From Richmond to the Helmand Province: We'll always have football

Last Tuesday I read the scathing letter an alumnus sent about student (non)attendance at the football game on Family Weekend. The letter lit a bit of a fire beneath many students' tushes because the author pitted the Richmond student body as over-indulged, self-absorbed, apathetic ninnies.

I was angry, too. After all, I sacrificed my ticket to the game that weekend because I chose to spend the day, out of the goodness of my own heart, tending to a confused, elderly man (a.k.a., my dad).

Like many angry students, on Tuesday I stomped my feet, threw myself onto the ground, pounded my fists and whined that I'M (teeth clenched) NOT (blood rushed to face) A (tears welled up) SPOILED (mouth foamed) BRAT!!! (Total meltdown.)

But, the next evening, the phrase "over-indulged, self-absorbed, apathetic" wouldn't seem to leave my mind.

The series of events that had transpired in 24 hours since I read the letter caused me to reconsider the criticism, but in a different context.

Let's rewind back from Wednesday evening to approximately 460 miles, six inches of rain and three hours of sleep earlier.

On Tuesday, I traveled with Richmond journalism professor Robert Hodierne and two others to Camp Lejeune, a marine base in Jacksonville, N.C. Hodierne was to meet a public affairs lieutenant at 4 a.m. on Wednesday to be escorted to the landing strip to film the arrival of the 2nd Platoon, Alpha Co. of the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment.

This dreary and wet Wednesday morning was the first time Hodierne had seen the 75 Marines since mid-August, and the first time the platoon had seen rain since they were deployed to an outpost in the Helmand Province in Afghanistan seven months ago.

Hodierne took two trips during the past four months to the dangerous outpost where the 2nd Platoon, Alpha Co. was stationed. For a total of nine weeks of their seven-month tour, he filmed the platoon for a two-hour PBS documentary called "Combat Outpost: Afghanistan," which is expected to air in the spring. The platoon's return to Camp Lejeune and reunion with their families on Wednesday wrapped the filming for the documentary.

Although the pre-dawn darkness and ceaseless rain on Wednesday didn't set the most heart-warming tone for the Marines' return, goosebumps rose on my arms as we entered the base. In the otherwise stark surroundings, hundreds of colorful welcoming messages and banners, hand-made by family members, clung to fences along the road. (My favorites were a sign that said, "[Lt. Jones], if you thought Afghanistan was HOT, wait until TONIGHT!" and the sign directly next to it that said, "[Sgt. Smith], if you thought Afghanistan STUNK, wait until you change Jake's DIAPER!")

I assisted Hodierne's son, Cutter, who also creates documentaries, to interview and film the Marines' families in an auditorium at the military base where they awaited their arrival. As we ambled in the auditorium at 6 a.m. (four hours prior to the Marines' arrival), a contagious energy quickly replaced my fatigue.

A DJ played music, girls with freshly styled hair and made-up faces chatted, mothers and fathers took pictures, babies and toddlers shoved Magic Markers up each other's noses and cried.

The energy in the room was infectious; even I was jolted from my comatose state.

And for the next four hours, I spoke to sisters, wives, sons, girlfriends and parents of Marines who were finally returning home. They talked about how they had driven a 14 hours with their nine-month-old baby so they could hug their brother as soon as humanly possible. They talked about looking forward to having their son home for his 21st birthday in April. They talked about how he had already re-enlisted for another tour.

They talked about raising a child alone. They talked about finding out he would be deployed in two months after they had fallen in love. They talked about seeing their 18-year-old off to war just a few months after they had seen him off to prom. They talked about not knowing what to say to their husbands when they found out another Marine in his company died. They talked about crying themselves to sleep after hearing the news, partially for the kids who had lost their dad, partially in relief that it wasn't their brother, partially in fear that their husband would be next.

I spoke to a young mother named Becca whose husband was returning. Like many of the other women in the room, Becca didn't look much older than me. Becca received the phone call that was every person in the auditorium's worst fear. Two men in her husband's platoon stepped on an IED and her husband had been struck. Fortunately, her husband survived, although he had suffered severe injuries.

At the time the accident happened, Becca was pregnant with her first child, Braelyn. A few months later, Becca gave birth to the healthy baby girl, although her arrival was four weeks early. And on last Wednesday, two-week-old Braelyn met her father for the first time.

Another family would not be so lucky. I asked Becca's sister-in-law whether the Marines who had stepped on the IED were OK. With a quivering lip, she shook her head and quietly said no.

I was surprised to hear that despite the obvious hardships, many of the women welcoming home boyfriends and husbands said they liked the military lifestyle. Not unlike the semesters and football seasons at Richmond, they had become accustomed to the ebb and flow of their partner's deployment.

I went immediately to The Collegian office when I returned last Wednesday for a long night of work since the paper would be printed Thursday. And, of course, I was forced to read and re-read the phrase "over-indulged, self-absorbed group of apathetic students" as I edited the opinion section for print.

While every other person in the auditorium that day risked his life or endured being apart from a loved one, the last contribution I made to society was taking the old man out to Short Pump for the day on Family Weekend. (And even this kind deed had to be cut short when he started to retaliate to being leashed.)

On Wednesday night, as I began to feel that I was every bit of the worthless disappointment to the university that the alum had charged in his letter, I remembered one particular conversation I had had earlier at Camp Lejeune:

After the Marines finally arrived at the auditorium, and I had shed a few more tears than was probably appropriate since I wasn't welcoming home anyone I knew personally, Hodierne motioned for me to come meet the Marine he was standing with.

He introduced me to Lt. John Campbell, a 2006 Richmond graduate and former Spider football player. We talked briefly about the new stadium and Campbell said he had been looking forward to finally seeing it.

Perhaps the 6-foot-5-inch Marine and I weren't so different. Even though he had just stepped off a plane from a seven-month tour in Afghanistan and I had just stepped out of a minivan from a four-hour drive from my University Forest Apartment, we both stood there talking about how we were looking forward to the next football game at the new stadium.