THE BEGINNING

My journey to Afghanistan began in Boulder, Colorado under a blazing sun.
I was working as a laborer, carrying and delivering twelve-feet long concrete form pans to two carpenters.
We were constructing a "computer room" at the National Center for Atmospheric Research (NCAR).
Each day was a pleasant bike ride into the majestic rolling front range of Boulder. I sometimes saw a shy deer retreating just as the sun was rising.
One carpenter was amiable enough, but the other one sometimes cursed furiously. My own father was a carpenter and rarely swore, so I didn't appreciate this swearing.
More cursing erupted one morning when I was transporting one 12' form on the top of my hard hat. I tripped on a piece of projecting rebar, nearly falling down, but I caught myself just as the swearing cartwright yelled how I should carry the #@@## pans, and if I didn't do so then #&&### and @@**.
I decided I would quit that day.
At the end of the day, I laid my white hard hat down on the ground behind a white pick-up truck and said in a soft monotone behind my dark sunglasses, "This is my last day." I pedaled off to a new destiny.