What Do You Do With A General When (S)he Stops Being a General?

For me, the Christmas season is not official until I watch “White Christmas;” it always makes me cry. Near the end of the movie, Bing Crosby sings a song “What Do You Do With A General When He Stops Being A General?”

Not one of my top moments in the film, but I cannot get that song (or, more accurately, the first line) out of my head. I have avoided sitting down and posting about it because, frankly, I’m embarrassed. However, the song has been as relentless as one of my brothers sitting on me until I give him the last chocolate chip cookie in the bag.

Okay, I give.

It’s embarrassing because my son’s father would, on occasion, call me “The General.” It started out as a kind of…sort of… endearment. I didn’t like it. So, like any decorated General always at the ready for battle, I began deploying troops and strategizing for what I knew would later come back to bite me in the ass (to put it in military terms). Sure enough, “The General” started emerging in arguments as a label for my behavior. It was then that I really started to hate it.

I hated it because it was, well, kind of…sort of…true.

I am Irish, I have red curly hair, and I am a Taurus; hence, I am just the teeniest bit bossy. It all comes with the package, especially growing up in a family that needed a parent. I was enlisted, quickly promoted through the ranks, and awarded command at a very early age.

I willingly attended my own personal War College to learn as much as possible about the skirmishes (and worse) of life so I could avoid land minds (and worse) thereby keeping myself and the troops safe. That was my job, and, for a 9 year old, I took it very seriously.

I gave orders, and people followed. Period.

It's what I did.

It’s what I do.

In my own defense, it is not that I am in it for the medals or that I willy-nilly impose my decisions on others. I look at all the options, devise the most efficient battle plan to minimize casualties, and make the best decision for the troops. Only now am I beginning to see the aftermath of friendly fire. Those who I had absolutely no intention of getting hurt, were; some with only minor injuries but I gotta admit it; there were some casualties.

Over the past 6 months, I have tried to be different. Everyday I struggle against the call of re-enlistment.

I think I will follow in the footsteps of the General in “White Christmas.” I am going to accept who I was and embrace who I am becoming. Who knows, maybe it will finally snow.