A Man Named Dave

fighter aircraft could not fly to their targets without our plane’s fuel – the Boeing tanker had the makings of a prime target. And because it was a flying gas station in the sky, if we took a single hit from enemy aircraft, my crew and I would be vaporized from the explosion. As the days passed, and as the base waited for our orders to deploy, worrying about Patsy, the checkbook, or whatever credit cards she might have acquired was the last thing on my mind. I had to set aside my mixed emotions about my marriage and focus on doing my part and coming home alive.
    After endless delays and a series of last-minute standdowns, I received official notification that our squadron would deploy the next morning at three o’clock. I spent the night before with Patsy ensuring that she had everything she might possibly desire while I was away and knew what to do “just in case”. I knew Patsy would be fine.
    But my heart went out for Stephen. As I lay beside him on his bed, he clutched his red Sony Jr. Walkman I had just given him that day. Before drifting off to sleep, he whispered, “Daddy, where you gotta go?”
    “I just have to fly off for a while,” I softly said into his ear.
    “You gonna bring me back something?”
    “Yeah, but only if you take care of your mom.” I then caught myself repeating what my father had said to Ron, my oldest brother, years ago before he left for work. “You be the man of the house for me. Can you do that?”
    Stephen rolled over and fell asleep on my chest. As I stroked his spiky blond hair and kissed his forehead, I declared to myself that everything was going to be fine. They won’t shoot us down, Stephen. If they do, we won’t blow up. I’ll use my parachute. Once on the ground, I’ll evade. They’ll never take me prisoner. If they do, I’ll escape. If I can’t escape, I’ll be fine. I’ll come back. No matter what happens, I’ll come back. I’ll come back for you!
    In the midst of all the apprehension and wild sense of adventure, I felt an overwhelming calmness as I held my son. In an odd sense, it was the same feeling I had experienced as a child when I was ordered to sit on top of my hands in Mother’s basement. Summoning all my willpower, I would tell myself that no matter what happened between Mother and me, I would survive. She could beat me, or do as she pleased, but God willing, I would somehow prevail. Now as the night slowly passed, I readied myself for another test. Hours later, I deployed for Operation Desert Shield on Stephen’s fourth birthday.
    The first few weeks in Saudi Arabia were like constantly walking on eggs. We weren’t sure what to expect and when or if we were going to do anything. Whenever I spoke to Patsy on the phone, she seemed distraught, as if I somehow knew when I would be coming home.
    By mid-January 1991, as the air force generals briefed us on the probable losses during the initial phase of the air campaign, the possibility of losing every third person opened my eyes. This was no longer a test of adulthood. My main concern was not to screw up on my part of the mission. As it turned out, though, after the first couple of weeks, the coalition maintained air superiority over Iraq, and the missions became routine.
    Because we reported for a night flight in the afternoon and returned in the early morning hours, I found it nearly impossible to get any sleep. As I lay on my army cot, my thoughts always turned to Stephen. I became paranoid over things beyond my control. What if he choked on food when Patsy wasn’t looking? Or if he didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and got hit by a car? What would I do? At times I was so consumed by nightmares, I’d awake with my body soaked with sweat. Finally one evening after another anxiety attack, I strolled outside to marvel at the stars. In the stillness of the night, in the middle of the war, as a cool breeze blew from the desert, I somehow found serenity. What I still needed to understand was that there were so many things beyond my control. I needed to let go. After that morning, and on others to follow, I never slept as soundly as I did when I served in the gulf war.
    I returned from Saudi Arabia in March 1991. I stepped off the plane, Patsy ran up to meet me. In the middle of a swirling rain shower, I held her like never before. “It’s okay,” I said. Patsy gave me a puzzled look. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I am so sorry; I truly am, for everything. All the petty bullshit I’ve put you through.