Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 166

(5/5) “It’s the most embarrassing thing a grown man can...

(5/5) “It’s the most embarrassing thing a grown man can experience. It’s like having a nightmare while awake. It happened not long after I’d moved to New York City. I’d been isolating myself a lot after I came back from Iraq. I was on edge all the time and I got nervous in crowds. So one day I decided that I was going to try to step outside my comfort zone and drive to the Queens Center Mall. And I was parking my car in the lot, and this traditionally dressed Muslim man starts walking behind me, and suddenly I was back in Iraq, and I started to get nervous. So I walked quickly into the mall and I start hearing the sound of 50-caliber machine guns all around me, and it’s getting louder and louder, and I know that nobody else is hearing it but I swear to fucking God it’s real. And the voices around me grew louder and suddenly I can’t remember where I am. And I walked outside and started hugging this aluminum lamppost, and I tried to call my girlfriend because I didn’t know how to get home, and it felt like the world was closing in on me and I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself. It was the only way I knew how to end this. I had to get help. I lost a whole line of mentors to suicide and I didn’t want it to be me too. Maybe some guys can come home from war and go back to mowing their lawn or fixing their gutters– good on them. But I had to get help. It took a lot of therapy to release this self-torment. It took a lot of therapy to stop hearing those 50-calibers. And therapy is the only reason I can talk about these things today. Because I’m finally starting to get through it.”

(4/5) “There was an old man who fished in the same spot every...

(4/5) “There was an old man who fished in the same spot every single day. He’d stand on the edge of a canal coming off the Tigris. We told him it was a bad idea. He sat on a village council, and he always voted with the coalition, so we told him it was a bad idea to fish in the same place every day. But he was seventy years old so he wouldn’t listen to anyone. And one day this fifteen-year-old kid rides by on a scooter and drops a bomb behind him. And I get called out to investigate the crime scene. My job is to take pictures, ask questions, things like that. And I get there right as the sun is going down. And a truck is lighting up the scene with its headlights. And the air smells like an old duffle bag. And I kneel down next to the crater and I start to take out my bag and I just freeze. The hole is filled with dusty, coagulated blood. And parts of this guy are floating in the canal. And it looks like somebody has thrown Smucker’s jelly all over the wall. And I just froze up. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. I was an art student. I loved the human body. I always thought it was so beautiful. And not in a horny or freaky or weird way– just in a beautiful way. I used to watch my sister dance ballet. I saw her dance in the Nutcracker five times. I loved seeing all these beautiful things that the human form could do. I always honored the human body. And now I’ve come to a place where the human body is shredded and stomped and blown to bits. And that just wasn’t me. I used to be jokey. I used to be goofy. I was Frank from North Scranton. And now I won’t ever be that again.”

(3/5) “We were based out of the Baghdad Airport. I drove...

(3/5) “We were based out of the Baghdad Airport. I drove armored Humvees. Mainly we transported detainees between the airport and the Green Zone. The road was known as ‘Route Irish.’ We called it the eight-minute heart attack. A lot of times there was sniper fire and almost every day an IED would explode. We’d drive through traffic as fast as we could. Sometimes it was like parting The Red Sea. We’d clear our way through traffic by pointing our rifles at drivers and waving them off the road. You can understand why they resented us. Imagine that happening on the streets of New York. I’ll never forget the looks we’d get. I’ve never seen that sort of hate. My worst day was when we had to transport this really bad prisoner to the hospital. He was 6’5” and completely shackled up because he’d beaten up six of our guys. When we got to the hospital I was ordered to guard his room. The hospital was tiny. Just a few rooms. And this truck pulled up with Australian troops. They’d been hit by an IED and were covered in blood. And they’re being carried right in front of my face. And the first guy is dead. And the second guy has no leg and he’s spilling blood all over the floor. And the doctors and nurses are slipping around like penguins. And they’re carrying this guy’s leg in a garbage bag. And I can’t leave. I’m gripping this rosary that my girlfriend’s mom gave me, and I’m praying for this guy to live, and he’s bleeding out and dying in front of me. And what’s the point of prayer anyway if God brought me here to watch this sick shit. And behind me is this huge madman that I’m supposed to be guarding. And I’m trying not to cry and I’m not allowed to move. I was trapped. It’s like somebody was holding my head and forcing me to watch hell. And in front of me, this Iraqi janitor is mopping up the blood. And he’s smiling. He’s fucking smiling.”

(2/5) “I was assigned to my father’s platoon. He worried that...

(2/5) “I was assigned to my father’s platoon. He worried that people would think I was getting preferential treatment so he put on a serious show. I got volunteered and ‘voluntold’ to do everything. He’d make me clean the shitters and the slop sinks and then at night we’d ride home together. I saw a new side of him. I’d always known him as my father. But now I was seeing him in a leadership position where he was respected by a large group of people. While we were training, he always told us to be ready for war, but we thought: ‘whatever.’ The running joke was that the Cub Scouts would get deployed before the National Guard. But in 04’ we got our deployment notice for Iraq. They told my father that he couldn’t come with us because he’d just turned sixty. It really killed him. He begged the colonel, and then the general, but everyone said ‘no.’ He followed us right to the door of the plane, and he was crying his eyes out, and he kept saluting us as the plane pulled away. He stood there until the ground crew made him leave.”

(1/5) “My father was a platoon sergeant in the Pennsylvania...

(1/5) “My father was a platoon sergeant in the Pennsylvania National Guard. But nobody ever thought I’d join the military. I was too sensitive. I was into painting and illustration and theater. Plus I was a total goofball. I barely finished high school. I didn’t have any direction. I got fired from TCBY for giving out too much ice cream. You’re supposed to scoop a certain amount every time and I was just scooping all I could. So nobody thought I’d join the military. But one day I walked into our living room and there was a kid sitting on our couch. My father was giving him advice about joining the military. This kid was a grade below me, and I barely knew him, but my father’s hand was on his shoulder. And I suddenly felt this territorial feeling. Like he had a connection with my dad that should have been mine. And I wanted that too. So I decided to enlist.”

For the next couple weeks I’ll be partnering with Headstrong...

For the next couple weeks I’ll be partnering with Headstrong Project to tell the stories of American veterans from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. As with any group, there will be a wide range of viewpoints and experiences. There are often conflicting feelings: patriotism, disillusionment, pride, regret, gratitude, and grief. There is a common love for America, yet differing ideas about what exactly that means. Many of these stories will include PTSD, but the hardships of returning veterans are far too nuanced for a single diagnosis. And it can be inappropriate to use PTSD as a catch-all for those hardships. So we’ve chosen to title the series ‘Invisible Wounds.’ I know that many people have strong opinions about America’s involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. But as we meet the individuals behind the uniforms, and seek to understand their stories, I’m hoping we can momentarily put those politics aside. This is a great group of people who served and sacrificed at the request of their country. And I’m very thankful that they’ve volunteered to share their stories.

“I’ve always lived off my artwork all my life. I’ve lived all...

“I’ve always lived off my artwork all my life. I’ve lived all over the world. I’ve had fourteen common law wives. I’ve never needed money because I’m talented. Talent is better than money because it’s always with you. Let me give you an example. Back in 1970 I was getting dinner with a Japanese model at the Sao Paulo Hilton in Brazil. This guy from Texas was sitting at the table next to me, and he’s trying to order a steak, but he keeps sending it back to the kitchen. He keeps saying: ‘The steaks are better in Texas.’ After the second time he sends it back, the master chef comes out, and I hear him say in Portuguese: ‘I’m going to kill this man!’ Now being a Galician myself, I know the character of the Latin American people. If a French person says he’s going to kill you, you don’t have to worry. The French are lovers and all lovers are cowards. Trust me—several of my former wives are French. I know this. But when a Latin American tells you that he’s going to kill you, it’s time to leave. So I walked over to the man’s table and bought him a bottle of wine, and I talked with him about Texas. I knew all about Texas because I competed in fishing tournaments there. After a few minutes of talking, I tell the man: ‘If you order one more steak, you’re going to get killed with a machete.’ So he took my advice and he left. The entire restaurant staff came out and started singing to me with tambourines. They brought out free wine and a full spread. They said, ‘Your money is no good here.’ The Japanese model was so impressed. See what I mean? Talent.”

“I drove an eighteen-wheeler for fifteen years. One day I hit a...

“I drove an eighteen-wheeler for fifteen years. One day I hit a lady in a Honda Civic. I hadn’t seen her at all. I just thought I’d blown a tire. Luckily nobody was hurt, but I realized my vision was starting to go. I’ve been blind in my left eye for about seven years now. It’s been really hard on my self-esteem. I used to be very outgoing and would talk to anyone. Now when I first meet somebody new, it’s like they don’t know where to look. Their eyes go back and forth. Sometimes they’ll just look straight at the ground or off in the distance. My friends tell me that I’m the only one that cares about it. They tell me that I worry about it more than anyone else. But then I wonder if they’re just telling me that to make me feel better.”

“I got divorced twenty-five years ago. He had an affair. He...

“I got divorced twenty-five years ago. He had an affair. He left me with two small kids. It took a lot of time and a lot of years, but I’m OK with it now. For the sake of my kids, I made the decision to be OK with it. He’s married to the woman now. And we all get together as a family. It’s still not easy for me. I spent Mother’s Day at their stepmother’s house. That was weird. But I don’t want my kids to worry about hurting my feelings every time they spend a holiday with him. I don’t want them to feel like they need to have two separate celebration dinners for every birthday, or when they graduate from college, or get married. My daughter just had a baby, so we’re actually all in town together right now. There have been some complications so everyone is supporting her. I haven’t forgotten what happened twenty-five years ago, but for times like this, I need to be OK with it.”

“I grew up in Kosovo. Over ninety percent of the population was...

“I grew up in Kosovo. Over ninety percent of the population was Albanian, but Serbia controlled everything. They controlled the police. They controlled the government. They shut down the only Albanian TV station. All our documents and road signs were in Cyrillic. If you wanted to go to school, you basically had to become a Serbian. You had to speak their language and learn their history. So all of us went to illegal schools in private homes. My school only had four rooms. It was our way of staying Albanian.”