I am 21!!!

July 5th was my 21st birthday. I spent the night celebrating with friends in Austin, Texas and I can't imagine a better way to kick off my 21st year. I have been blessed to never really had a bad birthday and have had some truly amazing ones. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago about my 9th birthday, which is still my favorite birthday and one of my favorite memories. I hope you enjoy the story. Love you Dad!

My awesome dad being the best Opa ever.

Redoubt #6

July 5, 1999 was my ninth birthday and my dad and I were celebrating at Redoubt #6, the best place to see the fireworks; which I still like to think are just for my birthday. Redoubt #6 is a place, not well known, but loved by the few who are acquainted with it. I have been there countless times, and from August of 1998 to August of 2000 it was my retreat. To get there, I would walk out the back door onto the wooden porch, down the stairs and into the back yard. As I made my way to the back gate I would be sure to avoid the piles left by the dog, Hudson. We adopted him from the animal shelter when my family and I moved to West Point, New York. My youngest brother, Will, was fascinated with the Hudson River. It could be seen from several parts of the small Army base. When the dog came home, Will decided to name him Hudson, because the German shepherd-pit bull mix was the same color as the muddy river.

 Once I exited the back gate, I made my way to the fence that stopped baseballs, big wheels and children from toppling down the “rock cages”, as the neighborhood children called them.  I would climb the fence, taking special care not to fall. The first time I climbed the fence, I fell over and cut my ankle on the rock cage. That emergency room trip resulted in five stitches and was the beginning of a very close relationship with the West Point Emergency Room technicians. After climbing down the rock cages, the first landmark was in clear sight.

This landmark was known as the Big Rock. It was about 15 feet tall, perfect for climbing on. On the top curve of the rock there was an indent perfect for sitting. I would go to this rock to read or write or think among the trees. I would write silly songs and plays, and then force them on my neighborhood friends. Heading northeast from the Big Rock would take you through the fairly thick woods to a small stream. A fallen tree was my bridge to the second part of the hike. A large hill on the other side of the stream took me to a narrow road, used by military RVs and marching cadets.  Cadets are college students attending West Point. There are always 4,000 of them and they crowd the small base like deer. Once on the road, a left turn took me up the steep hill. This was the most difficult part of the hike; I walked with care as I leaned into gravity and the weight of my backpack.

Near the top of the road there is a rusted gate on the right hand side. The gate no longer opened but there was a place where the fence sagged low, making it easy to walk over. My dad always crossed the fence first, and then he would hold out his hand to help me over. Being an independent young woman of 9, I would give him the, “I can do it myself Dad” indignant face and confidently walk over alone. Beyond the fence was a narrow dirt road with extremely thick forest on either side. No matter what time of day, no matter what time of year, this road was always dark and wet. West Point is a fairly rainy place and the trees blocked the sun from reaching the ground. Walking down this narrow corridor was my favorite part of the 2-mile hike. It was the part of the walk where I left all concerns and thoughts. I don’t know what made those 30 yards so relaxing. But I know that every time I emerged from the trees to see the entire town, the river, and the surrounding mountains I only thought of the beautiful view and how glad I was to be there. It was like waking up after a long, restful sleep.

To the uninformed eye Redoubt #6 was just a small clearing that looked over the entire base, surrounded by trees, and protected by a 3-foot wall. However, I knew that cannons were aimed over that wall during the Revolutionary War. Redoubt #6 observes the bend in the Hudson that the American rebels planned on using if British warships attempted to sail up the Hudson.  The bend would make them shift their sails, and slow down enough to be hit with cannon fire from the shore. . I knew that the pole near the tree line was a flagpole, and a beacon of hope for those defending it. I came to understand and respect my father’s profession and knowledge during the trips we made to Redoubt #6. During our two-year stay in West Point he was teaching political science to West Point cadets in their second and third year. Before we moved there we lived in Chicago while my dad was going getting his second master’s degree at the University of Chicago. He was home for six straight years, and those years of presence allowed me to meet my dad.

There is nothing particularly striking about his 5’10” 160 pound frame, except possible his extremely blue eyes. He wears the same jeans that he wore the day he graduated from college in1988, but they don’t look as if they have been worn for 21 years. He has spent most of his days in assigned attire. His tucked in polo and hiking shoes aren’t new and shiny, or old and ragged. His teeth are yellowing from too much coffee. Coffee is one of the few things in excess in his life, except maybe love and war.

The love in his life is his high school sweetheart and wife of 20 years, Jeri, and the four children that she gave him. The war in his life is the Gulf, the conflict in Bosnia, security in Korea, and Operation Iraqi freedom I, III, and VI. The only personal item that has traveled with him to all the parts of the world is a Bible bound in black leather. This Bible, unlike his jeans, is worn thin. The pages are yellowing and turned up. The gold that once lined the edges of the well-known pages is now gone.

We hiked up to the redoubt the afternoon of the Fourth; we would very carefully clear the space near (but not to near) the fire pit. There could be no sticks or rocks or anthills underneath the tent. The tent that we slept in was a faded royal blue. It was a very simple tent that could sleep three comfortably. We had lost and replaced stakes over the years, and we always forgot a mallet so there were small dents on the top of the stakes from the rock that drove them into the ground. Assembling the tent was a familiar dance for my dad and I. We had practiced it so many times that we went through the steps gracefully and effortlessly. After the tent was set up and we had arranged everything inside the tent it was time start the second part of the dance: gathering firewood. 

Gathering firewood is much more complicated than it sounds. First, there is the kindling, which are small sticks and twigs to feed the starting fire. Next, my dad and I would search for medium firewood. These are medium sized sticks that will be stacked to make a teepee shape to house the fire. Finally, we would look for large logs that would sustain the fire. All of these sticks and logs had to be completely dry. After these are all gathered and stacked by the fire pit. I would take the newspaper out of the front pocket of my dad’s extremely large backpack, crinkle it, and place it in the middle of the pit. Around the newspaper, the kindling must be stacked (like a teepee). Then the medium sized firewood would be stacked like a teepee, touching only at the tips. Lighting the fire was the culmination of our long search. My dad always did the honors for safety’s sake. He would put newspaper on the end of a medium sized stick, then light the newspaper and, slide it between the carefully balanced stick teepee and light the bit of newspaper that was purposefully sticking out of the kindling.

The fireworks started around 9:30 and lasted until about 11. We would sit on the small rock wall; I would swing my feet in a melodic mesmerized motion. Beyond the rock wall was a steep hill that some campers used as a dumping ground for toilet paper and liquor bottles. The fireworks were launched from the far side of the Reservoir, which was on the edge of the base, right beside the West Point football stadium. Redoubt 6 was so far above the rest of the base that we were looking down on the fireworks and their reflection off of the river and the bottles.

After the fireworks my dad and I would return to our fire that had been slowly growing in the background. We would stay up until midnight to ring in my birthday. Sitting on the logs that surrounded the fire pit to talk was my favorite part of the night. The fire lit up the small clearing; the outline of the tent, the rock wall, and the tree line could all be seen. The smoke from the fireworks hung as a gray haze in the sky while we talked. For some reason, I cannot remember what we talked about. I looked up occasionally to see the stars fighting to shine through the haze. When the time finally came we would count down the last 10 seconds of Independence Day. With five seconds left we would stand, “Four, three,” the anticipation begins grow on my face. “Two, one. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE.” We would run around the fire and scream to trees and the stars and the final wisps of haze. He would give me a big hug and kiss the top of my head. Now staying up until midnight doesn’t sound like a difficult task. Most people do it on a regular basis, but my dad’s internal clock is like the Big Ben. He goes to bed at 10 o’clock sharp, and can’t sleep in later than 6am. He is famous for falling asleep during movies, or while lying on the living room floor.

By the time my dad and I had greeted my birthday morning we were both ready for bed. Almost immediately after our brief birthday celebration we would put the fire out with dirt and go to sleep. My dad would wake up around 6, only able to sleep this late because of his delayed bed time, and let me sleep for about an hour. I always sleep so well outside, and waking up early was not a problem.  We would roll up our sleeping pads and bags, then do the tent dance and hike in reverse. When we got home we were greeted by Hudson and my younger brother, A.J.. The rest of the family was asleep and Aj’s seven-year-old mind sat captured by cartoons.

First thing after our camping trip is breakfast. My dad always stands in the kitchen over the omelet, French toast, or pancakes and says, “I show love through food.”  On my ninth birthday my dad made omelets, we sat down in the dining room to eat them and he said once again, “Happy Birthday, Kate.”