One of the lessons I was taught when I attended the writer’s training workshop was to capture an event as soon after it happens as possible. When you do this, you capture the emotions and feelings in your language and the event resonates more accurately from your perspective.
Unfortunately, sometimes in life, I do not wish to capture those emotions and feelings, because they cut too sharply or are all mixed up. I can’t think straight and therefore I can’t write straight.
West Point, like always, brings this out in me.
There are events in each life (whether good or bad, liked or disliked) that shape who you are and how you view the world. My 1 year at the West Point Prep School and my 4 years at West Point helped to shape who I am. (As a bonus, they also kept me in shape.)
Although I did love the Prep School, those 4 years at West Point weren’t the life event I value the most (Primarily because it felt like attempting to survive a prison.) Becoming a Christian, The Meloch family, Growing up in Northern Minnesota, Dale, Our children, The body of Christ, and Army life (Hawaii, Australia) have in my eyes been more valuable parts of my life. Yet, West Point was and (surprisingly) remains significant to me.
Last month, as we approached our 20th class reunion, I thought I had made peace with the place and my four years there. I had a much better attitude going into the 20th reunion than I did during the 10th. Yet, there are things which remain and reemerge when I am back on The Plain that can spike my emotions so very quickly.
West Point’s motto of Duty, Honor, Country is ingrained in most graduates. Returning to the Plain, forces each graduate to assess their choices following graduation. Whether one served 5 years or 20 years, most graduates wonder if they could have or should have given more, served longer, made different choices.
I struggled with this more during my 10th reunion when my choice of family over Army was still new. This reunion, it was Dale who stood assessing his choice of family over Army. This was his last reunion as an Army Officer. Life choices, even if they are the best ones, are seldom without regrets.
Another thing that springs to life on The Plain are memories: some strong, some faded, some good, some bad. There are regrets for actions taken so long ago. There are people I wish I could apologize to, but they are not there. Even if I saw them, I question whether or not it would be helpful to apologize or whether it is best to leave it unspoken and hopefully forgotten. I wish to be forgiven, but, regretfully, I am not quite so willing to forgive others.
Prior to 1976, West Point was a male only University. My Class (1990) was the tenth class containing both men and women. Men outnumbered women 10 to 1. Most people, when a part of the minority, whether race, gender, etc. will encounter people who view them negatively simply because they are different. Many people adhering to this negative view, will simply ignore you. There are those, however, who actively persecute you.
In word or deed, outwardly or secretly, they actively work to push you towards failure or quitting. Purposefully attempting to isolate you from the group. During a cadet’s first year, it is the job of the upperclassmen to actively persecute the Plebes. Every Cadet received this persecution at one level or another.
However, to receive this persecution after the first year, especially from your own classmates, wears you down. This was the daily experience of many of my dear friends at West Point. Although I experienced some of it, my every day life was by no means as harsh as theirs. For receiving a reprieve, I can mostly thank the man I married.
He would often hear rants against women at West Point and then suddenly, the individual spouting off would realize who they were talking to, and hastily bring their opinion to the following conclusion: “Well, not Mugs, of course.”
For myself, over the years, I have set the following standard: If one individual from a minority group defies my prejudicial beliefs, maybe I should reconsider whether or not my prejudicial beliefs are valid.
At the beginning of this month, I returned to West Point for our reunion, but some dear friends would not. Once again, I encountered those who chose an unkind path. I avoid the ones still consumed with their self righteous arrogance and demeaning attitudes with a simple “He hasn’t changed.” (At Mom’s 50th High School reunion, one guy actually insulted her. When he walked away, I declared “What a jerk!” Mom, a bit flustered, answered, “Yes, and he was a jerk 50 years ago too.”)
The more difficult encounters are with those who appear to have genuinely changed. Marriage, children, war, illness, difficult life circumstances, or simply growing up has transformed them from what they once were. They are nice people now with nice wives and nice families and nice things to say and hugs and smiles.
The world comforts me with the assurance that whether changed or unchanged, I don’t have to forgive them. I like that choice.
Unfortunately for my flesh, but fortunately for my spirit, I live by a different standard. One set by God. Whether or not they remember what they’ve done, whether or not they are sorry for what they’ve done, whether or not they ask for forgiveness.
“Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” Matthew 6:12-15
It is a high standard God sets for us, and I often think I am in the clear. I think I have forgiven them until I am forced to see them again, to think about them again, to interact with them again.
Once again I must pray, “Lord, I forgive them.”
And hope that before the next reunion rolls my way, I can truly make peace with the place.