One thing the Army doesn’t tell you when you enlist and choose your military occupational specialty is that very often, especially on a deployment, a soldier will be ordered to perform jobs very different from the one for which he trained. In my last column, I told you about Staff Sgt. Corinthian Kelly, the expert Army signal and support operating specialist. On intense deployments to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, he fulfilled his important duty and kept American units communicating. As a young private first class in March of 2011, Kelly found himself in Iraq, not only keeping various communications systems running, but also assigned to that most time-honored rite of passage for all deployed junior enlisted men: guard duty. And there he encountered that unexpected aspect of war for which no training prepares a soldier: the local children.
Pfc. Kelly was assigned to gate guard duty, a laborious task that requires a soldier to remain alert for attacks or suicide bombers while still interacting with many visitors. Vehicles must be searched for bombs before passing the gate. People must be patted down for bombs or other weapons. Kelly remembered an important Iraqi had been hurt by a suicide bomber. Many Iraqis came to offer their blessings, a nice gesture that meant a lot of extra work.
On one slow gate guard day, some children were in the area. With no one to search or let in or out of the gate and someone else covering overwatch, Kelly passed the time drawing. A fan of the early ’90s Japanese anime TV series Dragon Ball Z, he sketched one of the show’s important characters. As he worked, a young Iraqi boy watched. Kelly must have been a competent artist, because the boy recognized the character at once, smiling, pointing, and saying the character’s name. Impressed that the boy was familiar with the show, Kelly gave the picture to the boy.
“He was so happy,” Kelly told me. “He showed all the other kids.”
While the boy was inside his family’s compound, a girl, perhaps the boy’s sister, approached, looking sad. It wasn’t hard to understand why. She wanted a picture too. But what could he draw for her?
Pfc. Kelly figured the girl might like Minnie Mouse, so that’s who he sketched. The girl lit up. “She loved it. Big smile.”
It was a simple interaction. It wasn’t as though he had saved the lives of the two Iraqi children, but Kelly nevertheless felt a bond with them. They’d reached across cultures through the cracked lens of war and found something in common.
Or had he overestimated the connection? He figured he’d never know.
But the next day the young girl returned, carefully carrying a precious paper of her own. She approached the soldier and offered her gift. She’d written her name, Surahkmat, in a mix of English capital and lowercase letters. And above that, she’d drawn a beautiful rose.
He was amazed by her talent and kindness. She was proud that she’d impressed the soldier. “That picture is one of the most cherished things I’ve ever received,” Kelly told me. “I love it.”
Kelly’s actions that day didn’t change the course of the conflict. Wars are not won or lost by trading hand-drawn pictures with children. But his MOS dealt with communications, and communications takes many forms. Separated by a spoken language barrier, Pfc. Corinthian Kelly made a real connection and let those Iraqi children know he valued them. Amid future interactions between Americans and Iraqis, we can only hope that due to his kindness, there are at least two more Iraqis who will tell their friends the Americans aren’t so bad.
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Near the end of our conversation, Kelly added a sentiment echoed by myself and most soldiers who encounter the children whose homes have become war zones. “I hope they are OK.”
We can only pray it is so.
Trent Reedy, the author of several books, including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.