The picture is referred to as "Amanda's butt picture" at our house, because, well, as you can see, there it is....meanwhile, son Joe and my little Lyndsay obscured by the full moon.
In ten years, the picture has taken a life of its own, with many assuming that is the "Wife and Kids", that the Soldier got in trouble, punished, etc., which isn't the case. A small percentage of the comments were negative, citing lack of discipline, breaking the "rules", and all of that. The truth is that my Wife tried harnessing the kids, but it was not to be. They stormed the bastille. IT was nothing more than kids missing their Daddy. It was spontaneous, it happened, and when I take my last breath that's what I am going to see.
I go back to my journal entry from May, 2006:
What ACTUALLY happened—At the conclusion of the Generals’ comments— he said “That’s all I have…”
At precisely that moment, these three kids— all of whom belong to me—BOLTED from the confines of the throng of families and distinguished guests, as if they had been shot out of a cannon.
In a flash I could see all three—eyes wide open, with grins on their faces as big as mine—hauling ass toward me—Joe, followed by Lyndsay, followed by Amanda…I attempted to wave them off but in that fraction of a second I had to decide what was more important—wave them off or prepare for the impending train wreck. Their combined weight exceeded mine by a good hundred pounds and had I not braced myself accordingly, I may have been a casualty right there on the parade field.
I heard someone in the rank behind me say “Here they come” and that’s when I got it full blast—-WHUMP….WHUMP……WHUMP….as each of my kids plowed into me-Joe having launched himself in the air a good eight feet prior….
I had my arms full of Fisher kids, and all we could do was cry…
I may have even told them to go back into the stands until the Army song was finished..IT was all a blur and If I had only one word to describe it:
Indescribable.
Long Story a tad longer—The news media saw my little heathens break ranks and followed suit, the end result of which--- the defining moment of my career-- captured in pictures and splattered on the front pages of several newspapers—even in my Grandfathers hometown of Moultrie, Georgia.
The family and I all drove home, where the neighbors had hung a “WELCOME HOME GEORGE” banner across the front porch and the front yard was festooned with 145 American Flags—my cup runneth over.
The next afternoon I was lying on my back deck in the hammock looking at the bluest sky I ever saw, contrasted by the wonderful green grass and trees of Middle Georgia. This was unreal. I must have died and went to heaven—-and If I only had one word to describe how it felt: Indescribable.
I glanced down at my watch and noticed I still had it set 9 hours ahead—Iraqi time.
I pulled the stem out and reset my watch. In the background I could hear Sue knocking around in the kitchen preparing supper. I felt my eyelids getting heavy and drifted off to sleep.
I was home.
