Back in February 1989, I was not yet a father.  I was married, one big “grown-up” step, but we all know how binding marriage is, right?  Up to that point I had lived life for myself without much thought focused on taking care of someone else.  Then in March of that fateful year, Andy arrived.

Six pounds, seven ounces of hairy-headed baby boy.  I remember when I first got to hold him – even before his biological mother (she was in recovery, post C-section).  Upon seeing him for the first time, my initial thought was, “He has fuzz growing down the sides of his face!”  It was a little disconcerting to see a one-hour-old baby with muttonchops that would have made a confederate soldier stand up and salute.  I asked the nurse if he was going to remain looking like Jojo, the Dogfaced Boy, but she assured me that the fuzz was just temporary and would soon disappear.  Fortunately, she was correct, although today Andy sometimes sports that very same fuzz before a shave.

I recall my nervous apprehension upon leaving the hospital – they were actually going to let us walk out with this baby?  He was OUR responsibility now?  What if we break him?  Or what if he cries and won’t stop?  What if he grows up and leaves our home to venture off on his own?  Or worse - what is he doesn’t?

Now here we are, nearly nineteen years later.  Years of watching him learn to crawl, walk, run.  Years of teaching him right from wrong.  Years of tears and laughter.  And now, Andy is leaving.

On February 21, 2008, my son, Andrew John Lee, will be entering the United States Navy.  This is a decision he made several years ago, a plan he has been cultivating since he first entered high school.  He wanted to join up and learn a trade that could be utilized in the private sector if and when he exits the military.  He has decided to become a machinist’s mate, a sailor who repairs and maintains specific systems on ships, planes or whatever may need his attention.  Andy has always been mechanically inclined, so this seemed right up his alley.  I was a little surprised, though, when he announced he had volunteered for submarine duty.

After Andy’s initial boot camp, he will attend nearly a full year of schooling, not just to learn his trade, but also to learn how to operate a submarine.  Not simply “learn his systems” on the sub, but be cross-trained in nearly every aspect of submarine operations, because if you lose a man on a sub, someone else needs to take on their responsibilities right away.  Apparently, all members of a sub’s crew must know how to perform the duties of all other members, in addition to knowing safety protocols, firefighting, first aid, etc.  Andy has, without a doubt, got his work cut out for him.

Once his training is complete, he receives his assignment and off he goes, under the ocean, for who knows how long.  Communication with him will be sparse as long as he’s out to sea.  Occasional e-mails will be our only contact until he makes land at some base on the other side of the world.  And to think, I get nervous when he rides his bike back and forth to work.

But I know he’ll be surrounded by great guys - and gals?  Are there gals on subs?  If not, they should be; time would probably pass more quickly.  I’m secure in the knowledge that he will be well trained and that his mates will cover his back just like he’ll cover theirs.  I know he’ll be relatively safe and I envy the experiences he has yet to enjoy.

Unlike the Army or the Marines (two branches I greatly admire), the Navy has lost very few men in Iraq or Afghanistan.  That’s not to say the Navy isn’t a target for terrorists, it most certainly is.  But when you’re inside a vessel that can stay 1000 feet under water for months at a time, I don’t think the terrorists are much of a threat.  Underwater collisions are what will keep me awake at night – and probably Andy, too.

So, after years of fighting to get him to do his schoolwork, years of fighting to get him to do his chores, years of fighting with him because I’m wrong and he’s right, he’s leaving us.  After years of shared laughter, long bike rides and hikes through the woods and the mountains, he’s leaving us.  After years of watching him grow up and become a man, he’s leaving us.  And his mother’s biggest fear is that he may not return to this area.

Who knows what Andy will find out there in the real world?  Who knows who he’ll meet or what he’ll do?  Right now, no one, not even him.  We’ll just have to wait and see how things turn out in the end.

But, Andy, for what it’s worth, we’re very proud of you.  You were a happy baby and you’ve grown into a well-adjusted man.  You’re about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life – one that will fill your remaining years with memories and stories you’ll tell and retell to my grandkids and yours.  You’re becoming part of something larger, something far more important than anything you’ve known.  And it will change you forever.

From your mother, your brother and myself, we thank you for your service to our country.  We all love you Andy, and we wish you the best in all you do.  Stay safe.