Postcard from Iraq

by Michael Jiordano

Gratitude is a concept so valuable, yet so often forgotten. I was reminded of that fact during my stay at Phoenix House in 2001. Gratitude can change one's whole outlook on life.

Case in point: I am grateful that I survived the barrage of twenty-eight rockets that shattered the early morning peace of our desert camp here about 50 miles west of Baghdad. The attack was just one of many. As I scramble for my helmet and flak vest, it is still a challenge to fathom that - after parting ways with the Navy 19 years ago - here I am in Iraq, 46-years old with an M-16 in my hand.

Before going any further with this, some background:

I completed my second enlistment in the Navy in 1985, and didn't waste any time making a mess of civilian life. Gone were the camaraderie, the ethics and standards that I had become accustomed to. Deciding the world was a cold, cruel place, I took refuge in the warm, bleary haze of alcohol. I had always been a heavy "good time" drinker - but booze only made the bad times worse. It didn't solve my problems. No matter how much I would drink, the problems wouldn't go away. I tried other intoxicants, and still… problems everywhere.

Eventually, I got into trouble with the law, was placed on probation and then failed a urine test. Offered a choice between treatment and the possibility of prison, I arrived at Phoenix House in Citra, Florida in January 2001 for what was to be the most frustrating period of my life. Some things about treatment made sense, but at the time, many did not. I was told what to do by people far younger than myself. And those annoying room changes -- what a pain.

But over the months I persevered, completing treatment, and rejoining society. Remembering the military as my most productive years, I affiliated with a reserve unit: the U.S. Navy Fighting Seabees. (Remember the old John Wayne movie?) In March of 2004, I found myself mobilized and on my way to Iraq. As a veteran, I thought myself well-prepared for active duty, but when I arrived, I found that I had to take orders from very young men who outranked me. And during my first four months in the country I was constantly moving from tent to tent and camp to camp. The combat conditions were stressful, and it's turned out to be my experience at Phoenix House that's helped prepare me for the frustrations I've faced.

So here I am, helping in the effort to bring freedom to a nation. I have qualified for a hard-to-get Seabee Combat Warfare specialist pin, been meritoriously promoted, and been awarded the Meritorious Service medal and the Global War on Terrorism medal with the Marine Corps combat device. I have been selected for the position of Communications Chief for the Tactical Movement team, a group that escorts conveys through hostile territory. This is a position formerly filled by a man three steps in rank higher than myself. Conditions are brutal, but I will always take a deep pride in being a part of this. It is unlikely I ever would have joined the reserves if I had not had Phoenix House to remind me of who I am and the standards by which I should be living.

Gratitude. What a concept.