Since this selection seems ambiguous to me, I was hoping to get some input from others as to what it means to them. The way I see it, �Does Not Want Children� could be understood to mean either of these two choices, or both:
1) Not interested in a relationship with someone who already has children.
and/or
2) Does not want to be involved in producing any children in a relationship.
Surely I am not the only one who has wondered about this�??
I can't recall his real name, but they call called him Aladdin. He would dribble the soccer ball toward you on the field, then, POOF!!!, he and the ball would suddenly vanish and re-appear several yards behind you, flying toward your goal. He was awesome.
The story was that he found a genie and wished to be the greatest football player in the world. Aladdin was a puny nine year old Iraqi boy who played soccer like he was blessed beyond measure. A prodigy. A hero his people could one day embrace, Aladdin was destined to be the team captain for the first Iraqi Olympic soccer team. A new beginning, he was the ambassador of a tranquil culture that embraces the globes most beloved sport. However, before he could claim this bright destiny, the battle for freedom would inadvertently imprison him, and rob him of his glorious future.
I was assigned to pull guard duty for ninety days on the Forward Operating Base. near Habbaniyah, Iraq. It wasn't my choice of assignment, but Habbaniyah was quieter and far more relaxed than my previous engagements. I sat in full battle gear in a hand-made wooden bunker on top of a roof overlooking the front gate. To my left was a small fielding that stretched to the boarders of Habbaniyah. In front of me was the gate, and an approaching paved road and the Tigris river. To my right, was a vast cascade of dessert as far as I could see, and directly behind me was my post.
Despite its large population, Habbaniyah was much like a small town, very religious, very conservative, and surprisingly very peaceful. Other than the ever-present sheep herder, and the occasional babbling religious nut at the gate, the only other movement was the mass of kids playing soccer. They played in the field between me and the city: all day, every day. These boys played as if the games were school, work, and religion rolled into one, and Aladdin was the star of the show. His gracefulness and the way he handled the ball was astounding. He schooled boys twice his age, and I'll never forget the first time I met him. Occasionally the boys would come over to the gate to beg for sweets from our M.R.E.s, and on this particular day I happened to be at the gate and so was Aladdin.
"I got Skittles!" I yelled holding the bag over my head, "Who wants 'em?"
"You give them me!" Aladdin said in broken English, forcing his way through the crowd.
"Hey, I've seen you playing football, you're pretty good. What's your name?" I asked.
"Aladdin, you call me, Aladdin." He answered.
Immediately, his friends began to tease him chanting, "Aladdin, the genie football boy!"
"Is Aladdin your real name?" I interrupted.
"He says he got his powers from a magic lamp." An older boy added as he bounced the soccer ball off his knee.
"The lamp is his secret, where he tells he learns football."
As soon as the boy had said that, the local mosque sounded as it does five times a day, and the boys turned and sprinted toward town to go pray.
One particular day to come had started out just like any other day, boring, hot, and uneventful. As the boys began to take the field, I found myself anxious to watch the game. The other soldiers who had guard detail with me had also taken to watching the games, so in our boredom we often made bets on the teams, and sometimes we'd try to guess how many goals Aladdin would score. It was becoming so popular that often the post commander and his pompous entourage would come and watch the games, too. Everyone seemed to love to watch Aladdin's outstanding performance and today we were excited to see the spectacle.
I only glanced away for a second, one second. We weren't supposed to write letters while we were on guard, but we weren't supposed to bet on soccer games either. I looked away long enough to address my envelope, and that's when it happened; the most sickening explosion. I immediately crouched behind the .50 cal. and peeked over the wall. Confused, frightened, and panicked boys littered the soccer field amidst a cloud of dust where they had been playing. Several of the boys lay on the ground motionless. It was horrible. Many soldiers had been watching the game so it didn't take long for emergency responders to be in place. Within a matter of minutes medi-vac helicopters were in the air headed for Baghdad.
Although I had many questions at the time, guard duty took priority. It wasn't until later that night that I heard an I.E.D. was placed on the field by an insurgent, and Aladdin had been the one to trip it, and he wasn't expected to live through the night.
The whole post was quiet. It was as if we had lost one of our own. Even the most hard and prejudiced soldiers had learned to love the boy. That night, our make-shift chapel was full. Men who had never been to church before in their lives said a prayer for Aladdin and the other boys, and that mournful morale continued for about a week.
In Iraq you're too busy to mourn. Too busy to wonder what happened to so-and-so. We never forget them, and we often still think of them, we just stop talking about them. It doesn't take long to become old news. Within a month, no one spoke of Aladdin anymore, but I never stopped wondering.
It would be several months before Aladdin would surface to the forefront of my mind again. I was being medi-vaced for my own injury, my first of two. This one was not life threatening, however, in fact, soon as the stitches were out, I returned to full duty. Standing in the hallway of the Naval Hospital on Camp Anaconda in Baghdad, attempting to call my mom on a pay phone, I felt something metallic run into the back of my calves. As I turned to look I heard a young boy's voice.
"Skittles!"
I turned to see Aladdin sitting in a wheelchair. He had a huge smile plastered across his scarred face. I couldn't help but notice he was in bad shape. His face and scalp were mangled and he was missing an ear. Both of his legs had been amputated and there was a hook where his left hand had been. There were so many tubes, wires, and gadgets hooked to him and the chair that he looked artificial. I nearly cried, realizing that he would use a catheter and colostomy bag in that wheelchair for the rest of his life. Despite all that, I smiled
"Hello, Aladdin. Good to see you again." I didn't really know what else to say, so I said the corniest thing that came to mind.
"Looks like your genie came through on that second wish. It's really good to see you're okay."
He smiled.
"I'm very thankful to be alive."
"I'm glad you are, too." I said, hoping not to sound too clich�.
"Hey, would you like to see my lamp?" he asked.
I chuckled inside my head at how he could be still so child-like. The enthusiasm in his voice left me with no choice but to entertain the boy's gimmicks, so I agreed.
"Sure."
He reached with his good hand into a small tote bag attached to the side of his wheelchair and pulled out a small, pocket-sized green New Testament Bible, like the ones that you get for free when you visit a new church. He held the bible up, and with a big grin, he pointed to the small golden lamp emblem in the bottom corner. I smiled. He went on to tell me that a soldier had given it to him over a year ago, and that even though he couldn't understand all the words in it yet, he was going to keep it until he could. He told me how he never got the courage to tell his friends and family what he was learning, just owning the bible could get him killed, so he told them he got all his blessings from the essence of the lamp. When he told me he believed that his ability to play football was his greatest blessing, he paused. After several seconds of visibly deep thought, he looked at me and said:
"The greatest gift the essence of the lamp gave me is life, a second chance, an opportunity to do something bigger than football."
The End
by Jordan Christian
This is a true account written by my oldest son, Jordan, that happened while he was serving in the U.S. Army and stationed in Iraq. He wrote it as a personal narrative for his college English Composition class after returning home. I have posted it here with his permission. He wanted to share this experience, the magnitude of which many people will never personally encounter, with others who would be blessed by reading it. To me, it is extremely emotionally overpowering, as are many of the experiences my young son has had in the past few years. But this one, I believe, is the most spiritually significant. It is our hope that you are blessed by reading God bless you all.
:0) Juvie and Jordan
P.S. While in Iraq, Jordan was wounded by an I.E.D. himself and awarded the Purple Heart. **** I have a picture of "Aladdin" which was taken with a cell phone prior to the incident. In it, he is running the soccer field. Jordan never knew this boy's real name, nor the true extent of his injuries. He also does not know if he still lives.
It is said, "that which does not kill us makes us stronger". In effect, then, through adversity we become more flavorful! Our choice in the matter is what kind of strength, i.e., flavor, we will exude...
"Oh that my grief were throughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together! For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words are swallowed up." Job 6:2,3 KJV //// Job and I are intimate friends from way back...
