Tell My Sons: A Father's Last Letters by Lt Col Mark Weber, Robin Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

then. It still works now.
    *   *   *
    Eighteen months before my cancer diagnosis, Kristin watched helplessly as her father battled his prostate cancer during our brief assignment in Minnesota. The cancer had been in remission for years, but it was back, and it seemed to have the upper hand. Faced with uncertainty and an immense feeling of compassion for Kristin, I decided to make a career choice that would cause any career army officer to shudder.
    After sixteen years, I resigned my active duty army commission and joined the full-time Minnesota National Guard so our family could remain near him. For once, I wanted Kristin to come before career, when she needed it most.
    To say the decision didn’t sting would be dishonest. Peers and mentors reacted as if I had committed suicide, and part of me felt as if I had.
    I had enjoyed what many considered to be an improbable string of wild successes: national recognition as one of the best junior officers in the army; early promotion to the rank of major, despite an unorthodox career path; selection to attend a fully funded master’s degree program at Georgetown University; assignment to the personal staff of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; being handpicked by General Petraeus to serve on his personal staff in Iraq; and finally, selection to work in the Office of the Provost Marshal General of the army.
    I knew Minnesota would not challenge me professionally in the same way. Worse, there was a blunt reality to joining such a tiny slice of the army. My unique experiences in places like the Pentagon were of little use in Minnesota. And unlike the regular army, where there were over 8,500 lieutenant colonels, Minnesota had only 17 such positions—and I would be “the new guy.”I was candidly told that any promotion would be dramatically delayed, if it happened at all.
    My decision in light of all this was so unconventional and uncharacteristic that even Kristin was in disbelief until she saw my discharge papers.
    I did feel uncertainty and fear about such a dramatic personal and professional shift, but just one look into Kristin’s eyes brought comfort: I knew it was the right thing to do. And the truth is, looking into Kristin’s eyes is all the comfort I’ve ever needed.
    “I could never do what you have done.”
    Boys, I’ve heard this comment countless times during my time in the army, and even more so during my fight with cancer. I’m always hesitant to challenge such well-intentioned comments, but I can tell you a reply does echo inside my head: “Actually, you can do it; you just don’t want to do it.”
    Everyone has things they don’t want to do—there’s no crime in that. But there’s a big difference between “can’t” and “don’t want to” when it comes to facing the path of comfort or the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge
.
    I’ve learned “can’t do” is much easier but requires nothing and produces nothing. “Can do,” however, will often require you to challenge what you thought you knew, to work with others when you don’t want to, to look for perspective where you don’t want to look, to risk being wrong, and to actually experience defeat and humiliation. Each of these represents the price of learning, growing, and living a full and examined life
.
    I’m
not
telling you to run out into the oncoming traffic of every difficulty and challenge. I
am
proposing that “can do” is often just one or two short steps beyond “can’t do,” and the territory in between is fertile ground for personal growth and professional achievement
.

Chapter Two
     …  NOT TO SUBSTITUTE WORDS
FOR ACTIONS.

    January 2009, the Snow Fort (seven months before diagnosis)

AUGUST 2010
    I open my eyes, and I cannot move. I feel like a piece of dead wood. My head is thick and my vision is foggy. The room is dark with a faint haze of light, just enough so I can make out the various things around me
.
    I am on my back in a small room with