I would be broke if I were a sushi salesman. I’m hungry, as my hooks mostly remained bare, and I was of no threat to the fish that dawdle below the frothy surface of the sea.
What I DID catch today would be half price in the clearance aquarium at the local Pet Smart. Nonetheless, this reservation for one was worth the 6:00 am wake-up call, even though the chef had nothing to prepare for lunch.
“A fish, which you can’t see, deep down in the water, is a kind of symbol of peace on earth, good will to yourself. Fishing gives a man … some time to collect his thoughts and reaarange them kind of neatly, in an orderly fashion. Once the bait is on the hook and the boat is anchored, there’s nothing to interfere with thinking except an occasional bite.”
It doesn’t take long, once our collective Midshipmen cross the threshold of an otherwise “at ease” and white glove clean home, to feel, and smell, their presence. Naval Academy kids are not shrinking violets. They naturally do things big, bold, and boisterous. Walls rattle, ceilings vibrate, and doors slam, seemingly for no reason. Pantries are always empty, the fridge mostly bare, and their stuff lies around as if it has no keel or compass. But, when that sea bag drops with such a thud, you know your precocious lamb is back in the loving port from which they once sailed.
I arose early from my slumber this morning. Our home is old so every step on the hardwood floor seems to awaken the squeaky bones of each memory we’ve made here. As my lovely wife and Firstie lie sleeping, with only the light from my phone, I stumbled my way to the kitchen. I don’t know why, but as I walked in and flipped on the light, I noticed our young Navy lady’s house key resting on the rustic, well loved, red oak table where, as a family, we broke bread together for nearly nineteen years.
My heart began to palpitate, not because of a cardiac event, but because that key reminded me of our sweet girl’s forever connection to her true home port. My mind began to swirl as my thoughts spanned from Cheerios scattered on a tray before her she could barely grasp to midnight high school English papers we thought she’d never finish. Needless to say, a few salty tears walked the plank of memory lane. It’s no wonder we never gave away that old faithful table. I guess to do so, would’ve been like giving away a piece of our family’s soul.
No matter our sailor’s longitude, latitude, or which salt stained sea she’s floating on, or under, some day, that house key will always allow her access to the home port from which she came. She is no longer our’s alone, the Navy adopted her on Induction Day. However, we will take great comfort that this simple, seemingly mundane instrument of connection, when needed, will not only unlock the front door to the home that built her, but also to our hearts who once held her tight when sleep was not an option, nourished her hopes and dreams, and taught her how to be a lady first and a warrior second.
“We are persons of integrity. We stand for that which is right…”
As the tides churn and turbulent winds push with ill purpose against our galvanized hull, only those Naval officers “imbued with the highest ideals of duty, honor, and loyalty”, can raise their sails and set their rudders to harness that which means their vessel harm and able to garner good for those they lead.
Two for Seven, or Two along the Severn, is more than simply time. It’s time well spent in a special place. It’s a timeless place. It’s two years in preparation for five more. Seven years of service to a country which, seems now more than ever, desperately needs strong leaders. Two years left for our Midshipmen to step up, saddle up, and steady the ship to sail.
Two years is a small prism, but casts long, colorful shadows over the Yard as the Naval Academy continues to hone the vessel they commissioned on I Day while also preparing it for christening just four short years later.
Five years is a commitment to active service beyond self few are willing to make. Some call it, “repayment”. I prefer, “paying it forward”.
Seven years is a span of time from their birth to the second grade, mathematically, one third of their lives lived thus far, and hopefully, our Navy and Marine grown-ups will roll lucky sevens until they decide what’s next. In the wake of a full and abundant life, seven is really a small number, but it’s a measure of time anchored in big things, good things, right, and honorable things.
At around twenty-one, which most of these brave souls signing this sacred document are, I was imbued with little more than a short term dream of passing calculus and hopes of which young lady might say yes when asked to the fall formal. These kids, your kids, are becoming warriors of the sea, land, and air and willing to commit, in writing, to do that which they’ve been called to do; “without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion”. They are long term dreamers, doers, fighters, and winners.
Last year, our then 2/C daughter (pictured here), delighted us with this photo. It was without measure the joy we felt upon receiving confirmation of such a milestone. It’s a moment rivaled by only a few.
As you survey your own MIDN, I’m sure, like our’s, your children have accomplished that which you never doubted they would achieve. Now we, as parents, must find contentment in their decision. Although our minds may find favor with their future, our hearts desperately want to hold tight the chain that anchored them to our safe harbor for so many years. It is time they set course, point their bow, aircraft, or battalion, and sail to explore new seas and fight worthy battles. Their signatures, and what they represent, have stamped their place in U.S. Naval history.
“We are persons of integrity. We stand for that which is right…” is a profound collection of words inscribed on this scroll that means something. They matter. Those Mids that sign this scroll have not done so of light heart, but with deep conviction. They believe these words. These Midshipmen embody the script of which they are committing to. These words mean doing hard things. Things these future Naval officers have chosen to do their whole lives. They’ve got this. They’ll soon have the watch, and we, as a nation, are safer for it.
Facing Southward 