My Feelings on Memorial Day as a Veteran that Never Lost Anyone

by Reid Sealby

This first appeared in Reid Sealby | Substack and is published with the author’s permission.

At around 11:30 this morning, on Memorial Day, my phone started vibrating – I was receiving a phone call. The caller’s name displayed “Mickey,” and I couldn’t help but smile.

About four years ago, If PFC Brendan Mickey was calling my cell phone, I probably would have thought 1) All hell has broken loose 2) Why is he calling me, his Platoon Leader, and not his Team Leader? 3) Is he shitfaced?

Mickey was… I’ll put this nicely… “a handful,” when he was in my platoon. He knows it, too – if he ever reads this, he’ll own it. I was fortunate to have served as the Platoon Leader of the 1st Platoon Bastards of Bulldog Company, 1/187 Infantry Battalion, Third Brigade Rakkasans of the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, Kentucky (the entire unit name is a mouthful, I know).

In this platoon of about thirty-eight soldiers, all men, there were a handful of Soldiers that as a Platoon Leader you just prayed you’d get through the weekend without getting a call about them being in jail, or in a car accident, or worse. Mickey was one of those Soldiers. And I did get those calls about him, trust me. I can’t blame Mickey, he had an unbelievably difficult childhood – I won’t get into detail – but he just wasn’t quite as polished as some of the other Soldiers in the enlisted ranks under my care and responsibility. He was going to need to get told to do things twice, work twice as hard, and focus twice as much to be able to do some of the things that came a lot easier to many of his peers.

It’s Soldiers like Mickey that, if I’m being honest, are the reason I enjoyed my time as an Infantry Officer in the Army so much. If you would have asked me at the time, I probably would have told you that he was the bane of my existence… but in retrospect, he’s what made my job in the Army worth doing. I’m sure that teachers, or coaches, or other military Officers would agree with what I’m about to say:

It’s those Soldiers/students/athletes – the ones that wear you thin, test your patience, or drive you insane – that give you the most pride and fulfillment when you see them learning and achieving.

I never stopped trying with Mickey, and neither did his team leaders, squad leaders, or Platoon Sergeant, and I’ll tell you why: Because Mickey never stopped trying. Mickey probably did more push-ups in the year that I was responsible for him than anyone has ever done in a calendar year. Every single day, Mickey would get multiple things wrong. His leadership would then discipline him with push-ups, or make him go and “touch the torii-” a common punishment that meant running about a quarter mile to go slap the giant red Japanese gate that served as our Brigade logo, and running back.

At the end of most days, I’d see Mickey close to his breaking point: Frustrated, mad at himself, mad at his leadership, cursing the Army… But without fail, Mickey always showed up the next day at work eager to learn and eager to do his job and still striving to outperform his peers and do the right things an Infantryman is expected to do. It was his charisma and perseverance that was so infectious, and why no one could just give up on Mickey. His attitude is why his peers – even when they had to do push-ups because of Mickey – never quit on him. They spent extra time helping him out. So did his team leaders, squad leaders, platoon sergeant, and me. Nobody wrote Mickey off because deep down we all knew, “Well, he’s not gonna quit, so I can’t quit on him either.”

By the end of my year as Mickey’s Platoon Leader (& I’m not taking any credit for this), not only was he really coming into his own as a competent Soldier, but our entire platoon was better for having Mickey with us. He unintentionally created such a tight culture among our Platoon that nobody could compete with us. His peers, not wanting to do any unnecessary push-ups, became more competent in order to better teach Mickey. His team leader, the same effect. Up the chain a little more, behind closed doors, we bonded over some good laughs whenever Mickey would do something ridiculous – and over some Platoon pride when we would see our young enlisted guys, referred to as “joes,” helping teach each other without our supervision or guidance. In my last quarter leading these men, we were the #1 ranked platoon in the entire battalion when it came to combat readiness metrics.

Right at the end of my time as their Platoon Leader, we received four new Soldiers that would be joining our platoon, as a few of my guys were getting out of the Army, taking new assignments, or changing duty stations. I remember when they got there. I met them all for the first time at a little informal going-away ceremony we had behind our Battalion building, where my platoon honored me with a plaque featuring a picture of all of us from our deployment to Africa.

Afterwards, I was hanging out in our “team room,” with a few of the NCO’s I had gotten really close with and just swapping stories and reminiscing. It was towards the end of the work day and things were starting to wrap up. In walks Mickey. I’d seen this before – he was about to confess to something dumb he had done or his inability to finish an assigned task, and his team leader would “smoke the shit out of him.” Instead, Mickey stands at parade rest and says to his team leader something along the lines of:

“Hey sergeant, I just finished up showing ‘new Soldier 1 and new Soldier 2’ around the Battalion building and getting them up to speed. Permission to get released for the day?”

It was then that I could see things had come full circle for Mickey, and the platoon I helped shape was going to be just fine after I left. I walked out of the team room, and never went back.

A couple of weekends ago, reflecting with an Army officer buddy who had gotten out around the same time I did, we came to the consensus that we can know that we did a good job in our time as Platoon Leaders if 1) our Soldiers are still having success, in or out of the Army and 2) they want to share their successes with us.

These days it’s easy to keep in touch with social media, but just because the channels exist, there still needs to be deliberate initiative taken to reach out and keep up with somebody.

So, when Mickey called me today, of course I picked up. Over the last few years, whatever time he took off my life when we served together was forgotten, and all I wanted to hear was that he was doing well.

He was.

He called me to tell me he was with another Soldier who was in my platoon, PFC Brown, and they were spending Memorial Day Weekend together in Florida. They’d both gotten out a little after I did and lived nearby one another, so they got together fairly often. Mickey was in school earning a business degree, pursuing his private pilot’s license, and bartending. Brown was in school for something like digital design and animation – he had been the resident amateur tattoo artist in the barracks while with me. Brown was still tattooing and while on the phone I pulled up his tattoo art page on Instagram; he’s gotten really good. We even called a former NCO, SGT Hight, and merged him into our phone call. Hearing Hight catching up with Brown and Mickey, it was almost like things were back to where they were just a couple years ago.

We talked for about a half hour then I told them to go enjoy the rest of their day off. I was glad that Mickey and Brown were together. It was great to hear from all three of them – words really can’t explain. All you can ask for is that these guys stay on an upward trajectory when they leave your care. I guess, in that way, I can relate to my parents’ sentiment about raising kids a little bit more.

To wrap things up, I thank whatever higher being there is that I never had to face the horrors of combat, and nobody I was responsible for lost their life. I know that in a profession like we chose – the military – that being able to say that is a luxury. I do not take it for granted. I deeply, deeply empathize with those Veterans who have someone to grieve today, even though I can’t relate. I’m thinking of you guys. I’m thinking of a couple of parents from my hometown who’s Marine son was killed in Afghanistan. I can’t imagine what this weekend is like for them every year.

Comparing the grieving of a life lost and the grieving of closing the book on such a fun, challenging, and rewarding chapter in life is apples to oranges – there is no comparison. But, with the latter, there is still some sadness there that this weekend brings out of me every year. Nostalgia, really. I miss those guys all the time. Never again for the rest of my life will I be in an environment like I was with those thirty-eight men. We suffered, learned, grew up, and matured together. We taught each other, up and down our ranks. I hope they learned some things from me, because I definitely learned from all of them.

I’m not in any way, shape, or form throwing a pity party or asking for sympathy. I have no regrets about getting out of the Army when I did, and everything had run its course the way it was supposed to in the three and a half years I served. I squeezed a lot into my one contract with the Army, and I’m really fortunate I had all the experiences that I did. Memorial Day Weekend just makes me reflect back on that chapter – the chapter of my life that so far, at thirty years old, I’m most proud of.

I just miss my guys is all, and I still want the best for all of them – even the Mickeys.

Especially the Mickeys.

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About Reid Sealby: “On paper, I’m an adult.” – Phil Knight. Washed-up athlete, crusty Veteran, part-time entrepreneur, mediocre investor, forever student of the human experience.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.