Sgt. Grit, Allow me to submit a photo of my first tattoo… Many can imagine my pride as a parent when my 17 year old asked me to sign the papers to enter him into DEP. I did so without a moment’s hesitation, and have never regretted doing so. His senior year was a bit of a struggle, but soon after graduation, he got his paperwork in order and he was ready for boot camp. Those last hugs were tough, as a single mom seeing her only son go off to get his butt kicked, I knew he was entering the opportunity of a lifetime. Those 13 weeks seemed to take forever, every day my 5 year old daughter would check the mail box for something with the Marine logo–a letter from her beloved Bubba! I began to see the change in his letters, the discipline, the respect, the pride. Sure enough, the tears flowed as I was able to spot my leaner, taller now 18 year old, as his platoon rounded that corner during the Moto Run that Thursday morning in San Diego. I watched him attempt to relate to his buddies when he was home on leave/RA: they were still the same, but he had changed. His recruiter was killed in an auto accident during his RA, and it affected him deeply. Just before he left for his MOS school, he and I had some strong words with one another, and 8 months passed before we were able to make amends. It was then I discovered the true bond that a mother can have with her grown son. For him to acknowledge my struggles to raise him and his sister; to hear him praise me as his rock; to hear him say that he was who he was because of me simply humbles me. Now, I’m pretty square sometimes. I work two simple retail jobs. I graduated from a small-town high school 8 months pregnant with him at the age of 17 and pretty uncertain of my future. A short marriage brought Maddie, his sister, into the picture, and I depended on him quite a bit to help pick up the slack. You couldn’t have asked for a more devoted big brother –“Mom, guess what we did at the Poole function yesterday? Sergeant Parks let me sit on all the recruits shoulders and made them do push-ups! Then he let me count the number of times they ran up and down the bleachers! Up and down, I got tired of counting, so they went back to push-ups.” When the time came for him to be deployed, Maddie and I flew to see him in February of this year. Oh, sure, we had to go to Hawaii where he was stationed at K-bay, but I’d have gone anywhere to put my arms around him, hug him, tell him how proud I am of him. I am not for or against the war, I am for my son. This is the path he has chosen, and it’s his job–I’d support him if he chose to flip burgers or sell used cars. I don’t read the newspaper about the events in Iraq, I don’t watch the news about how many casualties there were today. I go out of my way to shake the hand and make eye contact with every service member I find, and thank them for their service and making it possible for my son to serve. I have discovered that his paternal grandfather was a Rough Rider, and I’m learning about my grandfather’s tours abroad. I read Sgt. Grit, I buy everything I can afford…T-shirts, bumper stickers, mother’s flag pins…daring people to ask me about my son. I’ve found some of the most amazing strengths come from everyday people, veterans of every walk of life tell me their touching stories, and I am moved to tears each time. As a young person, I’m ashamed to say that we weren’t taught much in school about the wars, or maybe it didn’t interest me in particular. I knew that my grandfathers fought, but they never spoke about it. But to observe the brotherhood of these veterans, to see the bond that Tyler has with men who were once strangers, to read the stories of all your readers about the pride–the honor–to serve is so very moving. After Tyler was deployed, I threw out the idea of a significant tattoo, and boy, was he shocked! If he can endure boot camp, I can sit for some ink, right? He and I began researching, and through e-mails and snail mail came up with this design. When Tyler came back from boot camp, I helped him pay for his first tattoo, so it seemed only fitting that I went to “Tattoo Tom” to ask about one for myself. Tom, a vet himself, remembered Tyler and his ambition and pride in becoming a Marine. I explained the drawing to Tom, how the orchid plant is my family: my parents, the large leaves upstanding; the roots, my grandparents, our foundation; my two brothers are the smaller leaves for added strength; the stem is my life–frail in appearance, but strong and sturdy; the large orchid represents me, straightforward; Tyler is the nearly full-grown blossom, not in my shadow but nearly on his own, looking toward the heavens and his father; and after a few years and a bit of stem, little Maddie. The words, in Latin, mean “continuously strong, always bound together.” And of course their birth dates. The placement? Over my heart of course. While I was there, the newspaper came in to do an article on the bond between 4 men who call themselves ‘the Four Horsemen’, and the matching patriotic tattoos Tom had done 10 years ago on each of them. The article ran in the local paper on Sunday, I think I was still feeling the pangs of envy for the bond those four shared. I stayed long after my tattoo was done, drawn to thier courage, and left with phone numbers, tight hugs and the promise to help him upon his return. Tyler said this was the best birthday ever. He honored his strong bond with his sister by hanging up the 8 foot banner that she and her friends at daycare made “Happy Birthday, Bubba” over his bed. Yeah, I bet he takes some heat over that moniker….talk about defending your little sister’s honor! With pride and honor, Melanie Gertson–just the mom, of LCpl Long, Tyler J. 1stBN 12thMAR B Btry Al Anbar/Al Asad Iraq
Semper Birthday Tattoo
