Son’s Interest in Army ROTC Surprises Mom

Mom on the Run

My family and I are at dinner with John, our retired minister, and Mary, his wife. We’ve had a day-long community service project and are collected around the big table in Panera, eating and resting and telling funny stories and catching up.

And in the middle of this ease and comfort, my son says, “John, I’ve got a question for you.” His tone of voice makes everyone fall silent and turn to look at him. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to bring this up without upsetting my mom, but …” my 18-year-old turns, slightly, and looks at me. Then he turns back to John and says, “I’m thinking of joining the ROTC in college.”

Oh, I knew about that. My husband told me a few weeks ago. I really didn’t know what it meant – like a club, right? Where the members wear uniforms, and do drills, and, I don’t know, have meetings? Something like that? My husband said it and I heard it and moved on. Heck, my kids are 18 and 21 and exploring what to do with the rest of their lives. It seems very young to me to be making this kind of decision – it IS very young to be making this kind of decision – but it’s what society requires, with graduations and degree declarations already, though they’ve had little real experience.

So my kids try this and experiment with that, and that’s fine. I’m assuming they’ll both land on successful, satisfying, suitable careers at some point. So. ROTC. Whatever. I nod at my son. Sure.

“And I wouldn’t have to sign anything until my junior year,” my son says … and, wait, what? Sign something? … “and all the courses would be leadership courses, and just worth like one credit,” he continues, while I’m still thinking, hang on, sign something?

“But I am seriously thinking about a career in the Army,” he says. “And I was wondering, how can I justify that with God and Biblical teachings?”

And now I’m just struck dumb. Seriously thinking about a career in the Army? And trying to justify the career with belief in God? Wait, back up, signing means committing to … “Um,” I interrupt. “What would it mean if you signed something?”

My son and husband and John and Mary all turn toward me. Looking me straight in the eye, my son says, “I would commit to five years in the Army.”

I nod. A nice restrained nod. I mean, I don’t want to overreact. Or act ignorant. And this isn’t completely out of the blue. My kid talked about it, oh, last fall. Today, though, it’s unexpected, like when his sister suddenly said she was going to go to medical school. That surprising plan lasted less than six months, before she decided that, no, medicine wasn’t for her.

So maybe that’s all this will last, too. Six months. Right?

Which is what I’m thinking about as John begins his deliberate and careful answer, because all of John’s answers are deliberate and careful. “Well, joining the Army doesn’t necessarily mean you would kill people,” he says. “God needs ethical people in the Army,” he tells my son. “Perhaps you would have been put there to keep people from being killed.” Our table is silent as John continues, talking about his own time as a Marine, and the choices he made, and how he feels about it all now.

And of course I am listening too, and watching my son, all while a little piece of my brain is whirring over this new information – realizing that I’ve just seen the future, when my son makes decisions and takes paths without consulting us. It’s all so strange, sitting in Panera, looking at my son, who I thought I knew, my little boy, who shouldn’t even be 18 yet, much less having a serious, intellectual discussion on the ethical ramifications of a career in the Army.

I think I need a cookie.