Marlo Thomas

Timothy Ciciora
Command Master Chief U.S. Navy, Retired
Atlantic Beach, Florida

My ship, the USS John L. Hall, a guided missile frigate, had just returned from Desert Storm to its base in Mayport, Florida. As my shipmates and I went down to the pier, the first thing I saw was a 500 foot inflatable Budweiser can.

What is this? I thought to myself. We had no idea what was happening stateside while we were abroad, nor any idea of what kind of reception awaited us. Suddenly, it seemed, we were the flavor of the month.

A huge crowd of family and supporters were there to greet us, but it did not lift my spirits. I did not want braces or honor - I just wanted to go home. My chief master noticed my attitude.

"This reception is much better than what I got when I returned to Vietnam," he said dryly. "So, keep it to yourself."

But after 12 years service, I was sick of the Navy and thought out. I called immediately after high school. Back in Chicago, I had not been the greatest student, and I knew there was more out there beyond my own backyard. I wanted to see the world and get another type of education. I wanted to be somebody. I wanted to do something good. In addition, McDonald's did not offer a pension plan.

But now that I was at a crossroads. The past nine months have been long. We were sitting in Haifa, Israel, waiting our turn to six months to the end when the problem occurred in Kuwait. Suddenly, we were off for the Gulf. We accompanied the first airline in the years to pass through the Suez Canal - right in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf for a three month extension.

On the way back, however, I started thinking about my career in the Navy and soon became overwhelmed. Although I was a chief petty officer, I could hardly move. I wanted a higher level - more power, more prestige - but I had not been over twice for promotion. So I was arrogant. If I could not advance, what could I stay in? In addition to this, I was tired of leaving my family. I was not getting to watch my son grow three. I even missed the birth of my second son. It would certainly be my final cruise.

Back to the pier, the carnival atmosphere, rages. Along with these welcome our arrival were swarms of merchants, some with an arm slung around a sailor, all trying to make money. Above the crowd waving banners that read We support Desert Storm.

I tore the circus and went to the parking lot. Finally, I spotted my wife, Terri, standing near our car and smiling from ear to ear. Immediately I felt a sense of calm.

My three boys - 11, 9 and 7 - were in the back seat, with their faces glued to the rear window. When they saw me they jumped from the car and approached me on the tarmac. I do not recognize - he grew up so fast! We shared each big box, but my youngest son was a bit hesitant. Like, Who is this guy?

As I slid into the driver's seat, Terri said: "We go to your dad and mom in Indiana." It's good to hear. I had not seen my parents in eight years and hang out with my three brothers would be as great again. Besides, I needed to go somewhere inland, away from the water, away from these gigantic ships gray.

Even if I felt comfortable making the trip to Indiana, I was troubled for much of the training. As Terri and the children slept in the night, I had much time to think. What kind of work I could get outside? The last job I had was as a civilian driver for a medical supply store. I do not even know how to write a resume. But if I stayed in the Navy, I did not run the real risk of being killed in battle? A glance at my son sleeping in the mirror drove home this terrible thought.

My mind is buzzing, I n.