Fallow February

Fleeting fallow February finally finishes.

It’s been quite a while since I felt such turmoil and elation in the span of a few weeks, but this February was one for the books. A bit ahead of schedule, I celebrated the arrival of my 11th grandchild, on February 5th, young John J. IV, the fourth person to be given the name starting with my grandfather, then to my father, and then to me.

It’s nothing less than a miracle that I have survived long enough in my life to witness the arrival of my namesake child, the son of my only son. Considering the circuitous route that led to this event is a bit mind-goggling to be sure.

My great-grandfather died of what they used to call “consumption,” at the age of 28, but not before conceiving my grandfather, his only son, John J. Sr. At the age of 29, my grandfather named his only son, John J. Jr., and when my father finally had me at age 29, I received that name as John J. III, the third of five sons. When my only son was born, I was also 29 years old, but named him Christopher John, hoping to give him a chance to have a new beginning, and expecting at the time, to have the chance of producing other sons. It was not to be.

Considering the events leading up to this miraculous birth are equally astonishing. My great-grandfather wasn’t able to see his son grow up and just lived barely long enough to ensure his arrival in the world. My grandfather was fortunate to serve his military service at home in the USA, but my father served in the US Army Air Corps in the Pacific, as a gunner on a bomber flight deck, where he was hit by shrapnel and awarded the Purple Heart. He had originally chosen to study to become a priest and was in the seminary when World War II broke out and enlisted because he wasn’t really sure of his commitment. Upon release from the military, he rejoined the seminary, but ultimately decided not to go through with it. Had he made a different choice, I would never have arrived on Earth myself.

Even more precarious than any of those events, my only son became a member of the US Army in 2002, and between 2003 and 2008 spent some 35 months in combat zones from Iraq to Afghanistan, and also got hit with shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade in Iraq earning him the second Purple Heart in the family line. When he returned safely back into the USA in 2008, it felt very much like a miracle and we celebrated his return with great joy.

As February came to an end, I spent the last week or so with an awful gastrointestinal illness from which I am only now starting to feel better. I am looking forward to a much less eventful March and a return to my contributions here.