Scuttling Subs to Play

With summer upon us, I’m remembering the year my husband scuttled his submarine career to play with his children.

He’d been out to sea for long periods of time as chief engineer of the oldest nuclear submarine in the Atlantic Ocean.

Our boys were young, but he was conscious of the passage of time.

A successful engineer in a challenging environment, he had a promising career before him, likely commanding a submarine.

But he wanted to play with the boys.

He wanted to teach Sunday school.

He wanted a fuller life–and he loved engineering.

So, he applied to be a naval engineering duty officer (EDO)–a support role–keeping submarines running well from a shore command.

Such a change required a 1/3 cut in his (our only) pay.

We could just do it.

And he got to play with, by then, three boys of his own.

Not to mention an entire soccer team.

Life Lessons

When orders came to Washington state, we bought a raised-ranch house set in a clearing of trees. The boys were eight, six and two. We spent the first month raking and then planting grass on the roomy scraped lot in front of the house.

He gave me the west side yard and four raised beds to plant a garden. I got flower beds on the perimeter of the grass.

As usual, this brilliant tactician was one step ahead of me. (Another reason the nukes hated to let him go).

He had come home to play.

He needed a football field.

There was always a man down.

And for the next four years, in addition to keeping submarines overhauled and going under the sea, working long hours and standing duty, he spent his weekends playing football on the front lawn.

Our boys loved it.

So did, ultimately, nine neighborhood boys who came out of the woods to join him.

The doorbell would ring: “Can Mr. Ule come out to play?”

They liked our kids, fine, but having that adult man interact was more important.

I watched from the windows as he taught his children and the neighbor boys elements of life through the playing of a game.

I baked cookies constantly.

When he had to go to work, the boys learned another game: croquet.

It amused me to watch them knocking the wooden balls around the course, often into the underbrush.

We had crying and complaints from time to time, and Mr. Ule occasionally had to go out and give more life lessons.

Those kids grew up so much.

And their fathers noticed, too.

That Navy guy in the woods knew things about their sons they didn’t.

It came home to one neighbor the day our sons showed up for his son’s birthday party bearing lumber as gifts.

A tinkering inventor who worked with motors, he didn’t know his son had been building a fort in the woods not 200 yards from his workshop.

I always wanted to ask, “tea?” Blank looks. They were playing killer croquet!

But the supervising play engineer–who also pied pipered his way through construction of an elaborate wood shed with the help of his football team–knew the neighbor boy’s interests.

He’d been down to inspect the platform, and with the gift of a few hefty boards now ensured all the neighborhood boys safety in the trees.

Good work, sailor guy.

The results?

Sometimes the hard choices a man makes to sacrifice money and power for the sake of play, benefits more than his own family.

My husband’s Sunday school students from those years grew up to become prestigious workers in God’s kingdom, lawyers, machinists, engineers and numerous teachers.

One of them is now our own personal money manager.

Our own boys grew up to become wonderful men and my naval engineer kept a fleet of submarines sailing long after others had planned to scuttle them.

God can use even a desire to play for the good of others.

What’s He whispering in your life?

(Note: This is NOT a judgment call on the many fine people who serve on the front lines and far from home on lengthy deployments. This is what my husband chose to do with his life. I am more than grateful for those who sacrifice so much for the sake of our country–many of whom are my friends and people I love.)

Tweetables

Scuttling a sub career to play with the boys. Click to Tweet

Life is more than a job: there’s football with kids. Click to Tweet

Choosing your boys over a submarine. Click to Tweet

 

 

 

 

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