Lieutenant Colonel (Retired)

Today wasn't unlike most days for me. My Army Reserve unit is gone to Ft. Bliss, TX for a year of active duty. But I'm not with them. To make a long story short, I retired from "wearing the uniform" on Jan. 31 after 30 years in the active Army, Army National Guard and Army Reserve. If not for a three-year break after my initial Army hitch, that would be 33 years total. Because I am a "military technician," a condition of my employment is that I must also be an active Army Reserve soldier. And because I retired on Jan. 31, I now must find a new full-time civilian job within 12 months. Hence the graduate degree study, hence the job hunt.
But today, that "retired" feeling sunk in a bit more as I turned in my active army identification card for the pink ID that is issued to "retirees." I'm also known as a "Gray Area Retiree," because although I'm retired from the Army Reserve, I cannot begin to collect my pension until age 59, which for me is less than three years off. Thus I fall into that "gray area" between active service and full-benefits retirement.
Truthfully, I never envisioned an Army career. Had you asked me in high school what I wanted to do, being an officer would not have been my answer. But, as it turns out, it became a large part of my career and for years has defined who I am. Now I am in the process of redefining myself apart from the Army. Barb knows that on the day my retirement became effective, I packed up my Army uniforms, boots, berets, etc., and put them out in the garage. That's the way I am. That part of my life is over. No need to look back. Well, except for times like this. Something about getting that retiree card was a defining moment.
Camaraderie, travel, unforgettable experiences. I owe all of it to Uncle Sam. On his dime I've flown all over the US, flew on an embassy resupply mission to Ecuador, watched National Guard troops build a school in Honduras, and stood at Miraflores Locks, watching ships traverse the Panama Canal. I watched Operation Just Cause unfold while on annual training in Panama in 1989. We heard the gunfire and saw our planes circling Panama City. My fellow photographer, Ron Carlberg, was whisked away to photograph the swearing in of the new Panamanian president that night. Memories that last forever.
There is a camaraderie -- a brotherhood -- that putting on the uniform creates. There is a connection when you see another man or woman wearing the uniform -- wherever you are -- in an airport, restaurant, grocery store. And some of my most cherished memories came while driving through the Black Hills with Jerry Jorgensen and Tom Berg; listening to Roy Mercer while driving to drill with Greg Schaefers; or riding in a dusty jeep on the way to a news assignment on the back roads of Camp Ripley, MN, where the mosquitoes are as large as sparrows in July (or I thought they were, anyway).
It was tough to see friends leave for Ft. Bliss without me, but life goes on. That day had to come and it was not unexpected. Now begins our new adventure. In one month, God willing, I will receive my graduate degree and we will begin in earnest to plot our next move. It will be an adventure. It always has been.