06/05/2007

Generation Why

Don't let the phone ring, please

By LAUREN RITZLER

Special to the Record-Eagle

I am petrified of the phone.

It is not the bland, colored plastic or the buzzing of a bad connection that causes this terror. It is something far worse.

I am afraid of what news will be broken over that horribly innocent device. Although this fear may seem odd, multitudes of people suffer from it.

The majority of us afflicted with phoneaphobia are linked by one important event: We all have a father, brother, mother, daughter, sister, son, husband, friend or other loved one in, or close to, the war. My father is not in the war, but he is a contractor in Iraq helping to jump start their businesses.

My father has been unemployed for over a year. Over the past 10 years, he has found it very difficult to keep a job. Being as old as my father is, no linguistics company wants to hire someone who can retire in a few years. They want new, young people straight out of college. This leaves my father without a job or income, and a daughter attending college next year.

A few weeks ago, my father called me from his home in Ohio and casually slipped the fact that he found a job in Baghdad into our conversation. I was stunned. Until that moment, the war had never reached into my life personally. Yes, I knew there was a war being waged and that people were dying for our country, but I never knew anyone personally who was in the Middle East. My dad, sensing I was upset over this news, tried to comfort me: "I get to wear a helmet, a bullet-proof vest, and have guards when walking from building to building.”

To say the least, I was not comforted. If anything, my dad's help backfired, and I felt even more scared.

My dad called me a few days before he left.

The first thing he told me was, "Now don't get upset...” I knew it would not be a pleasant conversation.

He was updating his will before he left, and asked me what I wanted if he were to die.

This act finalized his departure and brought back the terrorizing realization that I could lose my dad.

Events that would be missed if he did not return flashed like an old movie reel through my mind.

He would not be there to walk me down the aisle; there would be no daddy-daughter dance, no World's Best Grandpa shirt, no spoiling of the grandchildren, and worst of all, no dad.

What else could I do? I answered the question.

Every time I hear of an American casualty, my heart begins to race.

The scariest thought for me is that my dad is in the very heart of the war. The fear of him dying is just increased by his close proximity to the fighting.

Having a loved one in Iraq changes how I view everything.

The news becomes an enemy, the radio an adversary, and the phone? A terror.

I am not ready to let go of my father.

The thought of receiving a phone call informing me that the man who used to play airplane with me and tickle me to no end has died, keeps me up at night.

I understand my dad needs the job. My only hope is that I can be as brave as he is.

And if the phone rings, the only option is to pick up the receiver and say, "Hello?”

Lauren Ritzler is a senior at Elk Rapids High School.