LEGACY

Grandma Jolley

It has been nearly a month since I last posted anything on this blog.  I wanted to make sure I had given everyone that reads this amazing piece of literature an opportunity to send me fan mail, care packages or if nothing else, cries to stop posting pictures of my mustache and/or links to songs that revolve around Poo Ponds.  Oddly enough, I have not received a single letter or care package, and the only cries came from my wife and children...and let's be honest, I've become immune to their complaints of my efforts to be humorous.  So I decided to take a few minutes and write a few thoughts that have been bouncing around my cranium.

Grandpa Jolley

Two weeks ago my dear, sweet Grandma Jolley passed away.  She was 89 years old, and still just as vibrant and fun as could be.  Last year I posted a story of one of my favorite memories of her.  If you missed it, I highly recommend reading it, as I still think I am one of the funniest people I know.  The long and short of that story is that I ended up in a KMART free-balling for at least a good half-hour while my Grandma found me some new Underroos (seriously mother...how did you let a 5 year old pack his own suitcase for a week-long visit with his grandparents?!).  I cherrish those memories.  I have vivid memories of making the drive to Burley, Idaho and staying with Frank and Shirley.  My parents would sit playing Rook and drinking Tab or Diet Pepsi while all seven of the Shepherd kids quietly watched.  My Grandma reminded us often that "Children are to be seen and not heard!"  We would play croquet in the backyard, walk down to the park or to the A&W Rootbeer and simply enjoy being kids.  Grandma always had a freezer downstairs full of ice cream sandwiches and fudge cycles.  You had to be brave enough to venture into the pantry to get one, but it was always worth it.  I remember sitting with my Grandpa watching Dale Murphy and the Braves.  I remember my Grandpa becoming sick with cancer.



Shirley Jolley and a fraction of her posterity

Frank Jolley was a giant of a man!  He was in the Army Air Force and fought in the war as a radio-gunner.  He would later go on to deliver mail in Burley.  When I was 14, he died after a long battle with skin and bone cancer.  I still remember the school nurse calling me out of class so that we could make an emergency trip to Burley.  We drove all night and ultimately made it in time to say goodbye.  I remember standing beside his bed in his den and having my own opportunity to say goodbye.  The giant that I had remembered had given way to the cancer that had eaten away at his body.  I remember telling him that I had just finished my Eagle requirements.  Grandpa died just a few days later...and Grandma was left alone.  After 27 years, they were finally reunited.

Grandma and Grandpa Jolley

I could fill pages with memories of my Grandparents.  They would mean very little to most people, but are treasures to me.  Rather than putting those memories to paper, I thought I would focus on the legacy that they have left behind.  I was unable to attend the funeral.  For some reason Southwest Airlines did not have a quick conncection between Afghanistan and Idaho.  It was a tough thing for me to deal with, as I was the only grandchild that was not in attendance.  However, I was able to participate long enough via Facetime to witness what this woman has meant to her posterity.  Shirley will be remembered more for what she taught than for what she did...and that is saying a lot considering how much she did!  She not only taught her children the gospel, she LIVED the gospel.  She expressed her faith through service.  She showed her gratitude in the same way.  She loved the Lord and she loved her family.  I am grateful for her influence in my life, but more importantly in my own mother's life.  So much of who we become is based on what we have learned within the walls of our own homes.  I could not ask for a better scenario than the one I grew up in.  Loving parents that loved each other, loved their kids, and loved God.  I owe so much to both of my Grandparents for molding my Mom into the person she is today.

Wings

I don't have many pictures of my Grandparents...far fewer than I should.  I do have one treasure that my Grandma gave me on the day I earned my pilot wings.  Hanging on our wall at home is a picture of my graduation certificate with two sets of wings...mine and my Grandpa's.  It is a treasure.  Not so much for what it is as much as what it represents.  To me it represents both of my Grandparents...the one that wore those wings and the one that parted with them.  I love and miss them both, but have no doubt I will see them again one day.  I only hope they can get a glimps of my mustache as they smile down upon me now!  Even they could use the laugh!

PULL MY FINGER

There is little doubt that in general, men enjoy things that smell.  Jeff Foxworthy spent an entire sketch discussing just how sick in the mind we are.   He argues that we are willing to smell things that are bad because we know there will come a day in which we will cash that moment in and require someone else to smell something even worse.  I get it…farts are funny!  One of the only things funnier than a fart is when it’s your fart!  As a father, one of the most pure joys I’ve experienced is trying to melt my kids’ faces while I alone control the power windows!  Shortly after Jen and I were married, I made the mistake of hoping the term “silent but deadly” was not going to apply to me that day…I was wrong!  On the corner of Tramway and Indian School, I nearly lost my one true love!  Bless her heart for staying with me.  It was literally so bad that the resale value on that Toyota Celica went down $450, and the carpets were never the same!  But was it worth it?  Of course!  Who doesn’t enjoy a small game of covered wagon/dutch oven?!  Needless to say I married a saint!

So why am I airing my dirty laundry? (that is funny)  Why would I take the time to admit that on 4 different occasions I passed gas and nearly killed someone?  I suppose the biggest reason is to establish the fact that I can handle things that smell…or so I thought.  There is nothing that could prepare me for what I was about to face here in Afghanistan.

I’m not going to say that Afghanistan is the smelliest place on Earth, but I’m certainly not going to argue that it’s not either!  Kandahar is home to over 30,000 people.  Nearly 1 in every 1 people have to use the bathroom while they are here.  While I never attended medical school (although I did trick Jen into marrying me under the assumption that I would), I do know that human waste is

inherently smelly.  I live with a daughter that can single-handedly clear out the entire downstairs living space in our relatively big house  with just one visit to the bathroom (I won’t say which daughter, only that it isn’t Kaylea).  She is just one small girl.  Now imagine if you will that kind of power multiplied by 30,000 people!  Now I realize that there are some of you at this point that are either scoffing this post, grossed out, or are thanking your lucky stars that they didn’t buy my 1988 Toyota Celica.  However, keep this in mind: THERE MUST NEEDS BE A PLACE FOR ALL THAT POO TO GO!  Ladies and gentlemen…I give to you the military solution, reverently known as the POO POND.

The Poo Pond sits smack dab in the middle of Kandahar Air Base, and it is made up of the waste from 30,000 individuals.  It stinks.  It stinks a lot.  It stinks about 30,000 times as bad as Emma on a bad day (oops, forget I mentioned her name).  It stinks ALL the time!  When you leave your room, it is there.  When you go to eat, it is there.  When you brush your teeth, yep, it’s there!  It is pretty much inescapable.  Luckily there is some reprieve.  Every morning they do us a favor and burn all of the trash from the base.  There is nothing quite like the smell of burning plastic bottles to get your blood flowing.  Plus they are telling us that burnt plastic is actually good for you too!  It’s a win-win situation around here!

So my friends…when you think of what to send me in the next care package that I know everyone is getting ready to send, please include some air fresheners…or maybe just a gas mask!  I promise to give it to Jen when I get home.

The Poo Pond Song  (No kidding here...it's famous enough to have a song about it)

 

THEY CALL ME MAGNUM

THE COMBAT MUSTACHE

As a seasoned fighter pilot, I am very much aware that there are many traditions that can easily be perceived as childish and silly.  We avoid words like "Box" and "Head" and replace them with the far more acceptable "Container" and "Cranium".  We give each other cool names like "Huge" Johnson, "Cheetah" Petz and "Frosty" Shepherd (that one really is cool).  I've often said that our organization is nothing more than a big fraternity...and I've enjoyed every minute of it.  While I have been exposed to some juvenile traditions, I also have to admit that some of the things we do quite simply save lives!  Perhaps the greatest example of this is the combat mustache.

 

I was first exposed to the Combat Mustache (I will continue to capitalize these words based on the fact that Combat Mustache is a proper noun)

AMERICAN HERO

when I deployed to Iraq in 2005.  My Director of Operations was one of my mentors and good friends, Lt Col Mark "Calvin" Cline (seriously...the names we give each other are AWESOME).  There are two things that Calvin taught me on that deployment that have always stuck with me.  The first was simple..."Embrace the Suck".  That motto came in handy as rockets were shot into the base on a daily basis and insurgents were shooting small arms at my jet.  All the while the most important thing on the base revolved around my wearing of a reflective belt and tucking in my shirt!  The second lesson was far more important..."There is protection in the growing of facial hair below the upper lip!"  You heard me right.  The Combat Mustache provides a soldier protection whilst he or she (I say that to be politically correct, although few females can pull off the Combat Mustache) is deployed in a combat arena.  As such, Calvin declared that all members of the Rude Rams were to grow a quality Combat Mustache...and so it began!  We had been in Iraq for nearly 3 weeks...just enough time for the average male to have a fairly good deal of hair follicle stimulated growth, and an equal amount of protection.  Sadly, yours truly was struggling.  I'm not sure if it was poor genes, stubborn hair, or that I simply didn't need protecting, but I was quickly learning that I was not cut out to grow a mustache.  I was growing used to the snide remarks from my squadron members, but I was also growing insanely jealous of their ability to so quickly look like my boyhood hero Burt Reynolds!  That guy was simply legendary.  To make a long story short, I finally approached Calvin in total desperation.  I wanted to follow his command, but was also tired of looking like a young Asian boy with a few hairs struggling to find a purpose.  Calvin conceded.  He agreed that my "mustache" was not only NOT providing me protection, but that it was also creeping out most of the squadron.  In return for his permission to shave, I made a pledge that I would attempt another Combat Mustache the next time I flew in the war.  Calvin remains a hero to the men and women of the Rams for allowing me to shave.

A PROMISE KEPT

I've now been here in Afghanistan for nearly 3 weeks, and I'm thrilled to report that I have been true to my word about growing an AMAZING Combat Mustache (I alone get to define AMAZING).  I personally have been proud of my mustache.  In my mind I was beginning to take on the appearance of the man of men in the mustache world...Mr. Tom Selleck!

THE LEGEND

Now it could be the fact that I'm a Lieutenant Colonel on this deployment, but it seemed to me that everyone in my squadron agreed.  They've even posted pictures on our refrigerator discussing my amazing mustache.  I was convinced...I had become Tom Selleck...Magnum PI had nothing on me.  Ron Burgundy was calling me for tips...and then something happened...my family saw me.  Technology has come a long way since I deployed in 2005.  Jenny and the kids were never cursed enough to see my terrible mustache from Iraq.  However, in the world of Skype and FaceTime, I've been able to keep my loved ones up to date with almost daily progress of  "Mr Mustache".  I'm not saying that they thought my mustache was less than AMAZING, I'm just saying that my children cried.  Jen has trouble sleeping at night.  Our house trained dogs have taken to pooping on my pillow.  Clearly there is a difference between my perception and reality. 



So here's my parting thoughts.  Maybe I'm not destined to grow an AMAZING Combat Mustache.  Maybe I'll never look like Burt, Tom or Ron.  But there are two things that I will take away from this experience.  First, I have protection.  I know that as long as I don't shave this pathetic excuse for a mustache I will be protected.  Second...I have integrity.  I made a promise to Calvin, and it's one that I intend to keep.  And who knows...maybe in 6 months I will look like Burt.  Wouldn't that be sexy?!