackson Day?
Today, Saturday, July 4, 2009. Ive got little Victor with me and we've spent much of the day just hanging around the house watching movies, playing video games and making ice cream. I bought a new ice cream maker last week and I promised him we would make some this weekend. We decided that our first batch would be coconut ice cream. He loves coconut, as do I.
While we were gathering and mixing the ingredients together, I asked him to put on the news. I usually like to watch FOX because I feel that they're the only news station that will actually report in a bipartisan manner. Unfortunately at that moment, it wasn't time for the news and instead they were showing COPS. I'm not a big fan of reality TV, especially those that are full of drama and minorities (mind you, I'm Hispanic) playing up the stereotype of constantly being involved in crime, drugs or some sort of domestic dispute. So I put on CNN. They definitely had the news on but not what I was expecting. Today, being Independence Day, or as society commonly calls it, 4th of July, I expected to see a special documenting the history of our country. Something that might remind us of the sacrifices made by our countrymen so that we could be free. So that we, could call ourselves a nation. Instead, CNN is doing a special on Michael Jackson.
What?
Don't get me wrong...I'm a BIG fan of Michael Jackson. I love every song he has ever put out. I think he is solely responsible for the way music has evolved into what it is today and I think that he is (or was) at a level all by himself when it came to dancing. Nobody can or probably ever will be able to dance the way he did. I remember as a kid, and admittedly as an adult, I would try to imitate some of his dance moves. Specifically, the moonwalk. I believe most of us have. I got pretty good at it but in my opinion, never as good as Michael. I don't think anybody could. So its not that I'm against a special on Michael Jackson. I do believe that his memory and talents should be "immortalized". But not today. Not on our nation's 233rd Birthday.
I thought CNN did great on D-Day. On June 6, 2009, CNN was live in Normandy, France, documenting all of the events that were taking place in celebration of the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings. They showed the speech given by President Obama. They showed the veterans that waited on dignitaries to approach them so they could give them a "recap" of that incredible day 65 years ago. They showed everything. It was an amazing special that I must admit, brought me to tears.
So why not today? Why, on the 233rd anniversary of the single most important day in American history, was there no prime time special documenting the various events that led up to us as a nation to be able to call ourselves Americans? Is it because Obama didn't set up a lavish ceremony. Because he didn't give a speech? Or is it because we as Americans have forgotten what it means to be an American? Because we as American citizens do not value what it truly means to be FREE.
How many of you received text messages today saying "Happy 4th of July"? How many of you responded with the same? I'm willing to bet most of you that are reading this.
Now how many of you received or sent out a text message saying
"Happy Independence Day"? Not too many I'm assuming.
Please don't take this blog that I'm posting as me castigating you. By no means, that is not my intent. The purpose of this open letter to you is to reach out to the millions of Americans out there who spend hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars on fireworks, charcoal and food for a BBQ but don't spend a few minutes to educate your children on the importance of this day. I'm asking your to educate your children on the reasons WHY we celebrate this day. July 4th is not a holiday. Independence Day is. July 4th just happens to be the day it lands on.
Much like Memorial Day, Independence Day is usually rewarded to working Americans with an extra day off. Be it the day before the holiday or the day after. But sadly, also much like Memorial Day, the holiday is celebrated for all the wrong reasons in all of the wrong ways. I enjoy fireworks just as much as the next guy. I like to see all of the different varieties of colors and explosions that come about but for me personally, its not necessary. I don't NEED to spend a bunch of money on something that will last a few seconds or even a few minutes. I can almost hear the "ca-ching" of a cash register with every pop or fizz of each firework I light up. But I do it for my son. Like any child, he is mesmerized by the sparkles and noises that come about as a result of the money that was spent. Although he doesn't think about the money. I do. He thinks about the colors. How high the last firework went up. How much higher the next one went. How from one little shot up in the air, came about a bunch of different explosions that turned into different colors. And then he goes to bed with a smile on his face and memories to last a lifetime. So even if it hurt me to basically watch my money, literally "burn" right before my eyes, it pleases me that little Victor enjoyed the show. And for that, its worth it. Any second I get to spend with him, regardless of what or how much it took to get it, is most definitely worth it.
When we woke up this morning, as I was preparing breakfast, I was explaining to little Victor why Independence Day is such an important holiday. I explained to him (in kid's terms) why we celebrate it, what led up to the Declaration of Independence and why it is so important for him to remember that. I explained to him that on this day we celebrate "Independence" and not a date on a calendar. And I explained to him that to say "Happy 4th of July" is not only inaccurate but also wrong in the way it is expressed. At 7 years old, I wasn't expecting for him to really pay much attention to what I was saying. I also didn't expect for him to fully comprehend everything I was telling him. But if I can at least plant the seed of historical sense, hopefully, with enough examples in the future, and certainly many more "July 4th's" ahead of us, he will begin to take hold of what it is that I'm attempting to convey to him. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
We shot off all of the fireworks we bought and then sat down to enjoy the ones that were being set off all around my neighborhood. It was truly a spectacular show. Somewhere off to the South-East, someone had definitely made an attempt to end the recession all by himself. His fireworks display must have gone off for at least a half hour. Someone on the neighboring apartment complex set off what sounded like an M80. It was so loud, it set of 3 car alarms in my neighborhood, including my own. That wasn't fun. In the pain I had already been in all day, I had to go inside to get my keys to turn off my alarm. Before heading in, one of my neighbors stuck his hand out to little Victor, introduced himself and said to him "Happy 4th of July little man". Little Victor, always very polite and courteous, stuck his hand out as well and responded, "Happy Independence Day Sir". I was so surprised, I almost fell out of my seat. He didn't even look at me as if seeking approval or anything. He just shook his hand and went right back to watching the fireworks. But I definitely let him know that I noticed and was proud of him. I cradled him in my arms, gave him a hug, told him that I was proud of him and that I loved him. He's such a great kid. He constantly surprises me in how smart he really is. Maybe that talk this morning was worth it after all. If he didn't remember everything that I had told him, he certainly remembered one of the key points and maybe one of the most important points of the whole "history lesson".
I will now end this blog from a quote from my neighbor. After little Vic went inside to watch some TV, I began to clean up the spent fireworks containers. My neighbor had stayed out there with me and helped me clean them up. As we were putting everything away, I began to tell him pretty much everything Ive mentioned in this blog. His mom, who had flown down here to visit him, was outside smoking a cigarette. He told her that even though I was Puerto Rican, I was more patriotic than most Americans. The last thing he said before I went inside was...
"Vic, I bet if you would have known that you spent two years in Iraq, so that on July 4th CNN could have a special on Michael Jackson, you would have moonwalked your ass all the way back to the states".
How true that is...
While we were gathering and mixing the ingredients together, I asked him to put on the news. I usually like to watch FOX because I feel that they're the only news station that will actually report in a bipartisan manner. Unfortunately at that moment, it wasn't time for the news and instead they were showing COPS. I'm not a big fan of reality TV, especially those that are full of drama and minorities (mind you, I'm Hispanic) playing up the stereotype of constantly being involved in crime, drugs or some sort of domestic dispute. So I put on CNN. They definitely had the news on but not what I was expecting. Today, being Independence Day, or as society commonly calls it, 4th of July, I expected to see a special documenting the history of our country. Something that might remind us of the sacrifices made by our countrymen so that we could be free. So that we, could call ourselves a nation. Instead, CNN is doing a special on Michael Jackson.
What?
Don't get me wrong...I'm a BIG fan of Michael Jackson. I love every song he has ever put out. I think he is solely responsible for the way music has evolved into what it is today and I think that he is (or was) at a level all by himself when it came to dancing. Nobody can or probably ever will be able to dance the way he did. I remember as a kid, and admittedly as an adult, I would try to imitate some of his dance moves. Specifically, the moonwalk. I believe most of us have. I got pretty good at it but in my opinion, never as good as Michael. I don't think anybody could. So its not that I'm against a special on Michael Jackson. I do believe that his memory and talents should be "immortalized". But not today. Not on our nation's 233rd Birthday.
I thought CNN did great on D-Day. On June 6, 2009, CNN was live in Normandy, France, documenting all of the events that were taking place in celebration of the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings. They showed the speech given by President Obama. They showed the veterans that waited on dignitaries to approach them so they could give them a "recap" of that incredible day 65 years ago. They showed everything. It was an amazing special that I must admit, brought me to tears.
So why not today? Why, on the 233rd anniversary of the single most important day in American history, was there no prime time special documenting the various events that led up to us as a nation to be able to call ourselves Americans? Is it because Obama didn't set up a lavish ceremony. Because he didn't give a speech? Or is it because we as Americans have forgotten what it means to be an American? Because we as American citizens do not value what it truly means to be FREE.
How many of you received text messages today saying "Happy 4th of July"? How many of you responded with the same? I'm willing to bet most of you that are reading this.
Now how many of you received or sent out a text message saying
"Happy Independence Day"? Not too many I'm assuming.
Please don't take this blog that I'm posting as me castigating you. By no means, that is not my intent. The purpose of this open letter to you is to reach out to the millions of Americans out there who spend hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars on fireworks, charcoal and food for a BBQ but don't spend a few minutes to educate your children on the importance of this day. I'm asking your to educate your children on the reasons WHY we celebrate this day. July 4th is not a holiday. Independence Day is. July 4th just happens to be the day it lands on.
Much like Memorial Day, Independence Day is usually rewarded to working Americans with an extra day off. Be it the day before the holiday or the day after. But sadly, also much like Memorial Day, the holiday is celebrated for all the wrong reasons in all of the wrong ways. I enjoy fireworks just as much as the next guy. I like to see all of the different varieties of colors and explosions that come about but for me personally, its not necessary. I don't NEED to spend a bunch of money on something that will last a few seconds or even a few minutes. I can almost hear the "ca-ching" of a cash register with every pop or fizz of each firework I light up. But I do it for my son. Like any child, he is mesmerized by the sparkles and noises that come about as a result of the money that was spent. Although he doesn't think about the money. I do. He thinks about the colors. How high the last firework went up. How much higher the next one went. How from one little shot up in the air, came about a bunch of different explosions that turned into different colors. And then he goes to bed with a smile on his face and memories to last a lifetime. So even if it hurt me to basically watch my money, literally "burn" right before my eyes, it pleases me that little Victor enjoyed the show. And for that, its worth it. Any second I get to spend with him, regardless of what or how much it took to get it, is most definitely worth it.
When we woke up this morning, as I was preparing breakfast, I was explaining to little Victor why Independence Day is such an important holiday. I explained to him (in kid's terms) why we celebrate it, what led up to the Declaration of Independence and why it is so important for him to remember that. I explained to him that on this day we celebrate "Independence" and not a date on a calendar. And I explained to him that to say "Happy 4th of July" is not only inaccurate but also wrong in the way it is expressed. At 7 years old, I wasn't expecting for him to really pay much attention to what I was saying. I also didn't expect for him to fully comprehend everything I was telling him. But if I can at least plant the seed of historical sense, hopefully, with enough examples in the future, and certainly many more "July 4th's" ahead of us, he will begin to take hold of what it is that I'm attempting to convey to him. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
We shot off all of the fireworks we bought and then sat down to enjoy the ones that were being set off all around my neighborhood. It was truly a spectacular show. Somewhere off to the South-East, someone had definitely made an attempt to end the recession all by himself. His fireworks display must have gone off for at least a half hour. Someone on the neighboring apartment complex set off what sounded like an M80. It was so loud, it set of 3 car alarms in my neighborhood, including my own. That wasn't fun. In the pain I had already been in all day, I had to go inside to get my keys to turn off my alarm. Before heading in, one of my neighbors stuck his hand out to little Victor, introduced himself and said to him "Happy 4th of July little man". Little Victor, always very polite and courteous, stuck his hand out as well and responded, "Happy Independence Day Sir". I was so surprised, I almost fell out of my seat. He didn't even look at me as if seeking approval or anything. He just shook his hand and went right back to watching the fireworks. But I definitely let him know that I noticed and was proud of him. I cradled him in my arms, gave him a hug, told him that I was proud of him and that I loved him. He's such a great kid. He constantly surprises me in how smart he really is. Maybe that talk this morning was worth it after all. If he didn't remember everything that I had told him, he certainly remembered one of the key points and maybe one of the most important points of the whole "history lesson".
I will now end this blog from a quote from my neighbor. After little Vic went inside to watch some TV, I began to clean up the spent fireworks containers. My neighbor had stayed out there with me and helped me clean them up. As we were putting everything away, I began to tell him pretty much everything Ive mentioned in this blog. His mom, who had flown down here to visit him, was outside smoking a cigarette. He told her that even though I was Puerto Rican, I was more patriotic than most Americans. The last thing he said before I went inside was...
"Vic, I bet if you would have known that you spent two years in Iraq, so that on July 4th CNN could have a special on Michael Jackson, you would have moonwalked your ass all the way back to the states".
How true that is...
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The Way We Get By
These great Americans are on call day or night to visit and welcome troops coming home from overseas. They are volunteers who regardless of what is going on in their own lives,stop and immediately head over to the airport in Bangor, Maine and will wait however long it takes to ensure that once the Servicemembers coming home from Iraq get off the plane, they are welcomed with smiling faces, a handshake and a warm hug.
When I came home from Iraq the first time in February 2004, my plane stopped in Bangor, Maine. None of us had any idea that anybody would be there waiting for us. Matter of fact, it was the last thing we expected. It was around midnight and most of us were sleepy and jetlagged. When we entered the terminal, there were about 25 or 30 people (maybe more) waiting there with warm smiles. Some of them offered their own personal cell phones so the soldiers could make that first call home to let their families know that they had arrived safe and sound.
These people truly embody what it means to be a great American. They are true heroes. They could easily stay at home and rest. God knows they have certainly earned it (Some of them are Vietnam veterans) But instead they choose to take the time to wait at an airport for people they have never met. To ensure that those of us coming home have a warm welcome. The kind of welcome they did not receive when they came home themselves from an unpopular war.
God Bless these wonderful people. I thank them for THEIR service to US. Enjoy the video!!
When I came home from Iraq the first time in February 2004, my plane stopped in Bangor, Maine. None of us had any idea that anybody would be there waiting for us. Matter of fact, it was the last thing we expected. It was around midnight and most of us were sleepy and jetlagged. When we entered the terminal, there were about 25 or 30 people (maybe more) waiting there with warm smiles. Some of them offered their own personal cell phones so the soldiers could make that first call home to let their families know that they had arrived safe and sound.
These people truly embody what it means to be a great American. They are true heroes. They could easily stay at home and rest. God knows they have certainly earned it (Some of them are Vietnam veterans) But instead they choose to take the time to wait at an airport for people they have never met. To ensure that those of us coming home have a warm welcome. The kind of welcome they did not receive when they came home themselves from an unpopular war.
God Bless these wonderful people. I thank them for THEIR service to US. Enjoy the video!!
The Way We Get By - Trailer from The Way We Get By on Vimeo.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Little Man's Summer Vacation 2009
Well, were going on the 3rd week of little Victor's 2009 Summer Vacation. He got here on a Thursday night and we went directly to my apartment so we could get some rest. His flight had actually been delayed 3 times so his plane ended up landing around midnight. The next day we packed up our stuff and went to visit my mom in Fort Myers. I hadnt seen her in a while and since I had taken Friday off, I decided to take advantage of the long weekend and drive the 3 1/2 hours it takes to get there. I dont like driving so much and doing such a trip for a regular weekend seems excessive since I would end up having to return the next day.
Back to the story:
We arrived in Ft. Myers and spent some time catching up. I talk to my mom at least once a week on the phone (Im terrible about calling people, even my own family) but face to face conversation I feel is better and not only are you able to talk about more things, you dont have to hold an increasingly hot device up to your ear.
On Saturday, I took the whole family to the beach. We had a great time. I had bought little Victor some snorkeling gear because he knew I liked to snorkel and had asked that I teach him. Any knowledge that I can pass on to the little guy, regardless of how small it may be, I take great pride in doing so. He did a great job. At times, he would dip his head a bit too far into the water and get some water down into the snorkel at which point he would come up coughing but he did get the hang of it eventually. The boy is a natural swimmer.
You may be asking why he's just learning how to do this kind of stuff now at 7 years old. Here's the reason:
Little Victor normally lives with his mom in Kentucky (during the school year). Why Kentucky? Did I meet his mom there? No. His mom and I actually dated in high school for a bit and she got pregnant towards the end of my senior year. We had actually already broken up but at that point in my life, I wasnt thinking with the head on my shoulders... I had always made plans to go to the Army, which I did after graduation and I, having grown up without my own dad for the first 12 years of life, had promised myself as a young kid that if I were to ever have a child, I would always be there for him. Knowing that due to the profession I had chosen to be in the Army, I would not be at home too often, I did the only thing I thought I could do so I could be with my son. I married his mom. She moved to Kentucky with me and after prolonging the inevitable for 4 years, I decided that it was best for little Victor if his mom and I were not under the same roof. So there it is. The reason he lives in Kentucky. Also the reason why he does not know how to swim very well. Since I live in Miami and Florida is surrounded by water in 3 parts, I have the best opportunity to provide for him such an important life lesson.
Anyways...
We spent most of the day at the beach. Little Vic got a great tan (definitely my son), my mom turned into a lobster, my grandmother....well, I dont know what her skin did. When they get to that age, their skin doesnt do much really. And my sisters...Well Maline got a good tan and Gisselle was pretty covered up so she didnt get too much sun. But we all had alot of fun and it was great for all of us to be together.
Afterwards, we cleaned up and loaded everything into my truck. I love going to the beach but I hate the end of it. When all of the things, no matter how much you shake them out and wash them off, still manage to get sand into the vehicle. Which I will spend the next 3 weeks trying to vaccumm out. You dont understand. Im incredibly picky about the cleanliness of my truck and if I see sand, I will pick it out one by one with an eyebrow plucker if I have to. (Thats a bit exagerrated but whatever).
On Sunday we went back to my apartment and I had to get ready for work. As much as I would like to spend every waking second with little man, I still have to work in order to provide all of the things I would like to do with him as well as the places I would like to take him.
Monday and Tuesday he came to work with me. While I was busy with work, I had him practicing his Spanish and from time to time I'd test him. Id give him breaks sometime and let him play the PSP. Every vacation he spends with me, I try to teach him as much Spanish as I can. He does great but the second he goes back to his mom's he loses it. She doesnt speak Spanish to him (although she speaks it herself and understands personally the value of it) cause I guess it takes too much effort and dedication on her part. But he's doing much better with it everytime. He picks up more of it and retains more of it with every vacation he spends with me.
Tuesday, I took him to spend some time with his Grandfather on his mom's side (MC). He looks forward to little Vic's vacations as well because its the only time he gets to see him too. For some reason, his own daughter doesnt let him see his grandson. I really dont know what goes through that woman's mind but I quit trying to figure her out a long time ago. Now I focus all of my attention on little Vic only. Ive realized that he is the only thing that is truly certain in my life. Girlfriends and Friends may come and go. But my son will ALWAYS be my son. Nothing can ever change that.
This was last week. I let little Victor stay with MC for a week and I picked him up on Wednesday. I made sure I called everyday, just like I do when he's with his mom, so he knows that his Papi loves him and is thinking of him. Thursday, we went to Sunset Place and watched Transformers 2. What a great movie. I must admit. I fell asleep for about 10 minutes not because it was boring but because I was just plain tired. Whatever! That gives us an excuse to go watch it again. After the movie we went to Gameworks. I had promised little Victor Id take him to an arcade this week and what better place than Gameworks. I try to make sure I always keep my promises. Im a firm believer in "A man's word is his bond" and I make completely sure that my integrity can never be questioned by anybody. We had alot of fun at GW and we decided to get some pizza. There's an old couple there at Sunset that have a little booth that sell the best cheese and pepperoni pizza's. Afterwards you can get some coffee too.
While we were eating, the news came over the radio about Farrah Fawcet. She had died. I thought to myself, "How sad". She was a truly beautiful woman. Then 20 minutes later, the news about Michael Jackson. At that point it was only that he had been taken to the hospital. I wondered what had happened. Little Victor and I finished our pizza and started walking to the truck.
In the 5 minutes it took to get to the truck, I received about 15 messages from different people telling me that Michael had died. I got in the truck and turned the radio on. No....He was still in the hospital and nothing yet of any death or reason for being in the hospital. I texted some of my friends back and told them to stop spreading rumors. I continued to switch radio stations, going from genre to genre to talk back to genre and listening on what each had to say about Michael. Still no confirmation on any death. Yet the texts kept coming. I asked some of my friends where they heard that he had died. Each one said that, "a friend had told them". Figures...
On the way home some stations would start to confirm and others still held out. It wasnt until I got home and turned on the news to FOX that I started to believe it. I dont care what anyone says, FOX News is the only station that calls it as it is. I dont get all of my information from them but I certainly trust it more than CNN or NBC.
I wouldnt say I was devastated by the news. After all, I didnt know MJ personally. I had never seen him myself. But I did enjoy his music, admired his dance moves as well as his philanthropy and had decided a long time ago that I would not judge him personally in regards to the allegations of child molestation because I was not there. I wouldnt let little Vic stay over night but if we had ever had the chance to meet him, I would have informed little Victor that he had been solely responsible for the music we enjoy today. Regardless of what form it is in. I was sad for him and the things he had gone through in his life and I was sad for his family. Janet especially. They were very close and I believe everyone in the world knew that.
That was yesterday. I had to work today and luckily, my dad had the day off so little Victor stayed with him. I got off at 5 and drove straight home. I walked in the house and little Vic ran up to me and gave me a hug and a kiss. I smothered him for the next 15 minutes with kisses as well as tickeling him in every possible spot that I know he is tickelish in.
Its late now and Ive got to get him to bed. Theres a birthday party tomorrow for one of his little cousins and we will be going. I'm also going to take him to Soccer Locker to buy him some soccer cleats because on Monday he starts Soccer Camp at UM. Monday theres a pool party at MC's house for his daughter (one of my best friends and ironically the one that had introduced me to her sister) who also served in the Army and just got back from Afghanistan. I also have to give a speech on Sunday for a National Guard unit that is deploying to Iraq soon. Sort of a motivation speech.
That is what's planned. The rest will fall into place and I know it will be fun because I am spending it with my favorite little person in the world. My son!
Back to the story:
We arrived in Ft. Myers and spent some time catching up. I talk to my mom at least once a week on the phone (Im terrible about calling people, even my own family) but face to face conversation I feel is better and not only are you able to talk about more things, you dont have to hold an increasingly hot device up to your ear.
On Saturday, I took the whole family to the beach. We had a great time. I had bought little Victor some snorkeling gear because he knew I liked to snorkel and had asked that I teach him. Any knowledge that I can pass on to the little guy, regardless of how small it may be, I take great pride in doing so. He did a great job. At times, he would dip his head a bit too far into the water and get some water down into the snorkel at which point he would come up coughing but he did get the hang of it eventually. The boy is a natural swimmer.
You may be asking why he's just learning how to do this kind of stuff now at 7 years old. Here's the reason:
Little Victor normally lives with his mom in Kentucky (during the school year). Why Kentucky? Did I meet his mom there? No. His mom and I actually dated in high school for a bit and she got pregnant towards the end of my senior year. We had actually already broken up but at that point in my life, I wasnt thinking with the head on my shoulders... I had always made plans to go to the Army, which I did after graduation and I, having grown up without my own dad for the first 12 years of life, had promised myself as a young kid that if I were to ever have a child, I would always be there for him. Knowing that due to the profession I had chosen to be in the Army, I would not be at home too often, I did the only thing I thought I could do so I could be with my son. I married his mom. She moved to Kentucky with me and after prolonging the inevitable for 4 years, I decided that it was best for little Victor if his mom and I were not under the same roof. So there it is. The reason he lives in Kentucky. Also the reason why he does not know how to swim very well. Since I live in Miami and Florida is surrounded by water in 3 parts, I have the best opportunity to provide for him such an important life lesson.
Anyways...
We spent most of the day at the beach. Little Vic got a great tan (definitely my son), my mom turned into a lobster, my grandmother....well, I dont know what her skin did. When they get to that age, their skin doesnt do much really. And my sisters...Well Maline got a good tan and Gisselle was pretty covered up so she didnt get too much sun. But we all had alot of fun and it was great for all of us to be together.
Afterwards, we cleaned up and loaded everything into my truck. I love going to the beach but I hate the end of it. When all of the things, no matter how much you shake them out and wash them off, still manage to get sand into the vehicle. Which I will spend the next 3 weeks trying to vaccumm out. You dont understand. Im incredibly picky about the cleanliness of my truck and if I see sand, I will pick it out one by one with an eyebrow plucker if I have to. (Thats a bit exagerrated but whatever).
On Sunday we went back to my apartment and I had to get ready for work. As much as I would like to spend every waking second with little man, I still have to work in order to provide all of the things I would like to do with him as well as the places I would like to take him.
Monday and Tuesday he came to work with me. While I was busy with work, I had him practicing his Spanish and from time to time I'd test him. Id give him breaks sometime and let him play the PSP. Every vacation he spends with me, I try to teach him as much Spanish as I can. He does great but the second he goes back to his mom's he loses it. She doesnt speak Spanish to him (although she speaks it herself and understands personally the value of it) cause I guess it takes too much effort and dedication on her part. But he's doing much better with it everytime. He picks up more of it and retains more of it with every vacation he spends with me.
Tuesday, I took him to spend some time with his Grandfather on his mom's side (MC). He looks forward to little Vic's vacations as well because its the only time he gets to see him too. For some reason, his own daughter doesnt let him see his grandson. I really dont know what goes through that woman's mind but I quit trying to figure her out a long time ago. Now I focus all of my attention on little Vic only. Ive realized that he is the only thing that is truly certain in my life. Girlfriends and Friends may come and go. But my son will ALWAYS be my son. Nothing can ever change that.
This was last week. I let little Victor stay with MC for a week and I picked him up on Wednesday. I made sure I called everyday, just like I do when he's with his mom, so he knows that his Papi loves him and is thinking of him. Thursday, we went to Sunset Place and watched Transformers 2. What a great movie. I must admit. I fell asleep for about 10 minutes not because it was boring but because I was just plain tired. Whatever! That gives us an excuse to go watch it again. After the movie we went to Gameworks. I had promised little Victor Id take him to an arcade this week and what better place than Gameworks. I try to make sure I always keep my promises. Im a firm believer in "A man's word is his bond" and I make completely sure that my integrity can never be questioned by anybody. We had alot of fun at GW and we decided to get some pizza. There's an old couple there at Sunset that have a little booth that sell the best cheese and pepperoni pizza's. Afterwards you can get some coffee too.
While we were eating, the news came over the radio about Farrah Fawcet. She had died. I thought to myself, "How sad". She was a truly beautiful woman. Then 20 minutes later, the news about Michael Jackson. At that point it was only that he had been taken to the hospital. I wondered what had happened. Little Victor and I finished our pizza and started walking to the truck.
In the 5 minutes it took to get to the truck, I received about 15 messages from different people telling me that Michael had died. I got in the truck and turned the radio on. No....He was still in the hospital and nothing yet of any death or reason for being in the hospital. I texted some of my friends back and told them to stop spreading rumors. I continued to switch radio stations, going from genre to genre to talk back to genre and listening on what each had to say about Michael. Still no confirmation on any death. Yet the texts kept coming. I asked some of my friends where they heard that he had died. Each one said that, "a friend had told them". Figures...
On the way home some stations would start to confirm and others still held out. It wasnt until I got home and turned on the news to FOX that I started to believe it. I dont care what anyone says, FOX News is the only station that calls it as it is. I dont get all of my information from them but I certainly trust it more than CNN or NBC.
I wouldnt say I was devastated by the news. After all, I didnt know MJ personally. I had never seen him myself. But I did enjoy his music, admired his dance moves as well as his philanthropy and had decided a long time ago that I would not judge him personally in regards to the allegations of child molestation because I was not there. I wouldnt let little Vic stay over night but if we had ever had the chance to meet him, I would have informed little Victor that he had been solely responsible for the music we enjoy today. Regardless of what form it is in. I was sad for him and the things he had gone through in his life and I was sad for his family. Janet especially. They were very close and I believe everyone in the world knew that.
That was yesterday. I had to work today and luckily, my dad had the day off so little Victor stayed with him. I got off at 5 and drove straight home. I walked in the house and little Vic ran up to me and gave me a hug and a kiss. I smothered him for the next 15 minutes with kisses as well as tickeling him in every possible spot that I know he is tickelish in.
Its late now and Ive got to get him to bed. Theres a birthday party tomorrow for one of his little cousins and we will be going. I'm also going to take him to Soccer Locker to buy him some soccer cleats because on Monday he starts Soccer Camp at UM. Monday theres a pool party at MC's house for his daughter (one of my best friends and ironically the one that had introduced me to her sister) who also served in the Army and just got back from Afghanistan. I also have to give a speech on Sunday for a National Guard unit that is deploying to Iraq soon. Sort of a motivation speech.
That is what's planned. The rest will fall into place and I know it will be fun because I am spending it with my favorite little person in the world. My son!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
