Chapter 4
Jack’s Troubled Youth
Jack lay in his bunk bed that evening, but couldn’t sleep. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, but not from the heat. He was looking up at the spinning ceiling fan, while he was thinking about the problems he had with his new partner. What should I do? I could ask for a transfer, but I don’t want to pass up an opportunity like this. It’s too enticing to prove my abilities on a black ops mission. I could ask the major for a different partner. But Major Phelps was not the type that changed his mind easily.
This situation was one more in a list of life-long challenges. Jack began reflecting on his childhood and problems he had at an early age. His thoughts drifted back to the car crash. He and his parents were driving home from vacation in Colorado Springs when it happened. They were only an hour from their home in Denver when the thick fog rolled in. His father could only see one car length ahead. He slowed the car to fifty miles per hour. Jack heard his father talking to his mother about looking for a motel to spend the night. Then his father slowed to forty-five miles per hour. His parents were looking on both sides of the road for a motel.
Jack’s mother said, “Any motel will do. We just need a place to stay. It doesn’t have to be nice, just a shower and beds for the three of us.”
His father slowed to forty miles per hour. Jack sat in the middle of the back seat of the car. His mother sat in the front seat on the passenger side. Their 1965 Ford sedan did not have seat belts so it was not going to provide much protection for the forthcoming collision.
Five minutes earlier, a lone driver was struggling to see out his snow-streaked windshield because of ice that was starting to form on his wipers. He pulled off to the side of the road so he could wipe the ice from the wipers. Unfortunately, in the dense fog, he didn’t realize that he had only pulled halfway off the road. Almost immediately a car rammed into the back of his vehicle. Then the chain reaction began. Car after car plowed into the rear of the previous car. The fog was so thick that each driver did not see the previous car until it was too late—boom, boom, boom—the noise was deafening.
Jack’s car was the seventh car in the pileup. They had no time to prepare for the violent crash. He remembered a loud sound, like a thunderclap. Then everything went black. When he woke up it was still dark. He felt someone tugging at his feet. His father pulled him out from under the dashboard. The crash had propelled little Jack over his mother’s seat, and he landed headfirst by her feet. He looked up at his father and saw blood dripping from a hole between his lower lip and chin where his teeth had penetrated after hitting the steering wheel. Jack’s father realized his son was shocked at the sight of the blood and so he tried to calm him.
“I’ll be all right,” his father spoke in a purposely unruffled voice. “I am going to help your mother out of the car. Why don’t you grab a handful of snow and bring it to me so I can put it on my cut to slow the bleeding.” Jack felt good that he could be useful. As he climbed out of the car, he thought he could smell a faint scent of gasoline. He scurried halfway down a steep embankment at the edge of the road. There he found fresh deep snow that looked like it would be suitable for the task. He carefully scooped a large handful and tried not to get any dirt mixed in the snow. He turned to take it to his dad. Boom . . . a swirling ball of orange flames and black smoke shot straight up into the air. Jack froze. Then he ran as fast as he could up the embankment, his feet slipping in the snow. Cresting the top of the embankment he saw flames spewing from the car windows. He began yelling, “Mommy! Daddy!”
An onlooker grabbed Jack as he tried to run toward the flaming car. He struggled to pull free. The flames burned a long time. Finally, he realized there was no hope. He stood in silence as the light from the flames illuminated tears running down his face. The fiery image burned in his mind, never to be forgotten. He wanted to scream, but only silence escaped his open mouth.
The onlooker grabbed Jack’s head and held him close to her winter coat as if to protect him from the flames and thoughts that were flashing through his mind. Mommy! Daddy! How could this happen? Why did it happen? What will happen to me now?
The flames were slowly dying as the first ambulance arrived. A medical technician took Jack’s hand after being informed of his plight. He guided him to the front seat of the ambulance. Jack waited for the trip to the hospital. I don’t know who is in the back of the ambulance, but I wish it was Mommy and Daddy.
At the hospital Jack was transferred to the custody of a policeman who found a local pastor that was willing to take him in for the night. He sat in silence as he ate dinner with the pastor and his wife. The couple had counseled grief victims before, but none were as young as Jack. They watched him pick at his food, tears running down his cheeks, and wondered about the thoughts that must be going through his mind. They tried to comfort him, but in the end Jack went to bed that evening bearing the grief that would last a lifetime.
Eventually, Jack was put in an orphanage. Because he was so young, the older boys bullied him. Jack didn’t know how to fight so he would try to run. His efforts were futile. Their legs were longer and faster, their muscles stronger. Finally, an older boy befriended Jack. He showed him how to make a tight fist, how to deliver a straight punch, and where to hit an opponent. Jack didn’t want the bullies to see him practice, so he would mentally repeat these techniques in the darkness at night after the lights were turned out. Then one day when a single boy tried to accost Jack, he retaliated. He used his newly acquired skills to punch his opponent in the nose, lips, and chin. Jack’s fists were hypersonic from weeks of daily practice, and his opponent fell to his knees, writhing in pain and his face dripping with blood.
Jack quickly developed a reputation and was tested many times by the older boys that formed the gangs. His pent-up anger from previous beatings more than compensated for his lack of experience or skill. Eventually the older boys left him alone and moved on to bully other children.
Jack relaxed now that he had a reprieve from the beatings. But then, after he watched the bullies pummel other smaller boys, his guilt overwhelmed him. Those younger boys are now getting the beatings that I used to receive. If I hadn’t stood up for myself I would still be getting beatings, and they wouldn’t.
He pondered his remorse, and finally decided there was only one solution. None of us will get beat up again.
Jack kept a watchful eye for the next beating. One day after school, he saw the older boys form a circle around a younger boy. The ringleader stepped to the center of the circle and began taunting the boy. Jack watched and waited for the right moment. When the ringleader took the first swing, Jack ran full speed, breaking through the ring of malefactors, and struck the troublemaker in the face with his tightly clenched fist. As before, blood went everywhere. The other boys in the gang bristled and took a step toward Jack, but he didn’t back down. He clenched his jaw and took a step toward them. They saw his unflinching eyes and his raised fists. They stepped back, slowly turned, and walked away. Jack felt a calm and gratifying sensation. He had never protected anyone before. I am glad I took a stand. I like protecting innocent people.
That began a series of many similar altercations. Jack never backed down, and he always felt good after protecting someone. This continued until he was in high school. Then one day, an Army recruiter talked about opportunities in the military. Jack listened intensely. With no plans for a career, he was open to the recruiter’s overture. Afterwards, he approached the recruiter and asked, “So you want to pay me to kill bad people?”
“I don’t recall putting it quite like that, but yes,” replied the recruiter.
Jack paused, looked the recruiter in the eyes, and said, “How do I sign up?”
Jack and Jill: Army Page 6