Afghan Interpreters and Missing American

From Michael:

21April08

We received our Afghan interpreters last week. They are living with us now, eating with us, bathing with us. They are Afghans who have come back to help fight the Taliban in their own way. I met one while huddled in our bomb shelter after a rocket attack. His name is M.. and he is from Kabul . He lived in Amsterdam for 9 years. In my opinion, anyone who lived in Amsterdam that long cannot possibly be a radical Muslim. M.. told me that he fears for his life, and that of his family. If the Taliban find out what he is doing, they will kill his family. What a brave soul! If I thought that my family was at risk by my being here, I don’t know if I’d be able to do it. But it’s his country, and I am certainly happy to see that there are at least some with a vested interest in it.

Today, as I was walking back from dinner, I saw some of the interpreters trying to work out with our weights. It was a funny sight, as they seemed very uncoordinated and unsure of how to perform certain movements that we as Americans take for granted. Even more amusing was the sight of the Afghan interpreters trying to learn baseball from their American Marine counterparts. I can imagine baseball being quite difficult for someone who has never played, as I involves good hand-eye coordination. We Americans forget how easy it comes to us as we have played most of our lives.

“Miss[ing] America ”

I just finished putting some more songs onto my iPod. The iPod, along with the Playstation Portable, is probably the best way to pass the many hours of downtime. As I was transferring music, I started to listen to some of my favorite songs. I decided to look at some of my photos stored on my computer. Bad move. You see, I am a very nostalgic person. Nothing stirs my sense of emotion and nostalgia like music and old photos. As I sat there staring a pictures of my family, I was taken back to those times when the photos were taken. I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of longing and guilt. I long more than anything else to go back to that place, that time when I had nothing better to do than to spend my time loving my family. Then the guilt of realizing that I had not taken full advantage of each and every opportunity to do so. I had missed out on so many of the little moments that life gift wraps for us. I began to think about what else I had missed. I looked at the background of the photos and began to think about how great America is. My street is surrounded by trees, houses with neatly manicured lawns, automobiles - one of the enduring symbols of American independence and free spiritedness - glistening in the sun. My street looks so safe, so welcoming so far away from the rockets, the bullets, the IEDs. Far away from the constant drone of helicopters and cargo planes. Far away from the constant dust. No tree-lined streets here. O ur streets are lined with port-a-johns.

I miss driving to Wal-Mart to run an errand. I miss plopping down on my couch to watch a tv show. I miss going out to eat. I miss the little things that makes America so American – Monday Night Football, game shows, soap operas (okay, I don’t miss soap operas), wide open spaces. But most of all, I miss spending time with my family. I lay in bed wondering if Roman is talking yet or how soon it will be. Surely he’s able to mutter a few broken words by now? He was walking when I left, perhaps now he is running? I miss Sami. Her stubbornness, her sweetness, the way she would run to me when I got home from work. I miss the sound of her little voice. I miss Mikey. His carefree spirit, his love of cars and airplanes. I want so badly to take him camping…or on a nature walk by the fishing pond. I miss sitting down to watch Cars with him. I miss throwing my kids in the air. I miss Kelle. I miss the way we complete each other during intelligent conversation, the way she understands me, the way she takes care of me, the fact that she loves me despite my flaws, I miss her touch, her sound, I miss looking into her eyes.

I can’t wait to get home to recapture all of those moments. And that is why I believe, I truly believe in my heart, despite all of the fear within me, that I will make it home safely. Because I have so much to do, so much life to live, so much of myself to give. I have to make up for all the lost moments. And…I can’t wait to go shopping again!

And that is what I miss about America .