Homecoming

Ten months ago, on January 3, I was granted leave from National Review for activation and deployment as a member of my Marine Corps Reserve rifle company. For much of the last decade at NR, I had double-hatted as a magazine editor and as an infantry officer and drilling reservist — and the time had come for Uncle Sam to collect his pound of flesh. As anyone who has spent time in the military will know — and I can see you all nodding and grinning in assent — Uncle Sam would not be denied!

Coming home, of course, isn’t always easy. As the world had the chance to remember this past summer, Odysseus’s famous homecoming was, to say the least, eventful. Jacob wasn’t quite sure how Esau would react to his return to the land of his youth. Marco Polo and his companions were — according to his Book of the Marvels of the World — nearly unrecognizable to his Venetian countrymen after 24 years of traveling throughout Kublai Khan’s Asian empire.

Thankfully, my deployment abroad did not turn out to be so Marco Polo-esque, at least in length. Over the last year, I’ve flown and sailed across the eastern seas and oceans, trained with American allies, visited immense Oriental cities, and walked on ground that I will quite likely never walk again. By far most importantly, I’ve had the chance and the profound privilege to lead dozens of Marines on active duty, watch and observe them, and live among them in close quarters.

In January, as I was getting set to leave, I wrote in these pages,

I’m aware that there are many problems in our country and culture of late. There’s a crisis of masculinity, with far too many young men lost and alone — aimless, and fatherless, adrift in a river of anomie. But I can report that an antidote to all that — both for observers of American culture and the very sufferers of that anomie — is the Marines. The young men of my rifle company are enthusiastic, bright, energetic, and strong-willed. Few of them come from privileged backgrounds, and yet they love their country and they are excited for the coming adventure. They are simply the very best that America has to offer.

If anything, this last year’s experience would only cause me to double down on that sentiment. 

Americans have plenty of reasons to be dissatisfied with the state of their country. But I can tell you that they can still be immensely proud of the young sailors and Marines who volunteer to wear their country’s cloth. On a daily basis, I have seen things from them that you would have to live and experience to fully appreciate: creativity, courage, and toughness. Energy and resourcefulness and grit. Selflessness, discipline, and good humor. I’ve seen them fix things, and break things, and then fix them again. When confronted with a problem, they always figure it out — even if it’s better that I don’t exactly want to know how they did it. Theirs is a language almost unto their own. They use slang that I still don’t understand. 

These young men are the best we have. The very best.

As I return to NR, I’d like to take a few moments to publicly acknowledge my colleagues at National Review who took on extra work, extra tasks, and extra duties while I was off deck, especially Jessica Hornik Evans, NR magazine’s managing editor. Jessica is a champ, capable of burning the candle at both ends, and without a doubt the best editor I have ever worked with. It should not go unremarked that National Review magazine would have gone unpublished without her efforts this last year. I also want to express my gratitude to the leadership of this institution, Ramesh Ponnuru, Rich Lowry, and Chuck DeFeo, for their support for me and their commitment to our company’s particular contribution to the nation’s defense. I am in their debt. To all my NR colleagues, thank you.

In the great canon of Western literature, Samwise Gamgee has, perhaps, the most poignant of all homecomings. “At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road,” Tolkien wrote of his return from the Gray Havens, “and then Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went.”

But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.

He drew a deep breath. “Well, I’m back,” he said.

Like Sam, I returned to a home with a fire within and an evening meal ready. I was, indeed, expected. And that’s because my wonderful wife Tara was ready and waiting. She went through a hell of a lot this last year: She brought our fourth boy into the world while I was gone. She took care of those boys, and the house, and she solved the daily inconveniences of life. She even celebrated our ten-year wedding anniversary without me.

Tara was never quite alone — she had the love and support of friends and family. The parishioners of our Catholic church came out of the woodwork to help her. They pitched in on the yard work; they cooked and delivered meals; they even helped install a desperately needed French drain. That help started before I left the country, and it never slacked off.

But Tara survived, and even (sometimes!) thrived, because she’s tough and smart and good. I can never thank her enough — or pay her back. (I can see all veterans and their loved ones once again nodding and grinning with their assent.) Dear T, the sun will never settle on the love I have for you.

It will never be quite enough, but the best that I can ever do is to express my thanks to all who helped us, to all who loved us, to all who prayed for us, and then get back to work, saying,

Well, I too am back.