The Kindness of Navy Seals

Kindness and Navy Seals are not always words that go together in most people’s minds. But it did make a difference to my daughter.

My daughter had the good fortune to spend her pre-school years living on the shores of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. She grew brown and healthy in the warm island sun; knew the sweetness of plumeria on the breeze and the excitement of an unexpected rainbow.

She learned to ride a bike at age four and one day, she and I took off on an outing. I rode the Mom bike with a basket full of snacks and water, and C pedaled happily on her pink bike– training wheels giving her balance and handlebar streamers bringing joy.

We rode the bike trail near our house down to the Ford Island ferry, which in those days was the only way out to the island in the middle of Pearl Harbor–the island most people know as the backdrop to the Arizona Memorial and where the USS Missouri is currently docked. A causeway goes out to Ford Island now, but in the mid-1990s, you had to take the ferry.

It was a typical balmy sun-kissed day and with her bulky styrofoam helmet keeping her flowing pig tails at bay, C rode cheerfully. After the ten-minute ferry cruise, we biked around the island, waving at the Hawaiian bungalows that house friends, the Admiral’s golf course where the kids like to putt, and the low barracks where the Navy SEALs trained.

You know the Navy SEALs, the steely-eyed killers of the Pacific?

We didn’t see any as we rode by, my daughter’s face a wide grin of pride. When the ferry returned, we walked our bikes on board, leaned them against the side wall, and watched several cars join us.

Just before the ship pushed off, a shout rang out and we saw a half-dozen men vigorously riding their bikes in our direction. They laughed as the petty officer waited to let them board, then joined us at the side.

Handsome gladiators without an ounce of body fat, they moved with a supple ease that was hard to ignore, even for a happily-married Navy wife.

“Hey,” one of them said as he removed his aerodynamic helmet and a pair of Ray-bans. “Whose bike is this?”

C stood up straight and ambled over to him. “Mine.”

“Look at this.” Another Adonis joined him. “It’s got streamers and everything.”

“I rode it myself,” she said.

“All over our island?”

C nodded.

“That’s some bike.” All six gathered around to ask her questions. She ate it up.

I couldn’t help think that any one of them could kill her with the flick of–something–but instead they pumped up a little girl with friendly words of admiration only a mother could love.

The ferry docked, the cars left, and the gods themselves boarded their glamorous sleek bicycles. They probably were going to take a spin around O’ahu before dinner.

As we rode our bikes up a slight hill toward home, C beamed. “Those guys were nice. They liked me, Mom. They loved my bike.”

“That they did,” I said and laughed at the kindness of Navy seals. Click to Tweet

My innocent daughter had no idea what she had just charmed.

Or, had they been the real charmers?

Since writing my novel Bridging Two Hearts, a romance about a Navy SEAL who falls in love with a massage therapist at the Hotel del Coronado, I’ve come to better understand and appreciate the difficult life they’ve chosen. In many cases, Navy SEALS are the “sin eaters” of America–taking the difficulty and dangerous tasks that keep America safe for democracy.

Thank you.