Reply #38: here's an inspiring tale of Troup Support

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Pasted here with the Bloggers permission.

I'm against this clumsy, assinine war. And my form of protest, my way of saying "Bring Our Troops Home," is to send a little bit of home to our troops. If we can't have them back on American soil where they belong, then dammit, at least we can make sure these poor kids die with some Chips Ahoy in their pockets and a little cherry Chapstick on their lips. And make no mistake -- they ARE dying.

One Saturday morning I was riding the bus to Atlantic City with my friend Toni. Her husband Ron is stationed on an air base in Afghanistan, and she was telling me that she'd just sent him a care package with a few of his favorite things -- roasted red peppers in a jar, Nutella. And she mentioned that the other soldiers always got jealous of Ron's care packages, because so few of them received goodies of their own.

I was stunned. "What? You mean, their spouses don't send them anything? Girlfriends, parents, friends? Nothing?" It was such a depressing thought. In fact, it was downright pissing me off.

"Well that's it." I decided on the spot. "I'm going to send Ron's unit a care package. What do they need? Will you ask Ron? And will you e-mail the address?"

Back at work on Monday, I spent a glorious lunch hour in the drug store across the street, filling a cart with anything I could imagine a soldier in the Afghan desert might want or need. I never enjoyed a shopping spree so much. I'd learned that many things we deem necessities aren't automatically provided by the military to the troops in the Middle East. The most requested items from Ron's unit were decidedly unglamorous: Soap. Clean Socks. Sunscreen. Lotion. Lip Balm. Hand Wipes.

I filled my cart with muscle salves and men's magazines; sunscreen and battery-operated pocket fans; wasabi peas, Peeps (it was Easter time), and variety packs of kiddie breakfast cereals; aspirin, Pepto-Bismol, eye drops, insoles, Pringles, Pop Tarts, a Chia herb garden.

Then I got another idea.

I sent an e-mail around my office. "My friend Ron is stationed at an Air Force base in Afghanistan...I'm sending a care package to his unit...if you'd like to donate anything to the package, please bring it to me before Friday at 3:00 PM..."

The generosity of my co-workers was deeply touching. Donated items flooded in. Hard working secretaries returned from their lunch breaks with overflowing shopping bags of treats and toiletries. An anonymous bag full of sunscreen, cookies and bubble gum appeared on my desk chair early one morning. One woman, a would-be chef, stayed up late one night baking cookies and banana bread for the soldiers. And by the end of the week, I'd filled FIVE copy paper boxes, to bulging capacity, with goodies. (And I noted, with tsk-ing tongue, that the entire shipment was made possible exclusively by support staff. That is, not a single six or seven-figure-earning attorney in my office gave as much as a pack of gum to the project. As my grandmother would say with a melodramatic quaver, "For sha-a-ame, for sha-a-ame!")

In less than a week, a series of photos came to me via e-mail. A hulking black helicopter landing on a parched landscape. Familiar boxes being unloaded and opened. Ron hauling the boxes in the back of a jeep around the base, and soldiers of both sexes gathered enthusiastically around the opened packages with broad, child-like grins. One joyous airman held up the bag of bubblegum for the camera; another flashed a copy of FHM magazine with a bikini model on the cover and smiled a priceless, devilish smile. One freckled female soldier with a disarming Irish grin reminded me of Anne of Green Gables and looked no more than twelve years old. Her body was strapped with a gun that was almost as big as she was. She beamed at the camera with a handful of Handi-Wipes. And in midtown Manhattan, a group of legal secretaries couldn't keep back the tears. Ron told me in an e-mail that the troops said it felt like Christmas day.

My co-workers said they wanted to do it again. It had been so easy to make these miserable kids happy. Instead of feeling powerless and at the mercy of a corrupt and seemingly untouchable government, we all felt extraordinarily powerful. The effect we had was quick and direct. The packages were cheap to send. They arrived on the base with startling speed. And the things the servicemen and women wanted and needed didn't cost a fortune, and with cooperative effort, our office could fill a box practically overnight. Misery--> Action--> TRANSFORMATION. If you knew it would be so easy to soothe and comfort another human being, to bring them a moment of light-heartedness in the midst of uncertainty and harsh circumstances, wouldn't you?

So now, as a permanent fixture on the floor beside my desk, there is always an open box with a sign on it reading "Operation Care Package". (Thanks to Sgt. Ron for the name!) On payday, I drop a few items in -- some practical, some fun. Bottles of bubbles, Ben-Gay. Pistachios, maxi pads. Gradually, other items fill the box from other donors. Last week, a Fed Ex box arrived from our firm's New Jersey office. Word of "Operation Care Package" had spread and I received a parcel of lollipops, lip balm, antiperspirants. One or more boxes go out to the air base every other week.

Wanna send your own care packages overseas? Visit Soldiers' Angels and adopt a soldier of your very own. Even more than the stuff you send, these men and women are appreciative of the fact that someone is THINKING of them. I encourage you to get involved. It's a rewarding, no-nonsense way to actively "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS".

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