What was I thinking?
Fort Myer is an installation bounded by Arlington National Cemetery and water (Potomac River). Standing atop Fort Myer, you are on an overlook and can see Washington DC monuments and memorials or Rosslyn. You can also gaze upon the Cemetery where today’s casualties and yesterday’s heroes rest. The warfighters of our nation. A short walk to the Pentagon, all of the Commander’s commanders live on Fort Myer - Gen Gates is there now among those that work for him. It is the highest profile installation in the US Army for ceremony. Stables of horses to serve honors, german shepherds to serve in the Military District of Washington, and the soldier’s finest. Men and women that excel are hand-picked by Commands to serve in The Old Guard at Fort Myer. I was there. I was honored to be there. I drove there wondering where exactly Fort Myer is. I wondered at the service of burying comrades in arms. I wondered what the security requirements were. They were tight. You drive to one place and then are forwarded to a bay. It’s a clean, drive-through bay where a soldier has you step out of your vehicle with your ID in hand. Open the doors, the hood, the trunk. The car undergoes an inspection, and then you can drive over the barricades that can rise at the pop of a button - cement with spikes on them. They come out of the ground to stop or slice a car as it approaches or is atop the barrier. Serious stuff. I approached the first stop slowly, and advised that I was there to see the Environmental Group. The sharp MP sent me to the next stop. I stepped away from the car. I then wondered if I should start a conversation - perhaps share that I’m an Army veteran. Perhaps thank this soldier for his service, his somber job, his expertise. I then thought maybe I should open the hood instead of just popping the hood. The soldier watched me as I neared the car and opened the hood. This is the part that indicates that I should never have been in the Army…seeing dry leaves caught between the hood and the windshield, I proceeded to handsweep them away. I grabbed them by the handful and put them on the ground. Yes, on that clean, spotless bay floor. I got one half finished before the soldier came around and looked at what I was doing. He cleared me in that moment, probably to stop me from doing the other side. I had decided better of it anyway having seen the momentary look of awe on the soldier’s face accompanied by the nonverbal question, “What the hell?” or “How could you!?” or just “Really?” My sincere apologies to the soldier that must now clean up after me in addition to cleaning up after our war. I decided not to share that I was in the Army, too. I did not want to further disappoint him by letting him know that I have a glimpse of his world, and could so easily forget it all. But, I did salute the riderless horse among the caisson that carried one of our fallen home shortly thereafter. Blessings upon them all, the living and dead soldiers that live in a world so foreign to and yetin the center of humanity.
2 years ago • Notes