This Isn't a Hobby...
A few days ago, I was repurposing an old notebook. It's more of a notebook holder, for accuracy’s sake. Made from orange and tan canvas, the case has a zipper closure. It holds a small, spiral notebook, and has a few pockets sewn into the canvas for business cards or notes.
There is also a slot for a pen.
I used to keep this in my flight bag. This folder has more flight hours than I'd care to share. It served as a poor man’s flight log. I used it for making radio calls. My memory is made from cheesecloth, so it served as a scratch pad. The case was the perfect size to holster notebooks that were designed to write in wet conditions.
Flipping through pages…lots of scribbles of old latitude and longitudes, patient vitals and ops/position calls. The occasional sidebar chat with a friendly flight mechanic. Doodles, too.
Not many, but some.
When I started the repurposing task, the zipper didn't function. Coated in oxidation, I had to get creative with how I removed the blue and white crust, a side effect from prolonged exposure to saltwater…and poor upkeep. It was gentle work, something I’m not great at. Too rough and I'd destroy the zipper. That’s a replacement job I didn't bargain for. Luckily, liberal application of WD-40 and precise tugging with pliers did the trick.
I cleared out the pockets.
My fingers touched an old, dog-eared photo. For a while, my daughters were super into taking mini Polaroid photos. I can't remember if it was a birthday present or something found under the Christmas tree. I do, however, remember that there was a finite number of film cartridges…so the phase was short lived.
The photo was black and white. In it, I held both my girls in the troop seat of an MH-60T. They were just babies. My youngest was still in diapers. It was from a weekend duty day from my tour at Air Station Traverse City, MI. I’ll safely carbon date the photo to 2016 or 2017.
My wife brought the girls by every so often, and they loved exploring the helicopter's cabin. All they really cared about was the flashlights. To this day, a decade later, I'd wager both my daughters can find the flashlights in a Coast Guard 60. Beloved Big Iron.
This photo, aged and delicate, is a glimpse into the truth we all share.
It wasn't just me. Being a rescue swimmer, an aircrew member, a medic...it isn’t some hobby. It’s not just a cool job. It’s not my profession.
It’s my life. It’s who I am. If you’re reading this, it’s yours too.
My wife...My daughters...they lived it with me. Weekend duty was an excuse for them to share the experience. They ate holiday dinners at the galley. They stood at attention during awards ceremonies.
My wife cried at my retirement.
This life we live, it ain't some hobby.
It's who we are.
