The Navy Years, where the foundation of who Smitty is was forged

I didn’t know it at the time but that frigid late December day in 1984 when I boarded my first ship, the USS Stump was the start of the most amazing journey.  Sitting cold and completely out of its element because it was in drydock, was the day the forge that would form who Smitty would be got lit.  I was young, loud in the way that only an inexperienced dumbass can be, carrying a mix of false confidence and cluelessness that probably made the old salts roll their eyes.  Everything smelled like metal, fresh paint, fuel, and of course salt.  I did not understand anything about honor, dignity, respect, responsibility, or even how to be a man yet.  And somehow, I knew I was standing on the gangplank of life that would eventually shape me in ways my young cocky self could not even imagine, even in my wildest dreams.  And that certainty is something I’d not yet felt in my life, at that stage anyway,  I was ready for a bosun whistle and “underway… shift colors” piped over the 1MC, and at that moment I did not even know that that meant we were tossing off the moorings and headed out to the great blue.

Here is a picture of my first ship in drydock after some repairs on the sonar dome.  If you look closely you can see those two .

Those first days felt like living inside a machine that could not care less about me.  It was however my home now too, and my shipmates were my family and in a weird way it was the safest place I had.  That was true of the drydock and the ship, they both had a gravity to them that held me tight.  I learned quickly that the work had a sort of monotonous rhythm to it, and I liked it.  Shipboard life had its written and unwritten rules, and those standards were not up for debate.  I was still running on bravado, bad assumptions and a cockiness that ended up bumping me into the UCMJ, that is the Uniform Code of Military Justice.  It also led to not fully meeting the Chief’s expectations about how I was to show up, regardless of any event, situation or location and regardless how much I had drunk the night before.   Those hard lessons stuck and are still sticking.  Eventually young Smitty learned it was better not have the Skipper rip the stripes from my uniform,  then take half of  my pay for a couple of months and to add insult to injury, keep me on the ship with a lot of extra after hour duties for 45 days, not that I made any money to go do anything anyway.  Those lessons learned the hard way have never faded.

The Navy has a not so subtle way of putting a man in his place without ever raising its voice.  You learn quickly that nobody owes you patience, nobody owes you respect and nobody is impressed by the loud kid.  They have expectations, and a lot of them, and one of those is that you meet those expectations.  I had to earn my space by showing up, taking my knocks and finding the lesson, do the damn thing you are expected to do and not make the same mistakes twice, that was also a clear expectation.  As a cocky young kid, that was an expectation I struggled with and paid the price for.

Little by little that false confidence was replaced with something sturdier.  The forge wasn’t just hot.  It was steady, it was deliberate.  It kept hammering the same spots until they got stronger.  The forge was about repetition, discipline and the humbling realization that doing the right thing is more often the quiet struggle and almost never convenient.  This was the beginning of becoming a man who could hear “underway… shift colors” and understand that it meant so much more than the ship getting ready to move.  It was the realization of my responsibilities, to the ship and my shipmates.  I did not have words for it back then.  Now, it could not be clearer.

The loudness that comes with being a NUB, non usable body, started to fade, not because anyone told me to quiet down, but because I was learning to listen.  I started to see the difference between talking and communicating, listening more, asking more questions, and being humble enough to admit I didn’t know, that was hard at first, and I learned it was a superpower.  I also learned the difference between showing up and showing off, the men I served with were not interested in my bullshit, any of it.  They expected and demanded consistency, effort, contribution, and a willingness to learn without excuses, even learning shit I had no idea I would be expected to learn.  

Every small task, sweepers, and waxing the passageways, I freaking hated that, underway replenishments, standing the midwatch when I was exhausted was a reminder, honor and integrity is not earned in grand moments with grand gestures.  It is built in the small, consistent, mostly invisible and unnoticed actions that contribute to a greater good than my dumb ass understood at the time.  That realization came slower than it should, but the lessons have remained core to who I am.  It was also at this time that I started to understand accountability is a gift to be cherished.  When someone corrected me it was not to knock me down, it was to lift me up, push me towards my better self.  It was to keep me aligned with expectations of a crew that depended on each other to stay alive and hear those words, moored… shift colors when got home safe.    

That kind of responsibility was not theoretical, it was immediate.  It was real and with its quiet pressure was shaping me faster and harder than any mistake or punishment ever could.  The forge wasn’t just hot, it was precise, it was deliberate and with a consistency that knew exactly where to heat the metal to get the desired product.  Looking back I realize the subtle shifts were creating momentum that was driving real change in who I was.  I was a little less dumbass, never none, but at least less, and a little more dependable.  A little less of I got this and a little more teach me so we all get through this.  I didn’t see it then, but the Navy was pushing the boy out of me one layer at a time.  As those layers started to fall away they were replaced with the stronger layers of a man who could carry the weight without complaining, someone who understood the value of the mission and the man standing next to me.  those early days did not just prepare me for service in the Navy, they were preparing me for every day that was to come on my journey through life.     

With all the goings on in the world I find myself reflecting back on those lessons I learned as a young man, and the ones that came after my service, more often than I expected to.  Not the technical or the rigidity of it but the deeper truths about steadiness, responsibility and choosing integrity and doing the right things, even when it is inconvenient.  My last couple of posts were me trying to process the noise, trying to find a place to drop anchor that will hold fast so I am not just drifting or being pulled around by the current.  I have not found a strong anchor point yet, that is a big part of writing about it is the search for that anchor point, where it will hold fast.  Those lessons from my youth are helping me in the chaos of the world, reminding me that I am part of something bigger than myself.  Thank goodness those lessons didn’t fade, the forge hardened them and they stuck.  They are the compass I use to set my course, even when its foggy and I can’t see shit.   

The world feels unmoored, drifting, and dragging anchor.  The news feels like that time the Navy shot an Exocet missile at our ship to test our missile defenses- scary as shit!  Sailors as a default learn a lot about navigation, for the obvious reasons, those lessons are helping me navigate the world while we are in a hurricane, which I’ve been through by the way.  Those words, underway… shift colors have also taken on a new meaning, something broader with different context.  It still means we are headed out to the big blue, to accept new responsibilities, new expectations and those are choices we must make, regardless of whether it is scary or even terrifying.  Maybe that is why typing these posts matter so much to me right now.  Maybe it is my way of tossing off the mooring lines that have held me tight to the pier.  Maybe it is honoring that kid who walked up the gangplank all those years ago not knowing anything.  Maybe it is applying the lessons learned by the man who walked back down that gangplank with a foundation strong enough to weather what came next, including whatever the hell this moment is.

I am not pretending to have answers, but I know the next right thing to do is toss the lines, blow the bosun whistle and shift colors and trust myself enough to step up, lean in and keep moving forward. 

What do we do with all of this??

I was inspired by a friend and the tune “Momma said there’d be days like this”, which I am listening to at this very moment, to type some of my feelings out.   For me, there are days lately when the world feels heavier than it oughta, heavier than I want it to and heavier than the Shirelles ever imagined when they sang that song.  Days when sadness settles into my bones, when fear and anxiety invade all of my other thoughts, when anger sparks and makes itself impossible to ignore.  While these days are inevitable along our journey, I wish they weren’t.

I am Alex Pretti in many ways, I exercise my second amendment right, as he did.  I am wired to step up when I see someone being mistreated, not with force but with presence, as he did.  I would have been the one standing nearby, recording what I saw and making sure she knew she was not alone, as he did.  Protection in some cases simply means making sure the truth can’t be buried, as he did.  That is what being a helper means to me, not confrontation but compassion and empathy combined with accountability.

Regardless the noise and picking a side I am terrified because for the first time, me just doing my thang in that abnormal Smitty fashion, the way I usually move through the world, curious, joking around and just a bit chaotic just does not feel entirely safe anymore. I have lived my whole life NEVER once being othered by a single way that I identify, a white, CIS gendered, heterosexual, American born, English speaker who holds a position of power.  I also recognize, and acknowledge, that I am in the very singular group who can say that.  Because of that privilege, I have never been scared, at traffic stops, in protests, in any setting really.  Uncomfortable at times, sure but NEVER scared let alone terrified.

Like a lot of folks in this moment I am trying to navigate what it really means to be an American in these complicated times.  I am a person who believes deeply in constitutional rights, and civic responsibility, I have never once even tried to get out of Jury duty.  I am someone who follows Mr. Rogers three keys to success, because in a world this loud, kindness is the only thing with enough force to cut through the static.  I also believe deeply in the basic dignity owed to every human, regardless of any differences that may be used to separate us. 

I am sure by this time most of you have seen versions of the videos, probably what will be defined as exhibit A when this goes to trial.  I don’t want to rehash the particulars of the tragedy here.  I do want to tell you what hit me when I watched it from what seemed like an insane number of angles and clarity.  I felt a surge of protectiveness, my instinct to step between power and the defenseless person on the receiving end of that power.  Again, not with violence, not with confrontation and not with anger but with the simple conviction that folks deserve, at a bare minimum, to be treated as people not as threats.

And then the harder to process feeling started to seep in and that feeling was powerlessness.  And the truth of that, it rattled me.  It made me ask questions I have never thought I would have to ask, questions that jest felt wrong all the way to my core.  That lead to the terrible question, what can I actually do?  How can I make a difference?  How can I have an impact?  How can I answer those questions with a path that is both safe and productive.  Supporting causes matters.  Supporting candidates whose values reflect mine, compassion and justice matters.  But this moment feels like it requires more from me.  This moment asks for presence.  It asks us to find a little back bone and a clear hear.  To be productive this moment also calls for restraint, the strength to use my anger for something useful instead of letting it turn me into someone I don’t want to be – this moment needs my best self.

The first thing I have done is try to take care of those around me, making space for friends, family and coworkers when they are struggling.  Not to problem solve but to just be present for them.  That requires us to slow down a bit so we can notice when someone is out of kilter, we know what that looks like for each of those folks we love and care about.  I keep a box of Lifesavers on my desk, literally and when I notice someone off, I give them a pack and send them a link to that 70s commercial about it’s going to be ok.   I know that sounds corny, but it works.  Most folks respond to a little kindness, and sometimes the smallest gestures can make the biggest difference in someones day.  https://youtu.be/d8BqUf7E-Cw?si=9cMr7DZdtGAzuiXa.  This is why showing up cannot be a slogan, it has to be a habit.

We can also support fact based journalism, the importance of which in this moment cannot be underestimated.  Donate when ya can.  Defend the work when folks try to label it just an opinion because it makes them uncomfortable.  Hold it accountable too, trust is earned not demanded.  Journalism is kinda like roads and powerlines, core infrastructure to power our world.  And you don’t really notice it until its gone, and then everything falls apart - it feels a bit like we are closer than I’d like us to be.  I have worked with true journalists for nearly 30 years.  Most of what we see on the mainstream is simply pitting one against the other and never really doing the hard work of investigative journalism. 

We can also make sure we are practicing solidarity/   Solidarity isn’t big or flashy.  It’s the small stuff, the stuff nobody cheers but everyone remembers.  As Maya Angelou reminded us, people may forget what you said and even what you did, but they remember how you made them feel.  Solidarity not a hash tag, not a bumper sticker or tee shirt but solidarity at the human level.  That looks like bearing witness, as Alex was, checking on your friends and neighbors who might be getting targeted for some perceived difference.  Maybe offering to walk someone to their car when they look nervous, as I did a couple of days ago at the grocery store.  It is showing up and being present when its inconvenient and being there even when ya don’t know quite what to say.  It is the small consistent action of making sure people aren’t alone when the world is hell bent on isolating them.

And to be honest, some days Im just tired boss.  But then inevitably somebody pings me with something, I see something on the FB that fills my heart, somebody smiles, or someone tells a truth out loud.  Those are the things that make me stand up anyway.    

And the last thing, we can hopeful, in spite of our current situation.  Not as a mood or a situational thing, we can adopt hope as a habit, hope has to be something we do on purpose, not something we wait for, regardless how loud the noise.   Hope as a habit, even on those days when sadness is settling in our bones.  Even when fear and anxiety threaten our well being and even when anger sparks off a firestorm of emotions.  And ya know why hope as a habit is important?  Let me start by saying American has survived many a things that in hindsight might not seem as dire as today but they were.  And to not keep hope as habit, is to admit they won.  I for one ABSOLUTELY REFUSE to admit that, to allow that or to condone that. 

There is a moment in Shawshank Redemption when Red realizes that hope is good thing, it isn’t a lie or a trap.  He realized that hope is the force stubborn enough to survive even the darkest moments and the darkest institutions.  That is the kind of hope I am talking about, the gritty resilient kind that refuses to back down or look away or shut up or give in.  That kind of hope keeps a person riding a bus towards a horizon they’ve never seen but somehow still trust is waiting for them, like Andy was for Red.  It is civic hope, human hope, the keep going even when you’re scared shitless hope.  That kind of hope whispers to us, Zihuatanejo awaits you.  And when we get there and see our friends, we can exhale and set to rebuilding what this moment tried to take away from us and we can remember who we were always meant to be.  Hope is the one thing they cannot take from us, so pack your bag, take a breath, roll your shoulders back and get on that fucking bus because Zihuatanejo is waiting and we have rebuilding to do!!

This is a betrayal of what we say we believe in as Americans

 I have recently been pondering on the quote penned by Lord John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton in 1887 that highlighting the moral dangers of unchecked authority, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."  I heard my Mom say that quote no less that 8.7 million times growing up.  I don’t think I ever fully understood it, until just recently when its meaning shifted from the words in my head and dropped like a rock into my gut. 

When power decides it does not have to answer questions, when it closes ranks and doors after its use of force, when it tells a tale that is in direct conflict with what we all saw with our own eyes, there is a cancer present.  It is no longer just theoretical, it is here, now and evident in the way our federal officials are behaving.   It is here now in the way communities are told to accept their narrative instead of demonstrating transparency and collaboration with local law enforcement.    

Our countries’ creed is not complicated, it’s really simply actually.  The power bestowed on our elected officials is on loan, on loan from we the people, the same people who hold these truths to be self-evident, ya know from the Declaration of Independence.  “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  With two dead American citizens we ain't doing very godo on that front.  

Our government was literally created to protect those rights, we declared it so in a loud and in your face fashion to King George III back on July 4^th of 1776.  A big part of what makes this experiment that is the United States work is based on trust.  When government forces, of any kind, block transparency and accountability, trust erodes.  And that particular slippery slope is one that is not good for our country. 

When I wore the uniform, the oath I swore was not to a person, a party or a department.  I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution from enemies, foreign and domestic.   Day in and day out the work required discipline, restraint, and accountability.  We learned quickly that real strength does not come from how loud ya bark orders, it comes from carefully you wielded authority.  Facts were laid out, orders explained and expectations set, those are the bedrock of military order.  When shit went sideways, and it sometimes did, we did not get to barricade doors, obfuscate the truth, or tell tales of woe, we took responsibility for our actions and we course corrected.  There was not some obscure reason for that, we were literally putting our lives in the hands of our shipmates, and they were putting theirs lives in ours.  That is not something one fucks about with.  .

 I learned that honor is not the ribbons we had to meticulously maintain for display purposes, honor is a habit.  Choosing to do the right thing, even when it is hard, even when it is seemingly impossible and even when it comes at a personal cost shows ones true character.  that character shows up in the quiet consistent choices we make, day in and day out.  Choosing transparency over convenience, humility over spin, the really hard right over the really easy wrong ain't easy and has tested me more in my life than any other thing. 

I have had sign in my office for years, “Do the right things, and do those things right”.  Hardest thing to do, regardless of what it is.  While we are free to make decisions in this county, any of them we want – that is what freedom is.  We are not however free from the consequences of those decisions.  That means accepting responsibility for our actions, doing that is true courage.

And when things do go sideways, we must have the moral courage to not only accept responsibility but also to invite scrutiny.  To let independent eyes check our work, provide an independent accounting of our actions.  Those values are not disposable when thing get uncomfortable, that is when we learn who we truly are and we can only hope we don’t come up lacking.  Those values are exactly for the moment when things get hard.  The truth is simple, it needs no spin, it needs no embellishment and it needs no permission. 

The same standards that kept all my shipmates safe should be used to keep our communities safe.  If squids, mostly kids, can log every evolution, submit to inspection after inspection and answer for their action because lives are at stake, then any officials who exercise lethal authority on our streets must do the same, we must hold them to the same standard.  That is not too much to ask, at all.  Fact-o-business, that is the fucking barest of minimums a free people should demand!!

American values are not abstract to me, for the most part they have become muscle memory.  Human dignity first.  Truth in the open.  Power on a short lease because it belong us, not those we chose to represent us.  I was taught that my words matter, that I must own my mistakes and that I was responsible for making any wrongs I made right.  The government does not get a different rulebook, no sir!  If anything it should be held to even higher bar.  Liberty is not a license to do whatever you want behind a badge.  Liberty is the rulebook that provides the authority in a way that we the people can trust is fair and just and in alignment with our values.

the bar is not terrible high on this.  Open the scenes. Honor the warrants.  Share the evidence.  Let independent hands do the work here, and let the public see what that those hands find.  If we truly believe the words we recite, equality, liberty, and justice for all,  then let us practice them even when its inconvenient.   We all know in it in our bones, and the Mandalorians say, this is the way!  If our institutions have drifted, as I feel they have, then we have a responsibility to pull them back, with the kind of stubborn integrity this country still claims as our own. 

I am angry, viscerally so.  I am heartsick.  And I am done pretending that what we are watching is anything other than what it is, a betrayal of what we say we believe in as Americans.  Power used in the dark is not public service.  It is cowardice and it is theft of the public trust.  Steals trust from the very people who granted that power in the first place.  It steals dignity from the families who deserve the truth, not some ridiculous narrative.  It steals the future from a country that can only govern itself when the truth is out in the open and acknowledged.  You cannot protect a community, as we are being told they are doing, while at the same time blocking that community form the truth – period all stop.  

To our federal government, hear this clearly.  You are NOT intitled to your own story, you earn that by opening the scene, honoring the warrant, sharing the records, and letting independent hands to their work where the public can see it.  You earn it by submitting your actions to the same scrutiny that you would demand of us.  You earn it by admitting error when error exists, not spinning stories moments after two people were killed.   To do otherwise is a sure sign that something else is happening here besides the narrative you are attempting to persuade us of.   

I did not spend 10 years in service to this great country to watch the Constitution be treated like a prop in a shitty movie.  It is a set of values that either bind us in moments like these, or it reveals us to be frauds.  If we still believe in human dignity, say so by proving it with an open process.  If we still believe in liberty, say so by refusing secrecy when force is used against us, in our name.  if we still believe in justice, say so by letting neutral eyes test the story against the evidence.  Anything less is just a demonstration of moral bankruptcy dressed up on federal letterhead.

So here is where I stand, I absolutely refuse to allow this to be normalized.  I refuse to soften my language or lower the bar.  I refuse to trade my values fro someone else’s comfort, and I will not hand the next generation of Americans a country that confuses control with accountability.  In my bones and every fiber of my being I know this is not right, and in your bones, you damn well know it too.  I am sad if your hatred of whatever it is has so clouded your judgement that you feel any bit of this is OK. 

The truth will set you free. Lets open this up to scrutiny.  Let the evidence be evaluated.  And as Mando says, this is the way.