Come On Get Down With the Sickness

Photo courtesy of Donna Grayson / Flickr

The thing I hate the most about being sick isn’t the symptoms of the flu. Instead it’s the symptoms of the medicine that is aimed at battling the flu. For me it’s like a flu season Catch-22.

There are lots of cold medications on the market. Do what I do. Mix them all into a killer cocktail, put a plastic tree on top with a slurpee straw and pass out for three whole months. Wake up and find out there is a new president.

I tend to stay away from the NyQuil because it knocks me out. It’s great at night, but the flu in the morning and afternoon can be especially difficult. So I always take DayQuil because on the box it says non-drowsy. The box says a lot of things. The reason I don’t trust boxes specifically relates to DayQuil and NyQuil, the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, you-can-sleep-through-a-nuclear-blast medicine.

There is no apparent difference between DayQuil and NyQuil — both cause drowsiness. The word “day” is in DayQuil so you naturally think it’s designed for daytime. The only significant difference between either is the color of the box. DayQuil comes in an orange box, so you think, “Orange, that’s definitely a color that reminds me of being awake. It’s the color of the sun!”

And that’s just what they want you to think.

I don’t prefer drinking DayQuil. I tend to take my DayQuil in the form of pills. When you take DayQuil pills you must not have a finicky gag reflex. For some reason the pills are like trying to swallow a can of Coke (or Pepsi, if that’s what you’re partial to), aluminum and all.

Another thing I despise about cold medicine is the way it tastes. The people at Dimetapp got it right, didn’t they? Let’s make a medicine that doesn’t taste like medicine. They want to make a medicine that tastes good, so what do they do? What flavor do they pick? Grape. One of only a few fruit flavors that never actually tastes like the fruit it represents. All it really means is now you’re just drinking grape medicine, because it still tastes like medicine.

On the other side of that spectrum is Robitussin. Robitussin tastes like something a demon would pour you a shot of on your way to Hades. It’s the kind of syrup Satan prefers on his pancakes. They give you a small plastic shot glass with each bottle of Robitussin, which is great because that’s the only way to administer Robitussin. You want to be careful and get that Robitussin down your throat and past your gullet as easily, foolproof and spillproof as humanly possible, which is impossible because Robitussin is as thick as Silly Putty.

I always try to get the aftertaste of Robitussin out of my mouth by eating or drinking something immediately. Nothing gets that aftertaste out of your mouth, but I tell you this: never take a bite out of an egg sandwich afterward. In fact, just stay away from eggs all together while sick.

Robitussin tastes like sickness incarnate. If you were to transmute sickness in general into a physical form and run it through a fruit pulper to make a beverage then Robitussin is how that beverage would taste.

My personal favorite has to be Pepto-Bismol. I have hated Pepto ever since I was four years old. Pepto is like eating chalk. Oh sure, it has a cool name. They even try and fool you. What color do they make it? Pink. Pink is harmless. Nothing pink could taste like eating chalk, right?

Another personal favorite — because it’s never a mess using it — is Vick’s Vapor Rub. I don’t know about you but when I am sick, shivering and trying to sleep there is nothing I love more than covering my entire chest with an odd-smelling, translucent goop. I love greasing myself up like a pig at the county fair and trying to sleep with the bunch of slime caked to my body.

I should just face it. Getting sick is an unfortunate consequence of life. And medicine, well, sometimes it’s just a bitter pill to swallow.

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Unknown Soldiers: Seek On

Five months into a second stint searching for deadly roadside bombs in Afghanistan, Sgt. Jason Cartwright knows every step he takes with his trusted military working dog, Isaac, could be their last.

“There’s no time to be afraid now,” Sgt. Cartwright wrote to The Unknown Soldiers from Afghanistan on Dec. 8. “I pat Isaac on the chest and say ‘seek on.’”

Since initially making contact with the senior Army dog handler and trainer in 2011, I have marveled at the selfless courage displayed by this married father from Alabama. Based at Missouri’s Fort Leonard Wood, Cartwright willingly spends months at a time hunting for improvised explosive devices that kill and maim U.S. troops and Afghan civilians.

“As Isaac and I come to almost half of our tour, we’ll still have done our job with finding three caches consisting of six jugs of homemade explosives, three jars of explosive material and two directional charges with eight pressure plates,” the soldier wrote.

Sgt. Jason Cartwright and Isaac, a military working dog, have helped find several enemy roadside bombs during their second deployment together. They are serving in Afghanistan with the Engineer Canine Company of the U.S. Army's 5th Engineer Battalion. Photo courtesy of Sgt. Jason Cartwright.

Isaac is a brave black Lab that looks like he’s smiling in every picture the dog’s handler sends me from the war zone. The fearless 4-year-old dog, which helped find 28 roadside bombs during a previous deployment that ended in 2011, has found lethal devices buried by terrorists near roads, hospitals and schools.

“Isaac and I search for over 18 hours — 800 meters of routes and compounds to only get everybody back on that chopper to leave once the mission is complete,” Cartwright wrote. “That is exactly what we have done together out front taking point with all the troops behind us.”

Serving with the Engineer Canine Company of the Army’s 5th Engineer Battalion, Jason and Isaac have endured countless missions, including many that have came close to resulting in serious injury or death. But as soon as the inseparable pair returns to base, the two soldiers sit together to enjoy temporary moments of solitude and peace.

“Once the mission was complete, Isaac and I waited out in the open land of Afghanistan under the stars and half-lit moon,” Cartwright wrote about a recent assignment.

Given his two tours in Afghanistan and previous deployment to Iraq, fellow soldiers in the war zone rely on Sgt. Cartwright’s experience and leadership.

“I understand that I must teach them the way,” the soldier wrote. “I train these handlers day and night so that they will be ready to face anything that gets put in their way.”

Cartwright has already missed his wife and young son’s birthdays, not to mention Thanksgiving, during this deployment. With frigid air and relentless assaults by American troops forcing al-Qaida and the Taliban into hiding during the winter months, Cartwright hopes to have a relatively nice, quiet Christmas on base with his beloved dog.

“The missions have slowed down since winter has come and fighting season is over,” he wrote. “Yet Isaac and I are still out and away from our family and friends during the holidays.”

It is a privilege to live in a free country. But as we enjoy the company of friends and family during this special time of year, I hope we’ll keep in mind that brave men, women and dogs are still scouring the post-9/11 battlefields of a primitive land. I think about Jason and Isaac often, wondering what they are doing and praying they are safe.

“It is a serious and dangerous job that we do, but I’ve got full confidence in Isaac and the troops who have my back,” Cartwright wrote.

When the air grows warmer and the enemy returns to the battlefield, Jason and Isaac will be ready once again.

“As I hear the chopper from the distance, I know it’s time to begin,” he wrote.

Sgt. Jason Cartwright can’t wait to see his wife and child again. But unlike the 99 percent of us who don’t serve in uniform, this 28-year-old American soldier ranks his personal wishes second. Whenever danger lurks beneath the dirt road ahead, Jason and Isaac always seek on. To them, nothing is more important than uncovering the next bomb.

“If I one day I shall fall, I won’t regret it,” the soldier wrote. “(That’s) because we try to find them all.”

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Unknown Soldiers: Defender of Justice

Marine Capt. Matt Manoukian, 29, served four combat deployments before being killed in Afghanistan on Aug. 10. Photo courtesy of the Manoukian family.

Capt. Matt Manoukian could have done anything he wanted in life. Not only was he the son of two California judges, he was tough, good-looking and brilliant.

“He took care of business,” his father, Judge Socrates Peter Manoukian of the Santa Clara County Superior Court, told The Unknown Soldiers.

Ever since age 7, Matt dreamed of becoming a United States Marine. He believed the Marine Corps gave him a unique chance to help protect equality and justice, which he watched his parents preserve throughout his childhood.

Matt’s plans took on a sense of urgency on Sept. 11, 2001. While the high school football standout was ready to enlist the next day, an injury and a major health scare forced Matt to put his dreams on hold.

“He had two surgeries … the first was for a knee injury,” his dad said. “Then, that summer he found out he had a tumor in his spinal cord.”

Matt pursued his bachelor’s degree at the University of Arizona while recovering from both operations. He studied political science and rebuilt his strength, but never wavered from his ultimate goal.

“He was a good example of ‘if you work hard enough, you’ll get what you want,’” Matt’s father said.

Matt joined the Marine Corps in 2006, and after more than a year of training, deployed to Iraq’s Al Anbar Province. But even as a young Lieutenant, Matt understood that physical preparation was only one aspect of a combat deployment.

“I told him a big part of being a Marine was understanding the culture,” Matt’s dad said. “But he already knew that.”

Matt treated Iraqi civilians with respect and began studying their language while leading his platoon on dangerous missions. He was compassionate, but also fierce and genuinely heroic.

“He had an IED (improvised explosive device) go off near him and knock him out … it knocked everybody out,” his father said.

As a fellow Marine lay bleeding, Matt refused to leave him behind.

“He put a tourniquet on this guy’s leg and saved his life,” Matt’s dad said.

While Matt earned medals throughout his military career, he was reluctant to discuss any personal achievements. What did fill him with pride, however, was seeing clear signs of progress when he returned to Iraq a second time. Just like during his first deployment, Matt immersed himself in the local culture.

“He did that in Iraq … he learned how to speak Arabic,” Matt’s dad said. “And then when he went to Afghanistan, he started doing the same thing.”

Matt didn’t tell his parents much about his first combat tour in Afghanistan. But when he got the opportunity to return there in 2012, he was grateful. As it would be Matt’s last deployment before he traded military life for law school, the Marine wanted to use his good relationship with Afghans to help them develop a strong legal system.

“He said he wanted to finish the business, just like he did in Iraq,” Matt’s father said.

On Aug. 4, Matt spoke enthusiastically to the San Diego Union-Tribune about his Special Operations unit’s progress in building the Afghan police force.

“You see kids running around now trying to play ALP (Afghan Local Police),” Matt told the newspaper. “So it’s catching on.”

Six days later, Capt. Manoukian, 29, and two fellow Marines were shot and killed by an Afghan police officer who attacked their compound.

“You always worry, and one night the Marines came to the door and told us,” Matt’s father said. “We miss him, and the Marines who got killed with him were also tough guys.”

Matt’s murder is an outrage, but his legacy endures. For the first time in the Judicial Branch of California’s history, someone outside the legal profession is being honored with the Stanley Mosk Defender of Justice Award. Matt is being recognized “for his sacrifice to the cause of justice.”

Almost every father is proud of his son, but it’s difficult to find a prouder dad than Judge Socrates Peter Manoukian.

“He was kind to people and took care of strangers he didn’t know,” Matt’s father said. “It was a grace and honor to have him in the family, and we miss him terribly.”

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A Farewell to the Best Dog in the World

Photo courtesy of Michelle Tribe

I was told a story once by a professor in college the specifics of which are neither important nor still known to me. It involved a Roman politician who tasked a lieutenant with assassinating a political rival. Upon the lieutenant’s return the politician asked him of the success of the mission, to which the lieutenant lamented, “He has lived.”

The Roman politician became enraged at the news, mistaking the accurate translation of the announcement. What the Roman politician had failed to realize was the distinct and literal wording his hired henchman conveyed. The rival was indeed deceased, cut down by the assassin’s blade, and the lieutenant could have used any number of words to express his triumph. He could have just as easily said, “He is dead.” But he didn’t.

“He has lived,” the lieutenant reported.

Lived, the past tense of live — to continue to have life.

I feel there is such beauty imparted in that wording, that there is a certain inexplicable significance there, too. It suggests someone or something has lived life — not just a series of inner-connected events — but a full life.

So it is with great sadness I report that my Doberman pinscher has lived.

For the past eight years my loyal, dedicated and alleged top-notch guard dog, Silas the Devil Dog, has rested ever so impolitely at my feet each and every week as I wrote this column.

Every column, that is, except this one.

Silas was not a perfect dog. In fact, he was far from it. He never figured out the nuances of a common game of fetch. Every time he retrieved a thrown tennis ball he refused to give it back, which is why I always needed to bring two outside. Nor did he understand the meaning of a peaceful nightly walk through our village, which was an excuse he savored so he could drag me through town as if he was a plow horse. And for some reason each time he ate spaghetti, which was surprisingly often by canine standards, he would vomit on the living room rug.

On the other hand, Silas’ many imperfections are what seemed to make him uncharacteristically perfect, at least to me.

After all, there is no such thing as a bad dog — just bad people.

It is always difficult to say goodbye to a cherished friend, and the human mind does not differentiate between the death of an actual person or a beloved family pet. Something that thought the world of me yesterday, something that thought the sun rose and set on my behind, is not here with me today. I can think of nothing worse than that. Can you?

And there is nothing on Earth that will love you the way a dog does. Dogs give so much of themselves and ask for little in return except our love. A dog will stand by your side to the gates of hell and back. For those that will let one, a dog has a way of teaching you about being human in ways people can’t. Show me something else in life besides a dog that will love you unconditionally.

I will miss the little things about Silas.

Who will lick the butter knife after I make a peanut butter sandwich? Who will obsessively collect fallen tree limbs and sticks and curiously assemble them in piles in the yard? Who will attack cardboard boxes and tear them to shreds for no reason whatsoever? Who will growl at the vacuum cleaner? Who will howl at the fire siren each time it goes off or barrel through the house when the doorbell rings? Who will I play guitar for? Who will want me to secretly feed them spaghetti?

Who will sleep and snore at my feet when I write this column?

I buried Silas in a tranquil horse pasture on a blustery November day. As I stood there and delivered a silent eulogy to my best friend I smiled as tears streaked down my puffy cheeks. I remembered an inspirational quote from (of all people) Dr. Seuss, who once wrote, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Silas had a wonderful and loving life — and he is finally at peace.

He has lived. He has lived.

Silas has lived.

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Unknown Soldiers: Failure Was Never an Option

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 2nd Class David Warsen and his fiancee, Karlyn Deveau, were to be married on Dec. 8, 2012. The Navy SEAL was killed in Afghanistan on Aug. 16. Photo courtesy of Karlyn Deveau.

For Karlyn Deveau, Dec. 8, 2012, wasn’t just another date on the calendar. It was the day she would marry her fiance, who would finally be home from Afghanistan.

“He was helping plan everything from over there,” Karlyn told The Unknown Soldiers. “He was so excited about it.”

As a Navy SEAL, Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 2nd Class David Warsen was often in harm’s way. But when night fell in Afghanistan, the SEAL would always make time for a Skype call with Karlyn, who had usually wrapped up her night shift as a labor and delivery nurse in San Diego.

“There were maybe only three days I didn’t talk to him during the entire deployment,” Karlyn said. “We always found a way.”

Karlyn and David found each other through an unlikely series of meetings in San Diego. After two chance encounters, David left for several months of training in Virginia. But in July 2011, once again in downtown San Diego, the future couple met a third time.

“We both knew at this point that we needed to hang out since we kept randomly running into each other,” Karlyn, 26, wrote. “We went on our first date the following week and the rest is history.”

Karlyn knew SEALs are some of the world’s toughest men, yet was immediately struck by the genuine warmth of David’s heart.

“He just loved everyone and made you feel so important,” she said. “He had so much love and passion about life.”

When David and Karlyn decided to get married, they understood the challenges they would later face. Like thousands of military couples, they would spend many months apart during an overseas deployment. But David always managed to stay positive, even when Karlyn could tell he wanted to come home.

“Every time we talked, he tried to be in a cheerful mood,” the SEAL’s fiancee said.

Almost every night, Karlyn would keep her computer screen close as she fell asleep while looking into her future husband’s eyes.

“It was just so peaceful knowing that if I woke up, I could see him,” she wrote about their Skype calls. “I always dreaded when I would hear his alarm going off, which sounded like a dog barking, because I knew it was time for him to head out.”

Karlyn and David spoke for about an hour in the early morning hours of Aug. 16 before the SEAL left for a mission. They were supposed to talk again later that day, but the Skype call never came.

“I was freaking out a little bit,” Karlyn said. “Then I found an article that said there was a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.”

It can’t be him, Karlyn thought. But when she learned two Navy SEALs were killed in the crash, the worried fiancee grew terrified.

“I got that sick feeling that it could be him,” she said. “But I didn’t want to believe it.”

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 2nd Class Warsen, 27, died in the Aug. 16 helicopter crash near Kandahar, Afghanistan, along with six fellow Americans.

“It’s hard to talk about things because in my mind I don’t feel like this situation is real,” Karlyn said on Nov. 20. “I feel like he’s going to come back.”

The fallen SEAL’s fiancee, who spoke in a quiet, dignified tone throughout our phone conversation, then paused.

“It’s so hard to know he’s not coming back,” she said.

David also leaves behind his parents, brothers and grandparents.

“I’m glad that we’re all together to be there for each other,” Karlyn said. “It’s nice, but it’s hard.”

David’s obituary, printed in the Grand Rapids Press, contains a quote that sums up the courage of a Michigan native who refused to quit.

“Failure to David was never an option,” the obituary reads.

While Dec. 8 will be filled with tears of sadness instead of joy, Karlyn and David’s romance is the opposite of failure. Karlyn’s road ahead is difficult, but David’s love will always be inside the heart of the woman he longed to call his wife.

“I just want him to be honored like the kind person he was,” Karlyn said. “I wish the whole world could have met him.”

Someday, David and Karlyn will meet again.

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Mr. Mom to the Rescue

Photo courtesy of Vivi Loob / Flickr

My mother’s recent double knee replacement surgery has created a power vacuum at my parents’ house. My mom hasn’t stopped moving for five decades because she was in a constant state of raising three children and meticulously tending to household chores and bill-paying. She has become the patron saint of stay-at-home mothers.

She was once the ruler of the roost for this reason, but her recent sidelining has relegated her to the lowest station of all. She has been couch-ridden for some time now due to her medical malady. Because of this, the space-time continuum has somehow been ripped and the very fabric of society has been torn about.

Emerging from this void is my stoic father. He is holding a vacuum cleaner, cleaning up cat vomit and making supper — all at the same time.

Since my mother’s surgery, my father has been all but forced to fill in for her in every conceivable way. He has become the washer of clothes, the maker of suppers and the cleaner of rooms.

He has become Mr. Mom.

The other day when I stopped to visit them I half expected my father to be wearing an apron with a feather duster in his hands, or maybe working on a quilt while watching his programs. Instead, he was making dinner as my mother barked out ingredients and directions like a short order cook from the davenport.

My mother seems pretty impressed with Mr. Mom’s emergence, but reacts with surprise when my father performs a chore of some kind, like taking out the cat litter or feeding every stray cat within a three-mile radius. She doesn’t understand why my dad has been so accommodating. I think it’s because he loves her, which is why he decided to raise three children with her, but what do I know, right?

My mom had false illusions about her recovery. She thought she would be up and walking around in a matter of no time. We all had to inform her she wasn’t Wiley E. Coyote and most humans can’t withstand having bones cut out of them without a little bed rest.

I can’t blame her. She probably feels like someone has cut the legs out from underneath her.

She even voiced her displeasure with her doctor.

“Why does it hurt so badly?” she moaned.

“I have three words for you,” the doctor replied. “Hammer. Chisel. Saw.”

The doctor gave her a handful of prescription painkillers just to get her to shut up about it. That’s just what the world needs more of — my mother all hopped up on funny pills and plowing through the house in her wheelchair.

My mother had never used a wheelchair before, which was pathetic to watch her do because she kept bumping into everything. That wouldn’t be so bad except she collects antique vases and owns a half-dozen or so cats.

Once she graduated from the wheelchair, she moved on to a walker (complete with complimentary tennis balls) before progressing to a cane. It seemed like she was turning into Wilfred Brimley right in front of my eyes.

Now she is able to get around on her own without a device typically associated with the elderly. However, I am beginning to think my mother is milking her recovery for all that it is worth. I think she has grown accustom to Mr. Mom changing the cat litter, folding the laundry and yelling at my little brother about how dirty his room is. I can tell just from the look in her eyes.

To be honest, I think my dad can tell, too. Mr. Mom doesn’t seem to mind.

This whole ordeal has made me face one wicked realization. My parents are getting old, like, really old. It is hard to watch your mom going around in circles in a wheelchair or your dad trying to make a pot roast and not think that.

Or maybe that’s just my knee-jerk reaction.

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Unknown Soldiers: Love Is Alive

U.S. Marine Cpl. Todd Love, 22, was wounded in an improvised explosive device attack while on patrol in Afghanistan on Oct. 25, 2010. He lost both legs in the explosion and his left hand was later amputated. Photo courtesy of the "Pray for CPL Todd Love" page on Facebook.

Cpl. Todd Love’s life changed in a matter of seconds.

“I don’t remember an explosion,” Cpl. Love, 22, told The Unknown Soldiers. “One second I’m in Afghanistan and another second I’m in Germany.”

The Marine was walking in a field between two suspected enemy compounds on Oct. 25, 2010, when everything went blank.

“When I woke up in Germany, the first thing I recognized was that I wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore,” he said. “Then realized I stepped on an IED.”

Had a British helicopter not arrived about 90 minutes after the improvised explosive device detonated, Love may have died face down in that wretched, blood-soaked field.

“It took them five minutes to find me, and when they did, my legs were already gone and my left hand was really damaged,” the Marine said.

Love slipped in and out of consciousness as he was rushed to Bethesda, Md., for a series of crucial surgeries. His hand was later amputated. But even as he came to grips with his severe injuries, the brave Marine, who grew up near Marietta, Ga., never questioned his decision to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps by volunteering to serve.

“I was working at an Italian restaurant and wanted to do something more meaningful,” Love, who joined the Marine Corps at age 18, said.

By the time he was injured, Love had already witnessed more violence than most of us will in our lifetimes.

“I’ve been in so many firefights … probably close to 40,” he said. “I couldn’t even possibly tell you how many times I’ve been shot at.”

Going to bed was almost always a challenge for Love during his deployment, as the young Marine’s mind was filled with searing images of innocent Afghans being murdered and maimed by al-Qaida and the Taliban.

“I used to go to sleep every night with a knot in my stomach … thinking I could die tomorrow or I may not see my family again,” Love said. “Going to sleep like that every night for months is not a good way to live.”

The day Love lost his legs started like any other. The young Marine was leading his platoon from point A to point B while “not taking any unnecessary risks,” knowing that a firefight could erupt at any moment.

For those 90 harrowing minutes, Love lay defenseless amid gunfire from the subsequent ambush and explosive residue from the IED blast that shattered his hand and legs. While thankful that he can’t remember his time in the shadow of the death, Love thinks he knows why he made it out alive.

“I probably had thousands of people praying for me, even if it’s someone saying ‘God, please protect our troops in Afghanistan,’” he said. “That’s probably how I survived.”

Most 22-year-olds are just starting to figure out their path in life. While the triple amputee knows the road ahead is filled with enormous challenges, he is determined to make the most of what he sees as borrowed time.

“I know God does things for a reason … He’s been kind of showing me that,” the Marine said. “I figure if I keep toughing it out — if I believe I’ll keep getting stronger — I (will).”

Love’s courage has inspired an actor who famously portrayed a wounded warrior on screen. Gary Sinise, who has made supporting our troops a personal crusade, played a Nov. 3 benefit concert with his “Lt. Dan Band” to raise funds for state-of-the-art “smart homes” being built for Love and another wounded hero, Army Sgt. 1st Class Michael Schlitz.

The Alpharetta, Ga., charity concert, held by the Gary Sinise Foundation and Tunnel to Towers Foundation, meant the world to Love and his family.

“All the love I’m being shown from my hometown, it gives me hope not just in life but for our country,” the Marine said.

Just moments after he realized his legs were gone, Cpl. Todd Love understood that life is truly a gift. Hopefully, his story will remind us to approach our lives with the same sense of gratitude.

“I was kind of overwhelmed with happiness because I realized I was going to see my family,” Love continued. “I knew I was alive.”

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Buy a Newspaper, Save a Pinata

Photo courtesy of NS NewsFlash / Flickr

I hate it when I am secretly listening in to another person’s conversation and I hear them say something stupid like, “Newspapers are dead.” They are? That’s news to me. When did that happen? Why wasn’t I informed? I figured I would have learned of this development sooner.

Suggesting newspapers are dead would be like suggesting music is dead because cassette tapes are no longer used, or records or compact discs for that matter. Newspapers aren’t dying, they’re evolving. It doesn’t matter if the printed word is on paper or on an electronic screen, most people in society enjoy reading late-breaking, informational news items, especially ones involving Justin Bieber.

Newspapers aren’t dying, they are just shifting to a different medium. So for that I am thankful. It means a guy like me won’t be standing in the unemployment line. However, I believe that society has not fully recognized the ramifications of newspapers actually dying.

I can’t think of a better way to spy on someone else (or secretly listen in to their private conversation) than using a newspaper. Holding an out-stretched newspaper in front of your face is the best way to conceal yourself inconspicuously in public. Need to hide in a crowded lobby or restaurant? Except no substitute. Without newspapers people would be trying to hide behind their tiny cell phones, which would be ridiculous — not to mention awkward.

“Are you listening in to our private conversation?” they would say.

“Uhh, maybe,” I would reply, attempting to shrink myself behind a cell phone.

So I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “I don’t listen in to other people’s conversations. I am a decent person. Newspapers dying won’t really affect me.”

Hogwash! Do you, your children or your grandchildren like Silly Putty? Well guess what, grandpa; the Silly Putty industry would go belly-up overnight without newspapers. Children would be smashing Silly Putty against expensive electronic devices in bouts of confusion.

“Why isn’t it working?” children would wonder.

“What’s wrong with my child?” parents would wonder.

We need to think of the children. We can’t deprive them of their youth in a world where Silly Putty doesn’t get stuck in their hair on at least one occasion.

Sometimes I get phone calls from irate and irrational individuals who shout mean things at me like, “I use your newspaper to line my litter box.” It doesn’t bother me because I do the same exact thing.

But without newspapers pet owners would be at a loss, wouldn’t they? Devices such as iPhones, laptop computers and tablets are strictly too expensive to let a dog or cat urinate on. It’s as simple as that, Jack.

Though I do like to imagine the comedic possibilities, I won’t lie.

“Honey, have you seen my cell phone,” a husband running late to work one morning would yell through the house after the newspaper apocalypse.

“Uhh, maybe,” the wife would reply.

Oh, you can forget about paper-mache entirely. But you love paper-mache? You can’t get enough of paper-mache? Well too bad! You should have thought about that before you stopped supporting newspapers.

As a matter of fact it won’t just be paper-mache, either. The true death of newspapers would single-handedly decimate the arts and crafts community overnight, from pinatas to scrapbooking. The human causalities would number in the thousands, perhaps even millions.

Without newspapers grade school projects just became a lot harder. Have you ever tried making a paper-mache model of the Earth out of old computer monitors? Well, do you want to? I know I don’t.

Or if that’s not terrible enough just envision little Bobby telling his parents he has a school project due tomorrow and he hasn’t even started on it yet. What kind of project? A collage!

A world without newspapers is a sad state of affairs indeed. With a little luck they might not go the way of the dodo. But despite whatever fate awaits newspapers you have to admit one thing.

They look really good on paper.

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Unknown Soldiers: Inseperable

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class Patrick Feeks, 28, was killed in an Aug. 16, 2012, helicopter crash near Kandahar, Afghanistan, alongside six fellow Americans. The Navy SEAL is buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Photo courtesy of Emily Feeks.

Emily Booth had just come home from Afghanistan when she met her future husband, a Navy SEAL named Patrick Feeks. He had just returned from a deployment to Iraq.

“We really just hit it off,” Emily, a Navy cryptologist, told The Unknown Soldiers.

It didn’t take long before the sailor and SEAL realized they were meant for each other.

“By Thanksgiving 2010, we were pretty much inseparable every day,” Emily said. “We just kind of knew.”

Whether it was their shared sense of humor or common military experiences, nobody understood Emily like this young Navy SEAL.

“Patrick always took care of me,” she said.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class Patrick Feeks and Petty Officer 1st Class Emily Feeks were married on March 12, 2011. Just two months later, Emily deployed to the Philippines, leaving her engagement ring with Patrick to symbolize their resilient bond.

“The two of us always made time to talk,” she said. “We talked every morning and every night, and we talked constantly during the day.”

Shortly after Emily returned from the Philippines, it was Patrick’s turn to leave for Afghanistan. Having served there, Emily understood the risks her husband faced, even as Patrick placed his wedding ring in her hand.

“I’m coming home,” Patrick told his wife. “I promise you I’m coming home.”

But Patrick was a SEAL, and Emily knew the meaning of the gold Trident her husband wore with such pride. In Afghanistan, he would be involved in some of the U.S. military’s most dangerous combat missions, confronting the enemy while shielding the innocent.

“I don’t want people to think these guys are killing machines,” Emily, 32, said. “They’re well-trained men, but they’re also incredible sons, fathers and husbands.”

Even in the heat of battle, Patrick’s heart went out to a stray dog he encountered one day in Afghanistan. The SEAL made it a priority to find the dog a safe home.

“Sadie now lives in Canada on a farm,” Emily said. “He had to get her out of there.”

Every night in San Diego, Emily went to bed hoping to wake up to the beeps of an incoming Skype call. Her conversations with Patrick were frequent, but the SEAL never discussed the things he was doing or the lives he was saving. Patrick was too humble for that and Emily knew it.

“If there was something that needed to get done, he would do it and do it right,” the SEAL’s wife said. “Everything had a purpose and everything should be done correctly.”

After an Aug. 15 combat mission was delayed, Emily seized the opportunity for a late-night Skype conversation with Patrick. She knew her husband was headed into harm’s way, so Emily kept Patrick’s face on the computer screen as long as possible.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you more,” Patrick replied.

“Now go save the world,” Emily said as the screen turned to black.

Emily awoke at 2 a.m. to the echoes of Patrick’s voice. She thought her husband was calling on Skype, but the screen was still blank.

“I just knew something was wrong,” she said.

On Aug. 16, Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class Patrick Feeks, 28, was killed alongside six fellow Americans in a helicopter crash near Kandahar. The fallen hero left behind his wife, parents, and a sister who also serves in the Navy.

“You’re just so numb … you can’t believe it’s happening,” Emily said through tears. “Then you realize he’s not coming home and you’ll never hear his voice again.”

When Patrick’s flag-draped casket returned to American soil, Emily was waiting with his wedding ring. They were never apart while he was gone, and even after Patrick’s death, the couple is still together. Still, Emily agonizes over what could have been.

“You look around and everyone is happy and go-lucky, and you wonder why you can’t have that,” the young widow said. “Why does it have to happen to you?”

Petty Officer 1st Class Emily Feeks plans to dedicate the rest of her life to helping others. By emulating Patrick’s care and compassion, Emily knows they’ll always be together.

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Unknown Soldiers: The Campaign Continues

U.S. troops conduct a dismounted patrol in Afghanistan's Paktia Province on Nov. 1, 2012. Photo courtesy of Spc. Jenny Lui.

The 2012 presidential campaign is over. America’s military campaign in Afghanistan is not.

There have been three presidential elections since the war in Afghanistan erupted after the 9/11 attacks. By any measure, the war was all but invisible during this past campaign, with the candidates’ rhetoric and the media’s curiosity about the conflict hitting all-time lows.

Virtually ignoring a war being fought by thousands of fellow Americans during a presidential campaign is both unconscionable and unprecedented. I voted in this election, but after writing every week about extraordinary men and women who make tremendous sacrifices at home and abroad to protect our country, I did so with some initial apprehension.

But then I thought about my recent conversation with Senior Airman Angela Jackson, who is stationed at Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan. She was about halfway through her first deployment when the Nov. 6 election took place, yet was too focused on her mission to worry about how much attention was being paid to Afghanistan back home. She joined the Air Force for bigger reasons.

“You would lay down your life for your co-worker,” Senior Airman Jackson told The Unknown Soldiers. “It’s hard to be selfish out here, even if you want to be.”

Jackson, 25, volunteered to serve in February 2009. Like all U.S. service members who have enlisted since 9/11, she knew deploying to a war zone was a strong possibility. Still, the brave young woman decided to leave her friends and family in Boise, Idaho, for Afghanistan, where snow-capped mountains serve as just about the only reminders of home.

“I’ve always liked to be part of (something) bigger than myself and being able to have the idea that you’re working with other people toward something,” she said.

Since leaving for war, Jackson has communicated with her family through email, Facebook and Skype, but prefers to sit down and compose letters, much like the generations of U.S. troops who served before her.

“I do call them once in a while, but like I said, I mostly do the letter writing,” Jackson said.

Most of us take hugging our family members for granted. For thousands of American troops still serving in Afghanistan, however, writing a letter is as close as they can get to their loved ones.

“It’s something physical … it’s the only thing physical that I can give to my family,” Jackson said. “When they get my letter, they can hold it, touch it and read the words that I have to say.”

Jackson, who is serving at Bagram with the Air Force’s 455th Expeditionary Wing, helps lead an emergency management team that’s in place to respond to the worst disasters that could befall an American base during wartime, including terrorist attacks.

“Our responses are in chemical, biological, radiation material and explosives,” the airman said.

American troops in Afghanistan also need to be prepared for accidents. Jackson recently coordinated logistics for a large drill simulating a helicopter crashing into a dining facility at Bagram.

“It’s very important for us to be ready,” she said. “And it’s very important out here because we need to be training in the environment we’re going to be in if something were to happen.”

As evidenced during nearly two years of constant campaigning, many politicians and pundits have turned the page on this war. But every single day, U.S. troops wake up on bases around Afghanistan and prepare for the worst, all while their families at home wait, wonder and worry.

Regardless of popularity or political winds, however, our country continues to be blessed with selfless patriots like Senior Airman Angela Jackson, who deploy to Afghanistan so the rest of us don’t have to. But even though she’s fully committed to her mission, the brave airman still looks forward to coming home.

“I’m planning on seeing all my family and my friends, and getting back into the work environment,” she said.

Now that the presidential election is finally over, it is time for all of us to get back to the important work of supporting our troops. America is still at war.

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