Frontlines
is a collection of real life essays from Wayland Baptist University students, devoted to military life and service. Some
have seen combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some support
those missions. Some are Army, some are Air Force, and
some are National Guard. Others serve the Navy, Marines
and Coast Guard. Some are career soldiers. Some are not.
All serve the citizens of the United States of America, and
these essays are a historical marker and testimony to that
fact. Frontlines and Wayland honors the sacrifice and service of these men and women.
“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the
soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and
scars of war.”
~ Douglas MacArthur
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Seven Hours and
Fourteen Minutes
by Joshua Bartlett-Morris
S
even hours and fourteen minutes is the time it
takes to drive from Fort Campbell, Ky., to Tallahassee, Fla. I had pictured this drive for seven
months, fourteen days, twenty-three hours, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-nine seconds, while I was serving in the
United States Army in Bagram, Afghanistan. On March 28,
2002, my unit received word that we were going home. I
didn’t believe it, despite all my daydreams about seeing my
crazy family.
I don’t have your normal, everyday family. I have two
brothers. One is a scholar and gentleman, the other a computer genius. My mother was and is a super hero lawyer,
and my father keeps people financially straight. When they
are together, it’s like mixing chemicals; you never know
what explosive reaction will follow. When the mix is my father, a British loyalist, my mother, an American zealot, my
brother Ben, a borderline Republican, and my brother Martin, a pro Democrat, it is necessary for me to remain neutral
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to keep the lid on.
At family holiday dinners, the heated conversations
could move from politics to same-sex marriage and
crescendo to a point at which my father would suddenly and
unexpectedly strip off his t-shirt to make a point. At one
such family dinner, I will never forget that my father started
to remove his shirt at Cez Pierre, one of Tallahassee’s finest
restaurants. My other family members turned pale and then
blue faced, as my father proudly revealed his chest hair. All
I can remember about the conversation that prompted this
display was a discussion about being free.
I thought about these family dinners as I exited the plane
in Ft Campbell and kissed the ground. I immediately called
my mother to make sure she was arranging a welcome home
party. All I wanted was to see my family. After driving
seven hours and fourteen minutes, I finally arrived home,
jumped out of the car, and ran to the door. When I saw the
big yellow ribbon on the door, it dawned on me that I was
lucky to be home.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I opened the door, but
when I turned the knob, it was clear. There wasn’t a party,
but all of my family was there, ready to discuss our country’s politics, to disrobe, and to discuss Florida State Football. Whether Florida State won or lost the game, whether
the shirt remained on or off, my family was back together,
and everything was back to normal, or at least as normal as
possible for my family, and that was everything.
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About the Author:
Joshua Bartlett-Morris has served in the U.S. Army
since 2000. He served in Afghanistan from March 2002
through October 2002 and then in Iraq from February 2003
to December 2003. He is a native of Tallahassee, Fla.
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