This weekend, my family will celebrate my oldest brother’s retirement from 33 years in the U.S. Navy. My children agreed grudgingly to attend with me at first, having to turn down other, more fun things. Everyone in our family is going, and it is one of the few times they will witness the pomp of our armed forces. And, they’ve come to realize that this is not just an important milestone in my brother’s life, but in mine as well, mostly because his joining was an important time in my life as well.
In a family whose social life was centered on the sports, academic and scouting events of the oldest, my life changed significantly when my brother entered the Navy by way of the U.S. Naval Academy. One of the few in our entire clan to go to college, the first of our generation to do so, he was also the first ever to leave family to go across the country. This was such a rare thing in our family that his homecomings were always special events, with my grandparents at the fore of everyone else gathered on our small porch to greet him.
His Naval experiences expanded our small world in East San Jose, where the farthest family member was only 80 miles away and our only two family vacations were to Disneyland and to Reno. We’d never had feta cheese until he’d sailed with the Greeks. We were introduced to foreign cultures through the souvenirs he sent from around the world – pearls from the Philippines, gold charms from Egypt, ancient coins from Rome, silk scarves from China, tea cups from Japan.
We grew up with a gang of kids that played a lot of army in the fields behind our house, and he was always the platoon leader. After he left, we played more ball in the streets. I was now the oldest child, but the rest of us were closer in age, so, in contrast to the caravan to a single event, our elders divided their attendance between the events of three active children. We sometimes remarked on the difference in family attendance at his events versus ours, but my mother reminded me that as the oldest, he opened the door for us to participate in these activities in the first place. He was always the trailblazer and, though I felt pressure to separate myself from him at times – even to the point of insisting that teachers at our high school pronounce our name differently than he allowed (“he let you say it incorrectly,” I said), I have always been grateful for what he’s given to the quality of my life as he shared his travels, his insights, his experiences.
We grew up with regular discussions of history and politics at the dinner table. My politics diverted from the rest of my family’s with my education, my community experience and his letters home.
His dream from when he was a boy was to be a Marine officer or maybe join the CIA. He found a niche in cryptology and had exciting posts that included some staffing admirals in Europe and a National Security Advisor. We’ve differed mightily on foreign and defense policies. As you can imagine, his politics and mine bookend the spectrum of our family’s political views and dialogue.
Though we often have to agree to disagree, I am still proud of him for his achievements. The most memorable career advice I’ve ever received has come from him, notably “your job is to make your boss look good” and “always have a Plan B and it’ll always seem like you get what you want.”
However, though proud, I’m awfully relieved to see him enter the private sector. Though he always made the best of any situation, even the Plebe year hazing of his freshman year, and he was intrigued by his stint in Iraq, it was painful to have him in a military headed by Rumsfeld and this awful president.
This event was too important for me to skip to attend the Cordoba Center’s open house, though I will be thinking of everyone there. The dialogue about Islam and the new center has moved me profoundly, and I’ll leave you with something from Book TV last weekend:
“Any open society that attempts to tolerate the intolerant will see tolerance disappear and the tolerant along with it.” – Chris Hedges, author, War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning.
Columnist Dina Campeau is a wife, mother of two teens and a resident of Morgan Hill. Her work for the last seven years has focused on affordable housing and homeless issues in Santa Clara County. Her column is published every Friday. Reach her at
dc******@*****er.net.
