Posted on: Sunday, April 24, 2005

FAMILY MATTERS
Home is the warrior, to continue a friendship

By Michael DeMattos

I met him for the first time in early November.

We attended a Chaminade basketball game with the children of a small preschool on the campus. My wife is the director of the school; his girlfriend is one of the teachers.

Neither of us had any real role to fill, though we both did our best to lend a hand. We cheered, screamed, drank juice and ate more than our share of lemon cookies.

He told me that he was a Marine, and I told him that I was a social worker. He asked me about therapy and teaching and the stress of the job. I asked him about mean drill sergeants, life in the Corps, and his feelings about the war in Iraq. Soon the day was over and we went our separate ways, but the Marine and the conversation we had stayed with me.

Then, in December, he escorted his girlfriend to our house for the Christmas party. Over the course of the previous month, much had changed for the Marine. Troops from Kane'ohe were flying out to Iraq, and he knew that his time would soon come. Despite the serious military talk, the night was really about multicolored lights, Christmas carols, good food and fellowship. I could tell that this was a welcome reprieve for the young Marine.

Then, somewhere around 10 o'clock, he got a call. He would be leaving in two days for the Middle East.

I felt my heart climb to my throat. We had not known each other long, our time together best counted in hours, not days, months or even years. Still, we connected.

He was far from home, and I had a family, and for that night he was a part of it.

Still, I was feeling helpless. I needed to do something for the Marine.

Earlier in the night, he had mentioned that he wanted to read the "Lord of the Rings." He saw the films and now wanted to read the books. This I could do something about. Just as he was leaving, I handed him the complete set for his tour of duty.

We both knew what the gift was about: It was my way of saying come home safely.

He accepted the gift and nodded knowingly.

For months I anxiously scoured the daily paper for news of his unit. I held my breath each time I heard about another car-bombing, aerial assault or sniper attack. For months I heard nothing.

Then, last Monday, I got word. The Marine had returned home — safely.

I am sure that he has much to share and I am eager to listen, but what I really want is what we shared before he left. I want us to sit and eat more than our fair share of lemon cookies. I want to talk about the books he read (if he read them at all). I want things to get back to normal, but I do not know if this will be possible.

I do not know what has changed for him, maybe everything. Several months ago, I made a friend. For a brief moment, he became part of my family. He's not my best or my oldest friend, but he is my latest friend and, thankfully, not my late friend. Welcome back to the family, Marine. We missed you.

Michael DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. He lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter and two dogs.