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Monday, Jul 6, 2009
Books had always helped me in a crisis. But could I find one that explained to my kids why their father was in Iraq?
By Alison Buckholtz
Read more: Military, Books, Literature, Iraq War, Life
Drawing by Hannah Fowler, age 7
April 11, 2008 | I don't know which stretch of highway was sadder: our family's drive to drop off my husband, Scott, an active-duty U.S. Navy pilot, to begin his seven-month deployment on an aircraft carrier or the drive back home without him. I sobbed quietly at the wheel, trying not to upset my two children, strapped in their car seats behind me, as we wound our way home on the gently curving roads of our rural county.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, I saw exactly what I expected. Four-year-old Ethan looked sullen and confused; he had been clingy and anxious during the big goodbye. Two-year-old Esther was too young to understand. She sang along with her "Sesame Street" CD, confident that I could provide for her health, happiness and well-being.
I didn't feel nearly as certain.
This isn't the first time I've taken care of the kids while my husband has been away for extended periods of time, but it's our longest deployment yet. (We have been lucky -- other military families have endured multiple 12-to-19-month deployment cycles since the Iraq war began.) Our Pacific Northwest town has a significant military population, and most of the people I have met here are women whose husbands are also service members. Because of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, a relentless schedule keeps many of the squadrons away from home. So we military moms talk often about ways to help our kids cope with their dads' long absences. We trade names of psychologists. We exchange tips that may ease our kids' nightmares, regressions and depression. But what I wanted, more than any of those things, was a book.
Kids' books on deployment are becoming more prevalent as the war drags on; these stories, often self-published or from small publishing houses, try to explain to the 2-to-5-year-old set why Dad must help children overseas instead of staying home to play with them. I have always found comfort in literature, in the power of a shared experience to bring consolation during difficult times. So I prompted other military moms for authors' names. I haunted the aisles of local shops and spent hours online. I borrowed other families' deployment-related books and lent out my own. I amassed quite a children's library -- a heartbreak hotel of titles I wouldn't wish on anyone. The books I found are well-meaning, almost painfully sincere in their effort to address a child's fears and feelings. They end in joyful homecomings.
But talking to a kid about deployment is like talking to a kid about God: Every parent has his or her own approach. And I couldn't find one single children's book on deployment that I could read without cringing.
I knew exactly what I wanted: the military version of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." I envisioned a story that allowed kids to acknowledge their anger or sadness at Dad's absence, even wallow in their bad mood if necessary -- all while transmitting the assurance of a better day.
But even in the most sensitive and tender children's books on deployment, I found jingoism ("Your daddy had to go to war because he said he would. A war is something that our nation believes is all good"), reflexive sloganeering ("'You are Uncle Sam's kids,' said Daddy") and a whiff of xenophobia ("Mom watched the news and she said, 'That's where Daddy is ... Iraq.' It didn't look like a very nice place.")
In others, politics intrude in a startling way. In a self-published title available on Amazon, the 11-year-old narrator says, "How can Uncle Sam be so unfair to the little people? Come on, isn't it bad enough that my dad was ordered to fight in a controversial war, just to look for bad men who carry guns and wear dresses?" The section continues, "Where is justice for the little children all over America, who have to stand by and watch their mothers and fathers go off to war?"
Partisanship aside, the allusions to Iraq, or to combat, may be reasonable for older children who watch the news. But I found it totally unacceptable for the younger ones, kids who are developmentally unable to process anything but the basics: Dad's gone, but he loves you very much, and he can't wait to come back so we are all together again. And it's OK to be mad about it.
That's why I avoided talking to Ethan and Esther about the war. As the countdown to my husband's deployment began, we described his "long trip for work." The thought of transmitting any deployment-related details to my kids paralyzed me with fear. I didn't want to be the one to shatter their innocence. I didn't want their innocence shattered, period. I stuttered out vague explanations for the pro- and antiwar rallies we drove past on Sunday mornings when Ethan asked why people were holding up signs and shouting at one another.
I just prayed he didn't hear about the war from anyone else. Though I understand the importance of telling children the truth, "Dad's in a war" is among the ugliest truths there is, and I planned to shield him from it for as long as possible.
That turned out to be a month.
Ethan's friend, a 5-year-old boy we adore, came over for a play date shortly after my husband deployed. As I made pizza in the kitchen, I watched the two boys swordfight, fit puzzles together, lounge against each other on the couch as they watched a video. The little boy got up, wandered around the room, and stopped in front of a photo of my husband in uniform.
"Is your Dad in the military?" he asked Ethan.
"He's in the Navy," Ethan said proudly. And I was proud, too -- of him, for the dignified way he responded, and of myself, for transmitting the idea that he should be pleased with his dad's service. My efforts were worth it, I thought. Those jagged explanations, awkward and unpracticed, actually worked.
"People in the Navy kill people," the little boy said.
My scalp tingled with fear.
Next page: Ethan's nightmares began that night
The letter E is purple
Writing through the rubble
Of war and cancer
