One of Wes’s first words was “jet!” shouted anytime one streaked overhead. He has one go-to demand right before heading into a two-year-old’s meltdown, and he deploys it only when he knows I can’t deliver: “I want Daddy!”
I can see what I’m fighting for—a safe place to raise our sons, a life that makes more room for our family than the one we’re currently living, a family without whole years completely dad-less. I can also see what Ross is fighting for—lasting membership in a unique (if nomadic) community, a pension that could start in as little as a decade, but mostly the chance to live out a dream.
Where we are now is a place we’re familiar with: living, for at least twelve more months, in a house we’ll never see again once we leave it and poised to move to one of four cities in four different corners of the country if Ross’s application to FTS is accepted. The unfamiliar part, the part that scares us so much we barely talk about it, is the possibility, however slim, that our change of course might not work out, that when the time comes to leave the Navy, that other trapeze bar may elude our grasp and we may have to reinvent ourselves entirely. Either way, the delicate balance of power within our marriage is bound to keep shifting back and forth in the years ahead.
We are two people who love each other very much and who want the best for the beautiful sons we’ve brought into the world. The past ten years have changed us into older, harder, warier versions of our younger selves, but we’ve held true to our dreams, and to each other, even though sometimes that same holding on has cost us both dearly. Some days we’re allies fighting for a joint cause; some days we square off against each other. But through it all we’ve learned strategies, coping mechanisms, tactics—some of the successful ones passed down from our parents and some of the unsuccessful ones too. That’s the whole point—to get better. Neither of us has ever crossed into a combat zone, but there have been casualties, and ours is most definitely a war. Some things are worth fighting for.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My mom was my first and best reader, and my U.N. airlift for childcare, emotional support, and freezable meals in times of disaster. My dad is and always has been my biggest fan, even when it meant being my punching bag. My brother, an extraordinary writer himself, was both a memory bank and a tune-up mechanic on my sense of humor. Thank you.
Profound thanks to my extraordinary agent, Kristyn Keene at ICM, who believed in this book when it was still years from being finished, and whose gentle encouragement kept me from giving up. Thank you also to Sloan Harris. Sarah Stein, my editor at Penguin, has incredible instincts and I feel lucky to have worked with her. Thanks also to Sheila Moody, Min Lee, Roseanne Serra, Shannon Kelly, Carlynn Chironna, and all the folks at Penguin.
I am so fortunate to have had excellent teachers and mentors over the years. Most recently, Steve Yarbrough took a chance on me and opened a door I wouldn’t have thought to knock on. Steven Church inspired and encouraged me and was a great friend. My gratitude as well to John and Connie Hales, Tanya Nichols, David Shields, John Trimble, Mia Carter, Laura Furman, and, way back in the ninth grade in Saudi Arabia, David Jackson: all helped me find my voice.
I would be a much weaker writer were it not for the MFA Program at California State University, Fresno and the many talented writers who welcomed me into their community, offering feedback and friendship. The Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference was where I first started to see this knot of essays as a book, and where I was lucky enough to meet Mary Westbrook, Rolf Yngve, Sonia Hsieh, Nora Costello, Jeff Stauch, Megan Griswold, Elena Passarello, and Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich, inspirations all. Thanks to the CSU Summer Arts program and the funding support of the Division of Graduate Studies. Thank you also to the Colorado Review, Front Porch Journal, and The Atlantic for publishing or recognizing early essay versions of some of these chapters.
For their generous early reads, thank you to Siobhan Fallon, Karl Marlantes, Steve Yarbrough, Katey Schultz, Anthony Swofford, Steven Church, and Alison Buckholtz.
I am grateful for my Navy family, though it is too large to name individually. A few to whom I owe a special debt: Heidi and Ben Charles, Mary and Wes Kennerly, Dynelle and Isaac Long, Kristen and Tony Roy, Kevin McLaughlin, Jennifer Reynolds, the staff and families of TOPGUN, and all of the members of the super exclusive Fallon book club. For their expertise, thank you to Cade Hines and Alex Wann. To every Navy wife who has shared her friendship with me, no matter how briefly: thank you. It’s been more important than you know.