125 Pounds of Gear - Second Lieutenant in the House

Over thirty years ago we vacationed around Victoria on Vancouver Island - across from Vancouver, British Columbia. While there, we toured a replica of Anne Hathaway's home; she was William Shakespeare's wife. I remember our tour guide telling us about the meaning behind some Olde English sayings that we use today. A notable one was the "pitter patter of little feet" which back then referred to the sound of wooden elevated clogs that were attached to the bottom of shoes to keep ones' feet out of the swill that was often on floors - so particularly the sound of women's feet pitter-pattering while doing their tasks in the house, and not the sound of the little feet of children running about.

Our bedroom is upstairs in the house, so we don't regularly hear the sounds of our youngest son the Ensign who has been living with us this summer while he has performed his temporary duty after graduation

and while waiting to report in October to begin his flight school. It is pretty much the same for his company-mate who already has begun The Basic School at Quantico for Marine officers, but who often comes to our home on weekends to get some sleep, eat, and do his laundry. He stays in our first floor guest room - the one with the sign over the door indicating it is for Second Lieutenant

Mahuna - but sleeps in a lot (kind of like Plebe year all over again). Both are pretty well mannered, and do a good job of cleaning up after themselves. But this week had a new twist - week-long field training in torrential rains necessitated him taking his gear to a car wash for hosing down before coming to our place. His equipment was then laid out across patio chairs and table to dry out. We understand when fully outfitted with gear including armor, weapon, and ammunition - a marine weights an additional 125 pounds. It is hard to imagine how one walks quietly over hill and dale, and through brush thickets and down trails.

Needless to say, Saturday morning I woke up to the sound of rain falling and immediately remembered "rain/Jason's stuff/outside." Primal instincts kicked into gear - my wife and I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly and dragged everything into the house so the drying process wasn't a total loss. Later at breakfast, our Junior Officer called it situational awareness - me, I think it is a vestige of still being a parent, even though the four kids (plus a marine) are all grown up. As for Jason - he was still asleep; quite aware of his surroundings: peaceful environs and hopefully sweet dreams.

In a few weeks we will for sure be birders with an empty nest. And in a modern sense - will miss the sounds of the pitter patter of little feet. No matter how large the souls of the shoes.