How Did I Get Here?

Normandy Sailing, Leroy Neiman

Men are disturbed not by things,
but by the view which they take of them
--Epictetus
________________

Lisa's bio: How did I get here?

First, allow me to say I am pleased this project has grown in the ashes of the old IntelDump. Perusing Phil Carter's last post at the WaPo [23 April], I found the following typical gem from friend "fasteddiez" (Arrabiato was one of the hapless commenters):

Phil:

RE: the cost of success

At least with the old "Intel Dump" crowd, inbred, foul mouthed, etc. as it was/is, you did not have to deal with the kind of Drool Cuppers you now seem to host here. "Arrabiato"? is that some kind of coffee? Is it served in a silver drool cup?

As ZZ Top said, You're Bad, You're Nationwide! It does not seem to be cost free, however.

That spirit is what we are after. To me: I've not been in the military, don't know strategy or tactics, yet I have landed among some really fine military thinkers through the magnanimity of our barkeep. It is serendipity for a military groupie, but how did I become one?

Blame it on an eccentric mother, psychological glitches and Larry Burrows.

The explanation does not reside with my father, who is from a long lineage of conscientious objectors (his father deserted the Russian army.) But members of mom's family have served honorably in all military engagments up through Korea, on both the British and American sides.

Each morning as she packed my kit (lunch), she would belt out rousing choruses of war tunes, from both sides: "Over There, Over There / Send the word, send the word, Over There. . ." Her grandfather sat under a portrait of Lord Kitchener. To be English is to have some minor quirks.

Vietnam was in full swing when a child, and I saw the turmoil through my parents' responses. My father would banish me from the room when Walter Cronkite broadcast war footage. There was a sense of deep mystery surrounding the thing, and terrible violence. My mum's heart swelled with pride over the heroic actions of "our boys," but she did not support the war. And she had nothing but disdain for the "dirty hippy drop-outs" we'd pass on our daily travels.

Early on I also had a yearning for protection, and was drawn to men of honor and duty, who would leave no comrade behind. Men with a sense of duty and responsibility. It was my particular Cinderella fantasy that a soldier could fit that bill.

Combined with Larry Burrows' war photos in Life, I felt steeped in this very distant foreign excursion. As I grew older and the other girls developed crushes on rock stars or movie stars, I could not transfer my admiration from the haunted soldier's faces in the magazines to the likes of a fey Peter Frampton or Billy Idol. I wanted to meet these brave men and thank them. I could only imagine the scope of their sacrifice, but I was separate from them. It was my secret hope one day to talk with them.

Until 2002, I had only known "Vietnam era" vets, but then came a fateful meeting with Ranger. As expected, much discussion centered around the WTC attacks and the ill-advised responses, but I was hopeful I could indulge my long-held desires to enter the thoughts of a Vietnam soldier.

While I have been honored to meet several of his fellows who fought in Vietnam -- all fine people who have indulged me to one degree or another -- Ranger himself is a very focused man. He would probably not mind my saying that his perimeter is rather tight in. Alas, the hoped-for incursions into his psyche were not to be had. But with the blog's inception (2006), oh the variety of soldiers and other men I have met!

Once the initial vulgarians were cleared, there were poets and bards, bakers and thinkers, mystics and humanitarians. There was sensitivity, generosity and grace. I have been truly humbled at the excellent people we have been privileged to meet via this medium. (As mum always said: so many men, so little time!)

Though I am generally a pretty serious and analytical person, I'm not going to lie: One of the big attractions here is the testosterone (well, and the occasional gin and tonic.) Most women have so little, so I feast on it vicariously at the few reasoned military sites. Please don't think me a total ninny, though. Mostly, I marvel at the informed, impassioned and sometimes wicked debate. I've learned much.

So thanks to FDChief -- a man of extraordinary ferocity and refinement -- and the other denizens, I look forward to entering the fray as your thoroughgoing civilian distaff rep.

To the ramparts!