Question.

That is the title of a Moody Blues song that was taken off the 1970 Moody Blues album called “A Question of Balance”.

The song Question was a bit a protest song, I suppose.  I know it has been referenced before as such by the guy that wrote the song.  His name is Justin Hayward.

I have a a bit of a protesting question myself.  It will come at the end of this post.

Know that I would rather be looking out the window trying to find nothingness than sitting here writing this post.  I was motivated by sadness to pick up the speak the rights sign post and write these words.  I had other plans.

My intention was, given that I attended a high school football game last night and am still intrigued enough by the game that it inspired me to bag up my three football and grab my football cleats and my kicking shoe.  My intent was to swing my leg a bit and try to feel good about the fact that I can still kick a ball that passes over the cross bar of the goal post from forty yards, even though I am sad believing I have little hope of hitting one from fifty yards like I routinely did thirty years ago.

After my foray into acting like a kid again, I was going to write a post that was to let everyone know, hence a less than clever title that I am : Still Kicking.

It didn’t turn out that way.  I just sighed heavily as I wrote typed that last sentence.

Moments before I dropped Carrie, my dear wife, off at her building to work, we were listening to a news report on the radio.

We heard that three American civilian contractors were among the dead in a suicide car bombing in Afghanistan.

Carrie and I just looked at each other trying not to believe what we had just heard.  You see, our son, Jarrett, spent time working as one of these civilian contractors after he got out of the military.  He was no longer a soldier.  Given his expertise with helicopters, the fact that he had experienced one deployment to Iraq and two to Afghanistan, and the fact that he is more than competent in being depended upon and trusted, another arm, call it one  arm of a cousin of Uncle Sam,  convinced him to go back and work in Afghanistan as a “civilian contractor”.

Do you remember that lady Tom Cruise had the hots for in Top Gun?  She was a civilian contractor, I would say.  She had  expertise about aviation equipment she could pass along to the soldiers.  Jarrett had that same ability.  He, a civilian, showed the Army guys how to better take care of, and work their Blackhawk helicopters.  He knows them well.

When Jarrett finished his arranged stint as a civilian contractor, he decided he had seen enough of the Middle East.  He did not go back.  Thankfully, we did not have to watch him go back.

During his years of deployment, Carrie and I winced every time we heard the home phone ring.  We would take a breath before we looked at the caller-I.D. feature on our phone.  One time when we were talking to Jarrett while he was over there, we could hear the shelling KA-BOOMs in the background.  I have never been so rattled in all my life.

Jarrett came back to us.  As a soldier… he came back to us.  As a civilian contractor…he came back to us.

Today he tried to call his mother and I think she let the phone ring and ring.  She could not talk to him.  He called me and I talked to him.  What did we talk about?  We talked about his work schedule…we talked about his puppy dog…we talked about his order for what I am putting on the grill tonight….we talked about having a meal together.  He told me he loved me and I told him I love him.  I can do that today.

When our phone conversation was over I was thankful I had this conversation.  I was also just as sad for three sets of parents whose children were trying to help by using the expertise and know how.  Dangerous work?  Yes.  Financially rewarding?  Yes.  Necessary?   You better believe it.

I thought about how I will probably have to look hard to find the names of these three civilian contractors and where their families live.  They will quickly be a news blip afterthought.  That does not make them any less important.

I am left with a couple tough questions.  As I look at how much attention a former Olympic male athlete has gotten for telling the world he wants to be a girl, when I see television ratings soar for shows that depict families that can’t get along to save their lives, when I see political candidates that feed this reality television mentality, when I see professional athletes make millions of bucks for being mediocre players, when I see politicians whom have no idea what education is really about and try to act like they do, when I see…well…you can probably fill in the blank yourself.

Do soldiers ever ask the question?

Am I fighting for this?

I would.  But I would also know there is always hope for a better day.

Speaking the somber rights.

Danny Johnson