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Sunday was Family Day for Alpha Company.  I rode down to Camp Pendleton with the man who was once my Platoon Commander.  Neither of us are in the unit anymore, but we still have strong ties to the men, and couldn’t let them go without seeing them off.  My father sent along a bottle of Ireland’s finest to be stowed for the journey.

Family Days precede every deployment.  This one had all the usual sights.  A bounce house for the little ones, parents seated at picnic tables in the sun, a hot dog station that was certain to run out of food.  A couple of LAVs were in the parking lot swarmed by kids, their mothers watching nervously, knowing full well that experienced crewman fall off of them all the time.

I was introduced to a whole squad of new wives and fiances, another familiar pre-deployment ritual.  Marines generally use last names when referring to each other, but when meeting a significant other, introductions are always made with first names.  If asked, any Marine would tell you it is to make themselves seem friendly and approachable, but I have a personal theory that it is also to disassociate one’s self from any indelicate stories that may have been told.  “Oh, you’re THAT Bennett.”

A couple of the old Black Sheep showed up, families in tow.  It was awfully good to see them.  Together, we inspected the new up-armor modifications that our vehicles have received since we last lived in them.  This led to criticisms like “Now where will the cooler go?”, and “That new turret shielding will make it kind of difficult to swing a Nerf Bat at the kids trying to steal your pack.”  Indeed, we are untapped resources when it comes to assault vehicle design.

On Monday morning I picked up the newly minted Staff Sergeant Vanderpol from his father’s machine shop in Newport Beach.  I’d offered to take him back down after he’d ditched his truck and the civilian gear he’d been keeping on base.  He was waiting for me out front, his two sea bags, pack, and carry-on stacked behind him. This is to be his fourth deployment, and his experience shows.  There were no last minute errands to run, everything was packed and ready.

When we arrived at the Battalion Area, word came down that their flight was to be a delayed until Wednesday, and that the Marines were to be released until then.  Wives and parents were there, happy of course to have their men for a few more days, but I’d seen those looks on my own family’s faces before.  It had taken a lot of emotional wind up just to get into the car that morning.  They’d only steeled themselves through mid-afternoon.

Vandy and I headed south to Sgt. Paul Acosta’s house in San Diego.  We hung out all afternoon, the three of us drinking beer and relaxing.  We ended the night with a sushi dinner and an old John Wayne favorite.

I woke up early Tuesday morning on Acosta’s couch, my jacket wrapped around my chest.  I lay there without moving for a long time.  The morning was very gray and very still.

Vandy was sleeping in the loft above me.  I didn’t even raise my voice.

“Are you awake?”, I said.

“Yeah, I’m up.”

I could tell by his voice he’d been awake for a while.  It occurred to me that whatever he’d been thinking about up there in silence was probably more than I’d had to worry about lately.

“Join me for a beer then?” , I said.

He answered back, “While I still can.”

When Acosta woke up, we three went out for coffee and some proper breakfast burritos.  When the meal was over, and everything that would be said was said, I shook the boys’ hands, got in my truck, and started driving north.  Back towards the decisions I’ve made.

Half the boys took off on Wednesday, the other half left just this afternoon.  Next stop Afghanistan.

There is more than a small part of me that wants terribly to catch up with them somewhere out there in the desert.  Unexpected, and good for morale.  Like a brother showing up to the big away game, camera in hand.

There are a few small logistical issues I’d have to figure out, but in the meantime;

Godspeed to you my fine Marines.  You make me so humble, so grateful, and so immeasurably proud.

You can find me on Wanderlustagraphy today.

Curated by Clayton Cotterell and Amy Elkins, Wanderlustagraphy is a photo collective.  A rotating gallery of single images from a wide range of photographers.  It feels a little like looking through a ‘keeper’ stack of promo cards, except of course, you can link directly to each photographer.  A decided improvement for everyone involved.

I was in Laguna early yesterday morning to shoot engagement photos for my cousin Dave and soon-to-be-cousin-in-law, Jenny. Being a family affair, I brought Tara and Kate along as Assistants/Wave Watchers (as in “Watch out, a wave is coming.”)

The water was fairly calm and the overcast skies held all morning, so I left the lights in their cases and didn’t even require the reflector.  This left the girls without much to do except hold the bag of lenses, and again, warn me of oncoming waves.

After an almost heartbreaking swell came a little too close to comfort, I gave Kate my iPhone, lest I lose two of my favorite things at once.  This morning I discovered a dozen or so choice iPhonotypes they’d made whilst I was busy.  A few of me shooting, but mostly it was them pointing at hermit crabs and dancing “all crazy” behind me.  These are just a few of the hits.

Tara surveys tide pools with reflector.

Tara points at a hermit crab.

Kate breaks it down.

A big thanks to my lovely and talented Assistants, and to Dave and Jenny, who took the waves in stride and the crew out to lunch.

Blacksheep Platoon, 2004

I got the call from one of my Marines. My old unit is going to Afghanistan, sooner rather than later. They’ll be there before Christmas, possibly before Thanksgiving. My first thought was how fast can I lose 20 pounds and get through the re-enlistment process? I’d been considering this for a while now. While I have no interest in being a stateside Marine anymore, lately the thought of my boys deploying without me has been keeping me up at night. I wondered it aloud and my buddy said,

“It’d take too long. Our slots are all full anyway, you’d just get left behind. Don’t sweat it, man, we got this one.”

WE got this one. It stung, but I needed to hear it put that way.

The truth is, the WE that I was a part of doesn’t exist in the way I want it to anymore. Shortly after I left, my platoon, Blacksheep Platoon, was disbanded and dispersed. Most of the old crew got out, but a few stayed in and climbed the ladder. The Marines whom I’d been responsible for, the young ones whom have never been to war, now have Marines of their own to worry about. Some of them would even outrank me. That’s how the military has always worked, I suppose.

Deep down in my heart I’d give anything to have that old gang back together, the Blacksheep who went to war together. Even the assholes. It sounds cliche when I say it out loud, but we were young and seemingly invincible together. We trusted one another. The same guy that would get drunk and punch you in the face one night would be your closest confidant the next. I have the scars to prove it. Some on my face, some on my knuckles.

Most of the Blacksheep are out now. They’re spread out over the western states, living their own lives, doing whatever it is warfighters do after they’ve taken themselves out of the fight. A few of us have talked about the grand reunions we’ll have, but reality isn’t like the end of White Christmas. Kids get sick, jobs come up, cash gets tight, water mains break. We’ll probably never all be in the same room together again.

Then comes this news of the unit headed to Afghanistan. I’ve never worried for any Marine before. The Blacksheep had me, I had them, other Marines had other Marines. We were all covered. As illogical as it sounds, the thought that some of my old boys will be over there without me feels like I’m letting them down somehow, leaving a hole in their ranks that my own chest was supposed to fill. I know that’s not true, I know I was replaced by a younger, faster, better Marine the day I left, but that doesn’t change anything. These next 8-10 months I’ll lay awake at night and worry about them. It’s a feeling I dread down in my guts. It’s a feeling I know I put my own family through more than once.

I guess this is what vulnerability feels like, and I don’t care for it one bit.

An outtake from a corporate shoot. I prefer pictures of men in suits to be a little dark, a little moody. I think the implied formality of a suit, like a military dress uniform or a suit of armor, lends itself to a little drama. But that’s not always the look I need to deliver. Luckily, with a little planning, there is generally time for both.

Perhaps, people get used to wearing something everyday and it loses some of the mystique for them. Whenever I leave my house in a suit I spend the first twenty minutes trying to get the Imperial March out of my head.