During our last patrol through the
shantytowns a young mother waited patiently outside the bustling throng of
children hopping back and forth between our vehicles. I don’t remember seeing her arrive, she just
suddenly appeared on the outskirts of the roiling flock of children. In that sea of motion she stood as still and
resolute as a obsidian tower, her black burkha providing a mute contrast to the
gaudy kaleidoscope of children’s clothing. She was clutching a toddler tightly to her chest, and I reflexively
assumed she was trying to secure some candy for her child. I watched her for a moment and sensed that she
was too proper to approach and ask for treats. I made a mental note to hand her
some candy once the throng had died down, and put a few pieces of candy into my
pocket to pass to her later. Then I
turned my attention back to the happy shrieks of the children vying for our
attention, and finished passing out the remaining supplies
Once our vehicles were stripped of
humanitarian supplies the children started to settle down, happily splitting
off to try to wheedle more candy from their favorite soldier. As the children filtered off I got my first
good look at the young boy she held to her chest. And it was only then that I realized she
hadn’t come here to ask for candy.
The young boy was clearly suffering from a
congenital birth defect - he looked
as frail as spun glass. His slender,
atrophied limbs seemed to hang off his little body like limp banners, and his
oversized head rested on his mother’s chest as if he needed help supporting its bulk. As I approached I greeted the sad eyed
mother, and then bit the inside of my mouth and waited for her to ask me for the
medical help I knew I couldn’t provide. The mother spent several minutes explaining her sons medical condition,
and then asked the question that I knew was coming - “You have helped fix some
children – can you help my son?”. I
already knew the answer, but to avoid appearing callous I called my medic over
and asked him if there was anything we could do for the boy. He took one look at the crumpled waif of
a child and then said “Sir, we couldn’t help him even if we were in the
States”. I turned back to the mother and
explained to her that her sons condition was beyond our ability to help. Once my terp had conveyed the message she
gave a small smile, and thanked me for trying to help. Then she turned away and made her way back to
her tiny home.
The memory of that wisp of a boy stayed
with me, and after a few days I asked SSG Spite if he could think of anything
we might be able to do for the family. SSG Spite said that he would see what he could do and then disappeared
for the rest of the day. The following
day I knocked on SSG Spite’s door and when I walked in I almost dropped my
coffee mug in shock. There sat SSG Spite
quietly cleaning his weapon… sitting in a wheelchair. SSG Spite seemed to sense my agitation
without even turning around and after a pregnant pause he said “Don’t worry
sir, I’m fine. The wheelchair is for the
kid”. Then he turned around, gave me a
sly grin and said “But I had you worried, didn’t I?”. We laughed for a few minutes and then SSG
Spite said “If I didn’t feel sorry for the kid I’d keep the wheelchair – this
is the best seat in the barracks”.
The
next morning we loaded up our HMMWVs with small Iraqi flags, candy, and a bulky
wheelchair and set out for shantytown to bring SSG Spite’s favorite chair to
the little boy. As our combat patrol
came to a close we turned onto the long, dusty road leading to Shantytown to
drop off our supplies. The entire town
seemed to flood into the alleys to greet us, and in a few minutes we were
swimming in a sea of smiling faces. As
we passed each mudbrick compound the head of the household would anxiously flag
us down and offer their advice on how to catch the AIF, and we spent long
minutes trying to politely bring each conversation to a close. Several of our soldiers were passing out
small Iraqi flags and toys to the children yammering around our legs, and in a
few minutes our procession through the alley ground to a halt under the sheer
numbers of children vying for a small flag. Usually the children are fixated on candy or toys, but not today. Today the big ticket item was Iraqi
flags. As we passed out dozens of the
little flags the kids seemed sated, and the alleys started to clear. We continued towards the house followed by a phalanx
of children happily waving their flags. When I looked back at this strange procession I almost felt like I was watching
a miniature parade - the kids were laughing and waving their flags as proudly
as drum majors.
After the better part of an hour we arrived
at the right house, and I rapped my knuckles on the tin gate to announce our
arrival. I peeked over the gate to make
sure we had the right house and noticed the little boy sitting in the dirt
watching his mother prepare a meal. The
mother must not have heard us knock, because she turned and looked surprised to
see our kevlars peeking over her front gate. She recovered quickly and greeted us warmly, opening her gate and
inviting us to come in for chai tea. We politely declined, but asked her to
take her son and follow us to our vehicle. She looked a little confused at our request, but dutifully picked up her
son and followed us to the HMMWV. When
we arrived SGT Bard opened one of the doors and pulled and tugged until the wheelchair
slid through the armored door. I wish I
could describe the womans face when we gently picked up her son and placed him
in the wheelchair - but there are some emotions words cannot hope to
touch. We stopped to snap a quick
picture as the little boy rested peacefully in the full sized wheelchair, and
then we quickly said our goodbyes. As we
loaded into our HMMWVs several of the local kids were arguing over who would
get to take the boy for his first ride. I’m not sure who ended up shuttling him around, but as we left you could
see his wheelchair weaving through the trash strewn alleys.
Posted by: Seth Yantiss | December 19, 2005 at 17:30
Posted by: EddieP | December 18, 2005 at 18:00
Posted by: Robert Conner | December 18, 2005 at 12:35
Posted by: Jay | December 15, 2005 at 19:25
Posted by: connie doggett | December 15, 2005 at 17:42
Posted by: dellbabe68 | December 14, 2005 at 13:40
Posted by: Rob B. | December 13, 2005 at 13:55
Posted by: GME | December 13, 2005 at 13:29
Posted by: Tim | December 11, 2005 at 22:07
Posted by: Beth Lamm | December 11, 2005 at 12:35
Posted by: Kat in GA | December 11, 2005 at 12:06
Posted by: tnunn | December 10, 2005 at 17:22
Posted by: AT-Deuce | December 10, 2005 at 02:24
Posted by: AT-Deuce | December 10, 2005 at 02:23
Posted by: PseudoIntellect | December 09, 2005 at 12:00
Posted by: Roger Glass | December 09, 2005 at 09:13
Posted by: Roger Glass | December 09, 2005 at 09:12
Posted by: Roger Glass | December 09, 2005 at 09:09
Posted by: PseudoIntellect | December 09, 2005 at 08:59
Posted by: Vikki | December 09, 2005 at 08:05
Posted by: w3bgrrl | December 09, 2005 at 04:51
Posted by: devildog6771 | December 09, 2005 at 04:41
Posted by: Maggie45 | December 08, 2005 at 19:20
Posted by: ILUVMYSOLDIERJOE | December 08, 2005 at 18:23
Posted by: Edward L. Daley | December 08, 2005 at 16:46