My Army Story part 5

MY ARMY STORY

Part V

By Ken Scar

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My kids and I in my front yard on the my last day in uniform. We took this photo using the timer on my camera, then I went to my bedroom, took off the uniform, and hung it by a hanger on my closet door, where it remains.

RESERVES

The 7th MPAD’s homecoming was anticlimactic. I had covered other units’ returns on Fort Hood that were full of formations and fanfare, with rock music playing and a big reveal of the returning Soldiers, family members rushing the parade field, bands playing, generals giving speeches, balloons and banners . . . the works.

Since our unit was so small we didn’t get any of that.

Our busses pulled up to our office building on Fort Hood to a small crowd of our friends and family waiting on the loading dock. We stepped out onto the parking lot, assembled into a formation in the god-awful Texas heat, and were released by our first sergeant. Zero fanfare. Nevertheless, my six-year-old daughter broke away and ran up to hug me as we were still standing at attention and that will be one of my favorite memories until the day I die.

It was amazing being back in the States. The luxuries of the modern world never seemed so beautiful. Starbucks had never tasted so good. It took me a good two weeks before I started taking it all for granted again.

In 2014, at the end of my five-year active duty contract, I decided to sign up for the Army Reserve for three years instead of making it a clean break. I had been at Fort Hood in the 7th MPAD for my entire Army career and I wanted to see what else there was for a 46Q. I had to move my life across the country - not to Colorado, but to South Carolina of all places because my ex-wife and her new husband had moved there while I was in Afghanistan. I ached to move back home to Colorado, but I was sick of being a part-time dad to my kids, so South Carolina it was.

I packed up my little 4X8 trailer again and moved to S.C. sight unseen, fingers crossed that I’d find a job once I got there. Thankfully, the portfolio I’d built as an Army journalist helped me land a job in media relations at Clemson University, which was good enough to hire a Soldier straight out of the Army. That was a huge relief. My first day at Clemson was literally the day after my active duty contract was up. I was back to being a civilian again – mostly.

Reservists are required to attend “drill” one weekend a month, and do two weeks of annual training (AT) every year. I knew giving up that weekend each month would be a pain in the ass – but damn was it a pain in the ass. Every time drill weekend rolled around I could swear I’d just done it the week before.

All the same Army rules apply in the Reserves so I still couldn’t grow my hair out or smoke pot or wear an earring, and I still had to pass an APFT twice a year, but other than that it was mostly painless. Most drill weekends were pretty boring, really. One summer they sent me to Washington D.C. for AT, and the next summer they sent me to Korea. That was cool. It was interesting work and retaining access to Army Soldiers and their stories and the photo opportunities that came with them was worth a lot. The three years went by pretty fast.

When it came time to either re-enlist in the Reserve or get out once and for all, I decided to call it quits. If I stayed in, another deployment would have been a certainty and I couldn’t stomach spending another year away from my kids.

In June 2017 I donned my uniform for the last time, and spent my last drill weekend taking photos and posting them for a fellow Soldier’s retirement ceremony that took place at my unit’s headquarters in Atlanta. I’m really proud of those last photos and always will be.

This I learned: It is a singular honor for any journalist to capture the important moments of a Soldier’s life. In my time as an Army journalist, I was blessed to be in that position on many occasions. Retirement and promotion ceremonies are prime examples of that.

When I got home that Sunday evening, I took my kids out into our front yard and used the timer on my camera to take a photo of the three of us: Daddy’s last moments as a Soldier. Afterwards, I went to my bedroom, took off my uniform for the last time and hung it on my closet door, where it remains. It was a quiet end to the most intense period of my life.

VETERAN

Am I glad I did it? That’s another question I get asked a lot.

I knew it was going to be a sacrifice, but there was no way to know how all-encompassing that sacrifice really is. Even before you step on the bus to basic training you start sacrificing your time, your freedoms, your relationships, your dignity - and it never stops. But the rewards are great too.

The day after I was robbed for the second time in Killeen my first sergeant called me into his office and handed me a huge wad of cash. My fellow public affairs officers (PAO’s) had taken up a collection for me. Later that day a television reporter showed up at my house, tipped off by my former commander. After the story aired, I got calls and letters from strangers for months offering money, furniture, rides, a place to stay, or anything else I needed. I’ve never felt so supported in my life. It got to the point where getting robbed almost turned out to be more of a good thing than a bad thing. That’s what it feels like to be an American Soldier today.

Fewer than one percent of American citizens join the military. Before I became a Soldier that seemed about right, but nowadays it seems like every other person I meet is either a vet or still in uniform. It’s like buying a car: Once you have one suddenly every other car on the road is a Toyota Tacoma.

The thing is, you know if you broke down on the side of the road every one of those other drivers would stop in a second to help you.

That’s the most uplifting thing about being a veteran. If you wore the uniform and did your best for the Soldiers to your left and right while you were in it, they’ll have your back for the rest of your life.

So yes, I am glad I did it. When I see a WWII or Vietnam veteran in the airport, I know we’ll have things to say to each other. Being a part of that club is pretty damn cool. One might even say it’s a reason to live. It gives me a pride I never thought I’d have, and respect I never knew I needed. Most importantly, it gave me direction. I joined in a delirious bid for a way out, but was given no choice but to move forward.

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The Army Reserve sent me back to Fort Hood in 2017 to cover one of our units returning from Afghanistan. I hadn't been there in three years - but the place hadn't changed much. I took the opportunity to visit my old office and snap this photo. I doubt I'll ever be there again.