Don't Tell Me You're Sorry About My Son
Last June, our bright and intelligent 19-year-old son, Chris, announced that he had joined the Army, and would be leaving for basic training in September. We had known for a while that he wanted something more than just going to college. I would've expected to hear that he wanted to join the Peace Corps, or to travel to Japan (with six years of Japanese under his belt) or maybe go to New York and try acting, since he'd been a talented Thespian in high school. But, the Army? This was unexpected.

Our initial reactions were utter confusion and "what-on-earth-were-you-thinki ng?" I come from a Navy family, so for me, this Army thing seemed pretty unusual. But, after finding out about the Army and what it can offer, we concluded that it's quite possible that joining the military, and specifically the Army, was the right choice for Chris. We respected and supported his decision.

Although most were positive, I expected a few negative reactions from some with whom I shared this news. "Did some recruiter get ahold of him?!" was asked in a disgusted tone. But the one comment I was not prepared for was " I'm sorry to hear about your son." SORRY? As if some tragic event had just befallen us? As if I should be experiencing some sort of disappointment?

Am I sorry that he willingly and respectfully took on the biggest challenge of his young life? Am I sorry that he will be practicing the values of responsibility, courage, commitment, and selfless service? Am I sorry that he's embracing the ideals of loyalty, duty, and comraderie? Am I sorry that being in the Army means you're living up to a higher standard?

In his first letter , he told us that we would not believe how many different types of people there are in the Army...
all backgrounds, from GED's to PhD's, from every state in the Union. Basic training is not Boy Scout camp, he says. Already, he is experiencing the satisfaction of setting goals, facing mental and physical challenges, and rising above them.
I realize, now, that he will learn more in nine weeks of basic training than I did in four years of college.

We attend athletic games at our alma mater, and we see the hordes of young people running around, acting crazy, having fun. I don't hear much talk about honor and integrity. Their biggest worries will be about getting term papers completed, where to go for Spring Break, or having to ask Mom or Dad for more money. For some kids, the college experience is one of self-centered over-indulgence. With his high SAT scores, Chris could have easily been one of those young people, had he wished. But when I compare the life-path my son is taking, to one he could have taken, how could we even think of being disappointed? We have never been more proud of our son!

However, we know there may be danger ahead. Our son may be put in harm's way for his country, and for our way of life. But, life itself is full of risks. Here at home, young people die in all sorts of accidents every day, yet they may not have been standing for something so great and significant. We all need to thank God for people like Chris.
Don't ever tell me you're sorry about my son.

Learn more about this author, Carol Pavelek.
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