Jul 1, 2011
Ninety seconds has a whole new meaning for me now.
That is the amount of time we had to say a final goodbye to our son just before he was called out of our arms for in-processing at West Point. The emotionally charged moment was heightened by the fact that we had previously been standing for nearly two hours waiting in a long line — just long enough to have the cranky thought: “Couldn’t this go a bit faster?”
I hate that I had that thought now.
Everything was impressive about West Point. The cadets and staff were helpful and receptive. At each transition in the multi-step process, we were greeted and politely directed through to the next event. Even the priest who celebrated a mid-day mass for new cadet families was at the door of the church waiting for us — which helped because ongoing renovations made the chapel-sized church a challenge to enter.
Catching a glimpse of the unmistakable gold stripe of a dress blue uniform under Monsignor Brian Donahue’s vestments as I knelt to pray for my son before mass, I was comforted by thoughts of the uncomplicated patriotism of the old WWII films which so often feature an Army chaplain with an Irish brogue saying mass on the front line. The good monsignor’s Hibernian surname and charming character communicated that the Army remains an institution rooted in tradition and connected on all levels.
At the general information session for parents, Cadet Regimental Commander Angela Smith fielded questions with amazing poise as she stood on the stage of the second largest theater in the United States facing parents whose anxiety had been recently peeked by the abrupt morning goodbye and the cementing reality of the day. Her calm, confident demeanor lightened the heavy air as she discussed hazing, dating and leaves. Rather than react negatively to the building helicopter-parentesque nature of the questions, she displayed the wisdom and compassion of a seasoned leader — impressive for a 21-year-old who, only three years earlier, had stepped out of her own parents’ embrace.
By 6:00 PM, we were seated in bleachers on The Plain, West Point’s hallowed parade field, for the penultimate moment of the day: The Oath Ceremony. We watched stunned as our freshly shorn and uniformed sons and daughters, who I bet to a person previously found it hard to walk in the same direction, let alone pace, with their siblings in a mall, marched out in perfect lock step with only six hours of preparation time. It was an awesome sight — a testament to West Point’s overtly disciplined and detailed approach to forming leaders of character.
During his remarks at the oath ceremony, Lt. General David Huntoon, Jr., who heads West Point, hit a somber chord when he noted that the men and women of the class of 2015 were especially courageous in his view since they had accepted an appointment to the Academy knowing we are a nation at war. I can assure you that this thought had occurred to every parent and new cadet several times — it was a constant topic of discussion in our house. The authentic sentiment of the general’s comment was not lost on all those gathered.
General Huntoon had warned us earlier during the information session that we would find it hard to recognize our sons and daughters at the Oath Ceremony. Indeed, although the 1,250 plus members of the class of 2015 were assembled neatly in eight companies no more than 50 yards away, I did find it hard to spot my son. He had fallen in. He had joined the long gray line.
As I squinted in the sun trying to recognize my son among the 150 plus members of Company A, I have to admit that I felt a real sense of loss. With great bravado, I had brought my son to West Point confident that he was a man and I was ready to let him go. Ironically, in the last moments of the day the mass of the new cadets before me looked like children — our children. I was less sure.
But, as the mass of youth moved off in perfect unison, I braced myself with the reassurance that nobody gets lost at West Point. On the contrary, it’s where many great men and women are first found.