A SOLDIER'S STORY
Coming Home
By
Franke Gracia
I suppose every soldier who serves in a combat zone promises himself and his Maker a thing or two. Such as, “Man, if I get back home in one piece I’m gonna..." or “Lord, if you’ll just get me through this I promise I’ll..."
Well, like many other GIs, I am currently trying to renegotiate many of those pledges I made to the big “Airborne Ranger in the Sky,” seeing as how they were made under such great duress. Nobody I’ve talked to says I have a chance.
I did, however, fulfill a promise I made to myself if I made it back home in the vertical position. Not long after being released from active duty, I purchased a road Atlas, hopped in my truck, put her in drive and hit the road. My plan was simple: try to stay off all interstates and highways, eat when I got hungry, sleep when I got tired, and stop whenever I saw something interesting. Almost a month, 15 states and more than 5,000 miles later, my odyssey is complete.
I planned only two definite destinations for my ad hoc expedition, and they proved to be nothing less than cathartic. I traveled north through Texas, visited family in the Dallas area, then cut across Oklahoma into Arkansas, nipped Missouri, crossed the Great River and headed north. As I traveled the Norman Rockwell landscapes of rural Illinois, I tried to imagine what the country might have looked like back in the mid-19th century to an ambitious young country lawyer traveling the state circuit on horseback.
As I entered the state capital of Illinois, I was actually nervous; it had always been a dream of mine to travel to the place where my beloved 16th president spent the majority of his life. Standing in the actual house of Abraham Lincoln gave me goose bumps. I stood in the room where he was informed his name would be on the ballot for the presidency. I stared at his desk, imagined him there, agonizing over his country coming apart, state after state seceding, before he even traveled to Washington.
I toured the entire house, walking gingerly, respectfully, as in a church. I saw the room where he played with his children, the table where he took his meals with his family, the water basin and mirror where he shaved. I felt an embracing, benevolent, warm aura while standing in the home of my kindred brother, a man who loved his country as much as I do. I did not want to leave.
But about 700 miles almost due east lay the only other scheduled stop of my impromptu journey. So I scooted across Indiana, Ohio, grazed West Virginia, and headed toward the southeast corner of Pennsylvania, to what I consider the holy ground of Gettysburg. It was there that I ceremoniously changed my footwear, lacing up boots that had walked the desert of Farah, the wilderness of Tarin Kowt and the lands of Kandahar, Bagram, Ghazni, Gardez and Khowst. These same boots now walked the hallowed soil of Seminary Ridge, Culp’s Hill, Cemetery Hill, Devil’s Den and the Angle.
Most folks have a difficult time understanding my voluntarily leaving a college classroom and marching off to war simply for love of country. Personally, I think that's sad. But Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain would understand, because he did the same. As I stood on Little Round Top, where Chamberlain and his 20th Maine held the left flank that second terrible day of fighting, I again felt a closeness, a kinship, an affinity for a man who could truly empathize with my love of country.
For me, save the Bible, the lexis of the Gettysburg Address is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen on a piece of paper. I would recite it aloud to myself in Afghanistan, along with favorite Scripture, for comfort and solace.
Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain could not stay in his classroom at Bowdoin College while his beloved country did its best to commit suicide. He volunteered to serve. Likewise, I could not stay in my classroom while the chance to serve my country passed me by.
Someday, if God wills it, I will sit down at the table of brotherhood with Abraham Lincoln and Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. We will enjoy each others company, in peace and unspoken understanding, knowing we did try to make the world a better place for our brothers and sisters. I eagerly anticipate the pleasure of their company.
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Franke Gracia lives in Temple, Texas and was deployed in Afghanistan with the National Guard from May 2005 to April 2006. He is a math professor at Temple College and is very close to his family that includes two brothers and two sisters. He earned a bronze star while he was deployed, which he gave to his mother. As to why he decided to write this series of articles he says, "I hope folks who read my scribbling will gain a greater appreciation of what a citizen-soldier goes through during a deployment."
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EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the last of Franke's story, so this will be the last post shared with us. I want to thank him for allowing us to use his articles, and I also want to thank him for his service.