On Coming Home

Always Relaxing

Howdy,

A short note today.

I’m spending the week in my hometown, Austin, TX. Boy, it has changed. It’s no longer a sleepy little hippie city. Nope. It’s a full-blown international mega city.

I like it better the old way. I stick to my Mother’s neighborhood in South Austin — where the last vestiges of sanity reside. Nevertheless, it’s good to be home.

Tonight, I ventured out to see an old friend who I hadn’t seen in years. I knew Trevor when I was in college painting the town red. I went to Texas A&M, and he went to tu (or UT). After I joined the military in 2004, we kept in touch. I may not see Trevor often, but I’m always happy to catch up with him.

He’s living a good life, which is great to see. He persevered and became a pharmacist. He’s got a beautiful little girl and seems genuinely happy. It’s always great to see your friends happy.

I’m down here to help my Mother, a professor at Texas State, go through some old boxes—the type of boxes full of memories. It was a trip down memory lane, for sure. There was a treasure trove from my Father, who died during my fifth deployment. All of his old stuff, pictures of him when he was my age—he was a strapping young lad, indeed.

There were even some old boxes from my youth, too. Until I joined the military, I went by my middle name, Blas. Blas is very different from Will (yes, I’m talking about myself in the 3rd person). Blas was a light-hearted kid who loved to read voraciously. I started out with sports, of course, but by High School, I was knee-deep in The New Republic, The Weekly Standard, and The National Review. Sorry, I was never really a man of the Left, other than a short trip in college.

I also stumbled upon a dozen knives and a bunch of old ammo from Pops. My Dad never wanted to be unarmed. Every room in the house had a gun because, well, you never know. The man even learned to make his own ammo. Once, a lot of gunpowder was delivered to the house when I was a kid, which caused my Mother to lay down the law: get that out of my house!

I also found a hatchet and some brass knuckles (score!). The Selbers are fighters, which is hilarious because my wife’s family isn’t. They aren’t afraid of a fight and have many veterans in the family, but they ain’t Texans. They are lovely people, and I’m growing to love Kansas. But I’m no Kansan.

When I say that to my wife, the lovely Charity, she always says, “We would never claim you to begin with.” She’s good for me. Better than I deserve, to be sure. She evens me out, which I desperately need.

Anyway, it’s good to come home and remember I used to be somebody else before the military. The war and all of that don’t have to define me. It will always be a part of me, for sure. But I can be whoever I want to be again.

It’s exciting to start again. While I’ll always miss the war, I’m happy to be out. I look forward to what lies ahead, whatever that might be. Being home reminds me that there is more to life than the war. And that makes the trip worthwhile in and of itself.

Until Next Time