Jesse's Badge of Honor

I took a break from teaching the spring semester of my second year in graduate school so I could devote my time to preparing for the oral exam I would have to pass in order to earn my MA in English. Looking back, that was one of my favorite times in graduate school, and I often thought about how wonderful it would be to have a job that paid me to sit around and read all day. Ah, if only I ruled the world….

During those days, I would wake up each morning and put on a pot of coffee to accompany my cigarettes and reading for the morning. Because spring semester begins in January, most mornings were fairly cold and I didn’t smoke in the house I shared with my roommates.

Instead of putting on a bathrobe when I got out of bed in the morning, I would put on an old, cream colored woolen cardigan style sweater that had belonged to my Grandpa. My fiancé, at the time, nicknamed it my “literary sweater” because I would spend the majority of my day wrapped in the warmth of that sweater as I snuggled into the couch (or my bed) to read and study for what seemed like a grueling exam.

As a little girl, I always looked up to and idolized my Grandpa.  He could be salty and crotchety. Abrasive at times. But he equally loved and adored me; of this I am certain. Having been a college history professor, he always encouraged my education and was proud of my ambitions to pursue a graduate level degree.

I lost both of my grandparents while I was in graduate school. Wearing that wool sweater while I studied for my exams made me feel connected to my Grandpa. While it was a simple article of clothing, the fact that the sweater had belonged to him inspired me throughout the course of my studies. Wrapped in it, I felt supported and encouraged by my Grandpa.

When I met and interviewed Jesse about the Air Force patch that he had tattooed on his left chest in honor of his Grandpa, I instantly felt a connection to him and could understand why this tattoo was so profoundly meaningful and significant for him.

Having no brothers, and not growing up with a father in my life, I have only understood the close knit bond that exists between women in my family: Grandma, Mom, me and now my two daughters. The same kind of bond, however, definitely exists among our male counterparts as Grandfathers, Fathers and Sons.

In the brief time I was able to meet and talk with Jesse, it was astoundingly apparent that he shares an incredibly strong bond with his father; and if his grandfather were still alive, I can see the three generations together – thick as thieves.

Jesse was only about a three year old toddler when his Grandpa passed away. Death is difficult enough for adults to understand and grieve; I can’t imagine what it might be like for a little fella.

As I listened to Jesse, now a young 20-something adult himself, talk about his Grandpa, there was an amazing change in his countenance. His face brightened and beamed – words coming out of a smile with the magic quality of childhood excitement.

He recalled times spent, sitting in his Grandpa’s lap, eating popsicles and watching television. Wheelchair bound, Jesse’s grandfather was also on a supply of oxygen. With an impish little grin, Jesse remembered enjoying playing with the O2 line and pulling it out of his Grandpa’s nose.

Despite the fact that Jesse didn’t grow up with his Grandpa physically by his side, he certainly had heart-felt memories of love that he carried with him. It is evident in the way he speaks about this man who so deeply touched his life at such a poignant time in his development.

Jesse’s Grandpa served in the US Air Force and had quite a career in the military. I imagine, as I do quite often, that Jesse wishes he could ask his grandfather questions about his life and hear stories from another time and generation.

What Jesse does have, thanks to his Grandpa and Dad, are a variety of patches his Grandpa earned throughout his time of military service.

“We’ve got the old canes he used. Pictures of him with his air force group. Patches. All of his patches. Bunches of them,” said Jesse. “It is neat to have. We’ve got a whole big bowl of them – just sitting there. It is cool just to look through them. This is the one I’ve kept. Always had it with me.”

In addition his Grandpa’s medic alert chain alerting an allergy to penicillin, an allergy Jesse has in common with his Grandpa, he always kept this specific patch in his room. It is, Jesse believes, the first patch his Grandpa earned.

Jesse said that the idea to get a tattoo to honor his Grandpa was something he considered for a long while. I am hesitant to put words into anyone’s mouth, however, a tattoo of this nature and design is one, I would think, most people want to get “just right.”

And then one day it clicked like a Joycean epiphany: Jesse would get the exact likeness of his Grandpa’s first earned Air Force patch tattooed in his honor.

Jesse has grown considerably since he was three years old and last had the opportunity to sit on his Grandpa’s lap and share a Popsicle. I can certainly understand the desire to share your life with someone you love and admire.  

There is no doubt in my mind that his Grandpa would be proud of the young man Jesse has become and the man into whom he continues to grow and develop.

While his Grandpa might not be physically present in his life, the wonderful memories that Jesse has of him have a permanent residence in his heart and mind; and Jesse proudly displays a badge of honor for his Grandpa, eternally etched, across his chest.  

Checking In

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

I have been the living embodiment of this idea for the last seven months.

In December, my husband of seven years announced that he was unhappy and leaving. However, because of finical reasons, convenience and children, he didn’t physically leave until the beginning of April. Looking back, emotionally and soulfully, we parted ways long before December.

I have been ok with his leaving. Honestly. The greatest difficult has been watching my girls try to wrap their seven and eight year old heads around adult issues; extra responsibilities around the house (yard and pool maintenance); and getting all of my financial messes cleaned up and moving in the right direction.

As for the marriage, I hate to sound negative, but remained curled up in the bud state, unable to grow and blossom, was infinitely more difficult than the decision to go it alone – to blossom as Nicole. There is a an amazing feeling of freedom in being able to be myself without censorship or apology.

Where am I going with all of this? My Soul to Skin Project seemed to take off and converge in the midst of a million things going on in my life. School let out for the summer, and instead of camp this year, Em and Ella have been home with me full time. Time with them is fantastic, but it leaves little opportunity for me to sit and focus on my writing. In addition, I have a full-part time job with the newspaper that occupies a significant amount of my time. Prior to beginning this project, I also promised to help co-author another book with a very dear friend.

While this was never part of my plan, I confess I have fallen in love with the most amazing man I have ever met. Navigating these waters has been blissfully frightening.

My tendency has always been to take on many projects at the same time, and somehow I manage to accomplish everything I set out to do (because I am driven, ambitious, tenacious, and perfectionist) no matter how long it might take me to get it done.

Here is where I am going with this: I am asking for your patience. My passion for this project has in no way dwindled. My mind has simply been focused on many things simultaneously. Each and every person I have had the pleasure of speaking with, I assure you, will have his and her stories told. And I know there are more people out there with whom I cannot wait to connect.

Don’t lose faith in me or this project. Keep checking back. Contact me to schedule a time to talk and interview. Like me, this project is a work in progress. Because it is mine, I do not have any definitive deadlines. I am enjoying the process of meeting people, talking with them, transcribing our interviews, writing up their stories and sharing them with the world. If we haven’t yet met or spoken, I hope you will allow me the privilege of hearing and sharing your story or stories.

I have recently gotten over a few personal hurtles that will allow me more time for this project … the freedom to continue to grow and blossom. I invite you and hope you will remain on this journey with me.