this is my story... part one
friends, i am an exile. banished from my native lands by hateful men bent on death and destruction. i am the first born child of what most people commonly refer to as a mixed marriage. my father is Persian, and my mother is a combination of things that we call a good ol' American. my father immigrated to this country as a student when he was eighteen. he an my mother met while they both attended school at the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga. my mother and father married, obviously, and decided that they would go back to Iran to start their family, because at that time, Iran was a much better place.
at that time there was a moderate and progressive regime led by the former Shah of Iran, Mohammad Rezah Pahlavi, may he rest in eternal peace. not even a year after their arrival the hopes and dreams of a whole nation were scattered to the winds as the fires of a violent revolution began. and it was during this period that both i, and my brother, were born into this world.
as the situation in Iran began to turn dire, my father decided it was in the best interest of his family to take refuge from the ravages of war to a place of peace and prosperity. because of my mothers innate citizenship, our little family was allowed to seek shelter once again on the shores of this great nation.
my father decided it would be best form him to return to school and get his masters to secure himself a career that he could sustain his family on. as my father attended school it was necessary for both my parents to work in order to afford his tuition and be able to support ourselves.
once my father graduated he decided to move to Atlanta, Georgia in order to look after his younger sister, and my ailing grandmother. during those rough years my father was unable to establish a career in his field of study, and decided he was tired of working his ass off for someone else. so he took up the American dream and started his own business.
my grandmother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer a few years prior, and at this point her health was rapidly deteriorating. with the compounding of debit from medical bills and the rigors of daily life, my family was crashing, just like my grandmother. with her death, and the bankruptcy that my family was facing, my father decided to try and salvage what remained of our lives by starting anew in a country that had at this point somewhat settled.
however, upon our return, much of the country that my father once knew was long gone, and had been replaced by a hateful, cruel, and repressive regime. my father was able to secure a very prestigious position within Energy Atomy, which is the national Atomic Energy Agency of Iran. but because of my fathers unwillingness to compromise his principles and his values, after two years he decided it would be best to again leave the country of his birth, and return to this great nation, where he would once again start from new and try to build a life for his family.
with the help and generosity of friends and family, my father established a meager and humble existence for us. our family might have been poor in money, but we were rich with love. we had been through war and revolution, death and rebirth, and there wasn't anything that was going to break us. there were times were i thought the world was falling apart around me, but we kept holding on to what we had. and all we had was each other, and we held on.
from that i gained a strength i thought i could never have. and from that strength was born a dream, a dream that if my little family could last through all that we've been through then maybe there was hope for the world. maybe we could all last through this hellish nightmare and wake up to a bright and beautiful future. and i carried that little dream with me, inside this heart right here, and it grew with every beat. it coursed through my blood, and seeped into every part of my being.
and a day came when i heard the calling. when that dream rang in my ears, that now is the time to serve, and so i did. and all was good.
in the fall of two thousand and five i felt the call to serve my nation in its time of need. two days after christmas of o-five, i was bussed to Fort Benning Georgia, where for the next two moths of my life i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
in March of o-six, i was once again bussed, then flown, to Fort SamHouston Texas, where once again i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
in July of o-six, once again, i packed my bags and was flown to Fort Wainwright Alaska, where yes, i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
now at this point i'm sure some of you are saying "this story is full of honey and roses, its so sweet" and you're right. but just like a rose has thorns, and a bee stings, this story is going to hurt. because in July of o-six as my plane safely landed in Fairbanks, Alaska, little did i know that all my dreams, my hopes, my aspirations, everything that I had believed in, would come crashing down around me. so just as the wheels of my plane hit the tarmac of the landing strip, so to did my dreams touch down on the rough surface of reality. in this world we like to think that we don't pass judgement, that we don't categorize people. that we don't size them up and measure them out against what we think is the standard of what a human being should be, but we do. we all do. and because of that fault, most of our dreams are smashed, until all that is left is small fragments, little reminders of what we could have been, mocking us, haunting us.
i swing my duffle bag over my shoulder and wait on the ride thats going to be brining me back to base. a white van pulls up with a cute little redhead behind the wheel. she asks me if i am who i am, i say "yes" and jump in the van. we start moving and making small talk. she is showing me the different sites around base, i'm taking mental notes. there is an eerie feeling over the base, kinda like a ghost town. all units have been deployed since the summer of o-six. all thats left is a rear detachment to take care of the base and send out any new troops that might come in.
my van pulls up to a warehouse where a little side office is attached. i jump out, kick up some dust, and throw my bag over my shoulders. i'm ushered into the small office where a few low rank NCO's are filling in for the big dogs. thats what you get when you are on rear d. "hey soldier, what's your name?" "private Moshglani reporting as ordered" and i salute. "private what?" "private Moshglani, sergeant." "where you from Moshglani?" "Atlanta, Georgia sergeant." "what's your background private?" "i'm from a mixed background sergeant." "a mixed backgroud huh. so you're a mutt?" "yes sergeant, you could say that." "so what do we got in that mix private?" "my father is Persian" "so you're muslim?" "no sergeant, i come from a muslim background, and i have respect for their traditions and customs, but i don't practice that faith." "ok" "im'ma call you Mogadishu private" "why is that sergeant?" "because you're muslim." "but i'm not sergeant." "it doesn't matter, you're Mogadishu." "roger that sergeant." for those of you that are paying attention, Mogadishu is where eighteen American soldiers lost their lives during an urban conflict. now try and imagine how that made me feel. "you got all your stuff?" "roger" "follow this specialist here and he will help you get a room. report back on this spot at o-six hundred so you can start your in-processing." "roger that." "now move along."
i grab up my gear and throw it in the back of the van. the specialist hops in on the drivers side. we cruse up to some new barracks that they had just got done remodeling while the troops where out. these new buildings fit two people per quarters. there was an individual bedroom for each, adjoined by a common kitchen-living area and a bathroom. the quarters were small, but quaint, and it damn sure beat living in open barracks.
i unpack the little that i need, because i know this isn't permanent. once i'm in-processed, i'll be sent to my unit, then, they will have to provide me quarters.
so i keep my shit compact and in order, because in a few days i know i'll be moving again.
o-five hundred i'm up and start dressing myself. o-six hundred, on the dime i'm ready to go. "get your paper work, and lets move" "roger, lets do it." "you've got your quarters, and you're all setup, right?" "roger" "ok" "you are to report here at o-sixhundred every morning until you get to your unit." "PT will be conducted until o-eighthundred." "private, try and stay out of trouble." "will do sergeant."
so i start my days worth of work. i get done what needs to get done, and i head back to my room. shit, im bored. its eight pm and the sun is still out. what the fuck? oh, thats right i'm in Alaska. three months of non-stop daylight, then the rest of the year blacks-out. i'm hungry. let me go grab something to eat.
i move out to the mess hall, no lines, no nothing. this place is spooky.
friends, i am an exile. banished from my native lands by hateful men bent on death and destruction. i am the first born child of what most people commonly refer to as a mixed marriage. my father is Persian, and my mother is a combination of things that we call a good ol' American. my father immigrated to this country as a student when he was eighteen. he an my mother met while they both attended school at the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga. my mother and father married, obviously, and decided that they would go back to Iran to start their family, because at that time, Iran was a much better place.
at that time there was a moderate and progressive regime led by the former Shah of Iran, Mohammad Rezah Pahlavi, may he rest in eternal peace. not even a year after their arrival the hopes and dreams of a whole nation were scattered to the winds as the fires of a violent revolution began. and it was during this period that both i, and my brother, were born into this world.
as the situation in Iran began to turn dire, my father decided it was in the best interest of his family to take refuge from the ravages of war to a place of peace and prosperity. because of my mothers innate citizenship, our little family was allowed to seek shelter once again on the shores of this great nation.
my father decided it would be best form him to return to school and get his masters to secure himself a career that he could sustain his family on. as my father attended school it was necessary for both my parents to work in order to afford his tuition and be able to support ourselves.
once my father graduated he decided to move to Atlanta, Georgia in order to look after his younger sister, and my ailing grandmother. during those rough years my father was unable to establish a career in his field of study, and decided he was tired of working his ass off for someone else. so he took up the American dream and started his own business.
my grandmother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer a few years prior, and at this point her health was rapidly deteriorating. with the compounding of debit from medical bills and the rigors of daily life, my family was crashing, just like my grandmother. with her death, and the bankruptcy that my family was facing, my father decided to try and salvage what remained of our lives by starting anew in a country that had at this point somewhat settled.
however, upon our return, much of the country that my father once knew was long gone, and had been replaced by a hateful, cruel, and repressive regime. my father was able to secure a very prestigious position within Energy Atomy, which is the national Atomic Energy Agency of Iran. but because of my fathers unwillingness to compromise his principles and his values, after two years he decided it would be best to again leave the country of his birth, and return to this great nation, where he would once again start from new and try to build a life for his family.
with the help and generosity of friends and family, my father established a meager and humble existence for us. our family might have been poor in money, but we were rich with love. we had been through war and revolution, death and rebirth, and there wasn't anything that was going to break us. there were times were i thought the world was falling apart around me, but we kept holding on to what we had. and all we had was each other, and we held on.
from that i gained a strength i thought i could never have. and from that strength was born a dream, a dream that if my little family could last through all that we've been through then maybe there was hope for the world. maybe we could all last through this hellish nightmare and wake up to a bright and beautiful future. and i carried that little dream with me, inside this heart right here, and it grew with every beat. it coursed through my blood, and seeped into every part of my being.
and a day came when i heard the calling. when that dream rang in my ears, that now is the time to serve, and so i did. and all was good.
in the fall of two thousand and five i felt the call to serve my nation in its time of need. two days after christmas of o-five, i was bussed to Fort Benning Georgia, where for the next two moths of my life i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
in March of o-six, i was once again bussed, then flown, to Fort SamHouston Texas, where once again i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
in July of o-six, once again, i packed my bags and was flown to Fort Wainwright Alaska, where yes, i ate, slept, fought, and trained next to the best Americans i have ever met in my life.
now at this point i'm sure some of you are saying "this story is full of honey and roses, its so sweet" and you're right. but just like a rose has thorns, and a bee stings, this story is going to hurt. because in July of o-six as my plane safely landed in Fairbanks, Alaska, little did i know that all my dreams, my hopes, my aspirations, everything that I had believed in, would come crashing down around me. so just as the wheels of my plane hit the tarmac of the landing strip, so to did my dreams touch down on the rough surface of reality. in this world we like to think that we don't pass judgement, that we don't categorize people. that we don't size them up and measure them out against what we think is the standard of what a human being should be, but we do. we all do. and because of that fault, most of our dreams are smashed, until all that is left is small fragments, little reminders of what we could have been, mocking us, haunting us.
i swing my duffle bag over my shoulder and wait on the ride thats going to be brining me back to base. a white van pulls up with a cute little redhead behind the wheel. she asks me if i am who i am, i say "yes" and jump in the van. we start moving and making small talk. she is showing me the different sites around base, i'm taking mental notes. there is an eerie feeling over the base, kinda like a ghost town. all units have been deployed since the summer of o-six. all thats left is a rear detachment to take care of the base and send out any new troops that might come in.
my van pulls up to a warehouse where a little side office is attached. i jump out, kick up some dust, and throw my bag over my shoulders. i'm ushered into the small office where a few low rank NCO's are filling in for the big dogs. thats what you get when you are on rear d. "hey soldier, what's your name?" "private Moshglani reporting as ordered" and i salute. "private what?" "private Moshglani, sergeant." "where you from Moshglani?" "Atlanta, Georgia sergeant." "what's your background private?" "i'm from a mixed background sergeant." "a mixed backgroud huh. so you're a mutt?" "yes sergeant, you could say that." "so what do we got in that mix private?" "my father is Persian" "so you're muslim?" "no sergeant, i come from a muslim background, and i have respect for their traditions and customs, but i don't practice that faith." "ok" "im'ma call you Mogadishu private" "why is that sergeant?" "because you're muslim." "but i'm not sergeant." "it doesn't matter, you're Mogadishu." "roger that sergeant." for those of you that are paying attention, Mogadishu is where eighteen American soldiers lost their lives during an urban conflict. now try and imagine how that made me feel. "you got all your stuff?" "roger" "follow this specialist here and he will help you get a room. report back on this spot at o-six hundred so you can start your in-processing." "roger that." "now move along."
i grab up my gear and throw it in the back of the van. the specialist hops in on the drivers side. we cruse up to some new barracks that they had just got done remodeling while the troops where out. these new buildings fit two people per quarters. there was an individual bedroom for each, adjoined by a common kitchen-living area and a bathroom. the quarters were small, but quaint, and it damn sure beat living in open barracks.
i unpack the little that i need, because i know this isn't permanent. once i'm in-processed, i'll be sent to my unit, then, they will have to provide me quarters.
so i keep my shit compact and in order, because in a few days i know i'll be moving again.
o-five hundred i'm up and start dressing myself. o-six hundred, on the dime i'm ready to go. "get your paper work, and lets move" "roger, lets do it." "you've got your quarters, and you're all setup, right?" "roger" "ok" "you are to report here at o-sixhundred every morning until you get to your unit." "PT will be conducted until o-eighthundred." "private, try and stay out of trouble." "will do sergeant."
so i start my days worth of work. i get done what needs to get done, and i head back to my room. shit, im bored. its eight pm and the sun is still out. what the fuck? oh, thats right i'm in Alaska. three months of non-stop daylight, then the rest of the year blacks-out. i'm hungry. let me go grab something to eat.
i move out to the mess hall, no lines, no nothing. this place is spooky.
realistic67:
And you can't complain to anyone about the Muslim slight that you've received from that NCO. Because it's the the armed forces and that complaint might just make your time there worse...I feel for you.