Between Iraq

There is always a sense of loneliness each year as students graduate. Familiar faces fade, personalities change, and another group of young students enters the empty space. We all like to think that we are unique, but one thing that is not unique about us at all is that we are all unique. Therefore, all alike.

Steve certainly isn't a student that would stand out in some extraordinary way, no massive intellect, no special physical presence, no outstanding athletic ability or records, no single, simple way of giving him a particular identity. Not a hero. Yet, as alike to all the students I've taught over the years, he is still a distinct personality with all the special qualities that any human being can claim. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Steve is one among many. Nothing that Newsweek or the Nobel Prize committee would be interested in.

Steve was a rambunctious student, always wired and full of teenage energy. As a student, he was one of those frustrating, rather immature, young men that take a great deal of class time and energy keeping focused. He always had interesting stories to tell, and was always telling them. His humor was amusing. After moving to the next grade level, he still often came to hang around in class with several friends, sometimes talking, sometimes completely ignoring me.

When he decided during his senior year to enlist in the military, I didn't express my disapproval or approval, just tendered the advice to stay alert and learn to duck. The military operations in Iraq had begin by then, and I certainly knew that he could easily end up deployed there.

His friend joined the Navy. He joined the Army. He is stationed in Iraq north of Baghdad. I have often had some anxiety about the many young people, male and female, whom I have taught who are now in Iraq. It is disconcerting knowing that many of these vibrant young people are in harms way.

I had a surprise visit from him and his girlfriend today. He is on a short leave and will be returning, redeployed, to Iraq within a few days. "Keep ducking." It was good to know that he is doing well and is unharmed (physically at least). It is distressing to know that he is returning. It isn't about high politics, right or wrong, peace or war. It is about the distinct possibility that today's parting hug could be the last, or that he could return, as tens of thousands have, severely and permanently disabled. It is about the distress of watching and knowing that another group of my senior students will soon be there.