Entry # 72: September 18, 2006

Camp Slayer, Baghdad, Iraq

Yep, the rumors are true. I am 25. A quarter century old. I guess you figure out you’re getting older when you’re watching sports on TV—it could be football, soccer, baseball, whatever—and you start realizing you’re older than a lot of the players you’re watching. That’s when it hit me anyway.

So I’m 25, on the tail end of a year long deployment to Iraq and pondering what awaits me on my return to civilization. It is one of the few times in my life where I don’t have any clue what to expect. Things change when you’re gone for a year. I’m not yet sure to what extent things have changed, but like the saying goes, if one thing remains the same, it’s that things will always change.

I’ve been asking myself certain questions to see how I can best adjust to the rigors, trials, and tribulations of civilian life. Of course, the first question on my mind is how will I interact on a personal level with females? The only females I’ve really dealt with were the ones who worked for me or those with whom I had a professional relationship. I’m wondering if I have retained any wooing ability I might have had before I spent many days in the desert. In other words, is my game still good?

Do I still have that Southern Gentleman charm? I’ve found myself to be not so charming when it comes to my job. I’ve developed a reputation for bluntness and telling people what I think, whether it is what they want to hear or not. In the military, that’s a good reputation to have. People know you won’t beat around the bush and you’ll give them your honest opinion and not what they want to hear. If I don’t tell commanders that their mission is a bad idea, I could put lives at risk. Bluntness is almost a necessity.

Will I be able to relate and interact with normal people? Obviously, I haven’t hung out with civilians (as the rest of y’all are known to me) in a while. I’m unsure of how they’ll treat me and how I will react to them. I have no idea how I’ll react when people ask me what it was like. Part of me worries that I’ll respond curtly with “Tell ya what, give me your shotgun, I’ll give you 3 seconds and then I’ll shoot at you. Then you’ll know” and another part of me frets that I’ll just ignore them and dismiss them as ignorant interrogators.

I’m almost more worried about going back to normal than I was about leaving in the first place. Will I be able to adjust to the slower pace of life? Can I remember how to cook my own food? Has anyone even noticed I’ve been gone? Will I be welcomed back with open arms or treated as an accomplice to war crimes? Everyone has gone on with their lives and done without my presence for a year. I have no clue what to expect. And so the Soldier’s life continues…