A firsthand look at our troops

I’m not the crying type. I don’t get emotional and I don’t like to

hug. But Friday night, I was not myself.

Last week, I had the exceptional opportunity to join the Spence

family of Newport Beach in bidding their son Cass good-bye at Camp

Pendleton, where he and his battalion of Marine reservists were

readying for a tour overseas.

I was always raised to believe in peace and goodness and usually

frowned upon war. My grandfather served in the military and our

family has a very real respect for the armed forces, but the Vietnam

War, and the climate that surrounded it, made a lasting impression on

my mom. And as her daughter, I have been influenced by her outlook.

Regardless of what I think or thought (as I am not so sure

anymore) about war, I cannot deny the impression Friday night left

with me.

I watched 2-year-old Connor Spence run around the military base,

playing with anyone who would approach him, unaware of the occasion’s

significance. The blond-haired boy, who is just a year younger than

my own son, was the epitome of innocence. His trusting glance and

genuine smile shone brightly among the shadowy rows of semi-automatic

rifles and cases of ammunition.

I watched as the toddler interacted with his father while playing

in the dirt of a tattered lawn. The love on the faces of both seemed

even more precious against the backdrop of stern military barracks. I

was touched that they shared such a tender moment in such a rigid

place.

I watched as Cass looked longingly at his 7-week-old daughter,

McKayla, whom he could not touch because of his recent small pox

vaccination. He leaned over her carrier and stared, letting his

intent gaze embrace her.

The battalion leader addressed the families of 900 men and tried

valiantly to assure them of their safety, without making empty

promises.

“Everybody likes to be well-informed, and I am one of them, but we

just don’t know right now,” he said.

I heard men talk valiantly about service to their country and

pride in their fellow soldiers and it symbolized the type of intense

conviction that is often lacking in our fast-paced, convenient

culture. The leader of 58 men, Cass made his rounds and assured other

families their sons would be home soon.

Cass introduced members of his immediate family to those of his

military family and bragged about his young soldiers like a big

brother would. He put his arm around a striking 26-year-old, Kelly

McCoy, who was a film major at UCI before being called up for active

duty.

“This guy is crucial in the attacks that we may do,” Cass said

about his strapping colleague. “His expertise will save lives and

create havoc for the enemy. He’s coming back with me. I will not

write a letter to anyone’s family. I refuse to.”

Longtime friend Dan Hill drove down to bid Cass farewell and

provided comic relief that brought smiles to everyone’s faces. His

towering physique and humorous exterior could not hide the apparent

affection he has for his friend.

I watched Cass -- a swaggering tough guy who enjoys fast cars and

a cold beer -- stroke his wife’s hair and whisper words of

encouragement in her ear. It brought to me a renewed belief in true

love, which also seems to be lacking in our often cut-throat society.

I saw mother, Corinne Spence, hold her son’s face in her hands and

tell him she expected him to return. She had faith in him and upon

his request, she held back the tears forming in the corners of her

eyes.

I watched Cass and his father, Chuck, relinquish their macho

exteriors for a brief moment to share a quick hug and kiss.

“Take care of my boy all right,” Cass said to his father.

“Oh, I will have no fear.”

A quick glance around the base uncovered the same heart-felt

moments being shared between other couples, family members and

friends. I realized I was in the middle of a strange and monumental

episode.

“Look at this, look at this,” Cass said to me. “Everybody has got

this in common.”

His mother agreed.

“These men come from all walks of life but they become one with

this training,” Corinne said. “It’s very encouraging.”

I found a strange inspiration in the middle of a stern military

base. I tried to stay removed. To sit back and observe without

feeling anything, but it was hopeless. To ignore the emotions of the

evening -- love and fear mixed with uncertainty and faith -- would

have required a thicker skin than I ever want.

By the end of my three hours on the base, I put my notebook away

and participated.

I chased little Connor around the barracks, held young McKayla

when Corinne’s arm got tired and even hugged the Spences when we said

good-bye. I stifled my tears in the presence of others but could not

deny the wetness forming in my eyes.

My thoughts will continually visit Cass and his family, Kelly

McCoy and all the humanity I encountered on that austere base. No

matter what I think about war, foreign affairs, politics or my role

as a journalist, I am thankful to have been part of such a touching

and possibly historical event and will forever be grateful to those

who fight for our country.