[October 25, 2024] As I lay on my back, gazing up at the countless stars in the dark night sky, I searched for the constellations that my Dad had taught me to recognize by name. The easiest constellation to spot was the Big Dipper (Ursa Major), which resembles a large soup ladle.
It was late October or November, a time of year with lower humidity and cooler temperatures, making it easier to view the night sky. For the first time in my life, I saw what the ancients saw: the rim of the Milky Way. It was beyond beautiful and beyond description. I was witnessing what those ancient stories told us about, explaining why we were placed on this planet, and I was in awe.
Alas, this letter is not about constellations, but I’m relating the story about searching the stars because it is like so many tales I’ve read, studied and experienced over the years. Looking up at the Heavens is what I have tried my best to do all my life: understanding the meaning of these stories, aiming to be a better, moral, sensible, clean, and honest person and being the best person I could be while reaching the highest that I could.
All my running around, carrying on, screamin’ and whoppin’ and a hollerin’ and being me trying to be free as a kid had come down to this … looking up at the stars, seeing what I might achieve in life. Occasionally, I would see a satellite slowly make its way across the night sky and wonder who were the people that made it happen. I could only dream about being involved in such a grand effort to explore the great unknowns of outer space.
Despite my disagreeableness and getting in my own way, I would look at what I might possibly become as an adult. And I thought this would be full of fun adventures and lead to something worthwhile. Hint: they were risky and very stupid. Yet the mid-1960s were a time of uneasiness about myself, becoming a teenager and the change in hormones, a deepening voice, pimples, greasy hair, and body odor. It was a period in my life that made me question why I was here. It was an identity crisis.
But the cool grass touched my skin and cooled off my back as I lay there. My dogs walked over, licking my face and chest as if to say, “Hey, watcha doing?” Occasionally, I would see a shooting star (a meteor) fall and burn up. The sight was mesmerizing. Nothing I’d seen in my life approached such a view; there were just so many stars, pinpoints of twinkling light. Some were a steady bright and I learned these were planets. In the second grade, I remember telling my teacher that I’d seen all five planets with my own eyes. I had to write on the blackboard 20 times, “There are 9 planets.” Today, we officially have eight planets, and five can be seen with the naked eye, but let’s not worry about details.
My favorite planet was Mars, the God of War. At that time, the planet’s surface had what scientists thought were water canals and possibly life, maybe intelligent life with an advanced civilization. There were many movies and books written about the “Martian Invasion.” Kinda scary thinking some green slime bucket glob might come down in a spaceship and conquer the Earth. I talked to my Dad. “Don’t worry,” he said, “that’s why we own guns.”
I was foolish to think like this, but many were fooled by the Martian scare. A great example was Orson Welles’ legendary radio broadcast of “War of the Worlds” prior to WWII in 1938. It sparked a nationwide panic. These were adults who believed that Martians were invading us and were being slaughtered like bugs splattering on a car windshield on a warm summer night. It’s easy to laugh at those who panicked, but remember that today, half of the U.S. population believes in UFOs, and many still think the Earth is flat.
Mars was a recognizable red color I could see with the naked eye, red like human blood. That was cool. Also, my Dad told me that Mars was a symbol of the god of war. In art, Mars was depicted in the human male form with a helmet, spear, and shield and otherwise naked. My sister wanted to see him as pictured in the World Book Encyclopedias, a collection of 20 books about “the world.” Yep, he was there in all his glory. Terri was happy, I was embarrassed, and Mom told us to put the book back.
A couple of years later, I hand-wrote a report on the planet Mars and the constellations. I thought it was well written. I was truly interested in the topic, and who could deny the majesty of the sky’s great planet, Mars and the stars? But, like so often happens, I got a C+ (broken down as C+ for subject and C for composition/grammar), and I was disappointed with my grade. Giant red marks denoted my poor punctuation, which I knew little about anyway, and a written note saying, “Mars is a planet and not a god.” In my imagination, my teacher greatly enjoyed marking down my paper.
As I look back at that time, I realize there was more to the world than our small town and living by the bayou where I went fishing. There was much more, and yet I was not in control of my life. On the positive side, I was being protected against the scourge of illegal, mind-altering drugs that were expanding in society. At the same time, I was not seeing the world for all its good and beauty or its bad and ugliness.
Over the past four decades, I have lived or carried out military missions in over twenty countries across four continents. Despite seeing more of the world than most people, traveling more miles, and working closely with individuals in the political, commercial, religious, and military realms, I still feel like I have only experienced an insignificant part of the universe.
I still remember staring at the stars and planets in the dark sky, and I don’t think I could have asked for a better place to grow up or for better friends. And I’ve never forgotten the names of those constellations.
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NOTE: See all my letters here: https://www.theleadermaker.com/granddaughter-letters/
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Please read my books:
- “55 Rules for a Good Life,” on Amazon (link here).
- “Our Longest Year in Iraq,” on Amazon (link here).
I can’t believe I missed this letter the day it was published. 👀👀👀👀 Now that I’ve read it, I feel better about my own grade school performance. I too was a bit of a loner in school. 🥸🥸🥸🥸. And I too learned about the constellations. That’s just what we did “in those days.” ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️. Thank you, Gen. Satterfield for bringing back memories from my childhood. Great letter. 💌💌💌💌
Me too, coming in late. Love this story.
Gen. Satterfield, as I read your blog, nearly each day before bedtime, I get to think about your letters to your granddaughter and how my childhood can help – or at least entertain – my children and their future children. So, thank you for that. Our biggest problem psychologically in the West is that women are very delusional, much more than men. They’ve been sold the lue that their life’s priority is to be happy. WRONG. Their biggest priority should be their family’s livelihood.
Best of the best. Gen. Satterfield, I never knew you had it in you to write these kind of letters, exposing all your insecurities for the world to see. This is what I look for whenever you write these letters.
Yep, Army Captain, you got that right. 👍👍👍👍
Love ALL your letters.
Gen. Satterfield, thank you for another enjoyable letter. I’m sure your granddaughter will appreciate what you have done for her with this series of love letters.
Occasionally, I have posted some of these letters on the bulletin board at work – just to get some feedback. And, boy, did I get feedback? Yes. Nearly 100% positive and highly complimentary too. A few of my coworkers thought these letters could be published for a wider audience. I agreed. So I’m passing along our recommendation for Gen. Satterfield to please create a book from these letters. I think he said that he was not going to but, hey, maybe he will change his mind. We can only hope.
Larry, let’s encourage it.
Yep, but let us also enjoy each letter for what they are and not get ahead of ourselves.
❤️ Another great love letter for me and us to enjoy. ❤️
Gen. Satterfield, thanks for letter #98. Please don’t end the series.
Winston, we can only wish. I, too, have enjoyed the longest and most popular series in the 11 years of his blog. Gen. Doug Satterfield is the best. He gives us no-nonsense, hard-hitting articles that make sense for us to sit up and pay attention. For that, thank you, sir. These letters, put together make for a sort of early autobiography. I know that is not his intent but here we are. Thanks for all of us who enjoyed these letters. And Winston, thanks.
👍👍👍👍 Yep, good stuff 👍👍👍👍
I don’t think that’s going to happen. Maybe the next series will be as great.👍
❤️ A loving letter for Gen. Satterfield’s granddaughter. 💌 I hope she appreciates what she has in her possession. ✌️ As we age, get married, have kids, see them leave home, we discover that we too would like to know more about our own parents and grandparents. 🙄 what were their adventures, their struggles, their challenges, and why did they do what they did… and in their own words. 👀
Beautiful letter. Loved reading it. 💌
I read the following paragraph and at first didn’t understand but I think its about growing up and becoming a good man. And Gen. Satterfield, as that boy, was beginning to learn and “see” that the world is tough.
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“As I look back at that time, I realize there was more to the world than our small town and living by the bayou where I went fishing. There was much more, and yet I was not in control of my life. On the positive side, I was being protected against the scourge of illegal, mind-altering drugs that were expanding in society. At the same time, I was not seeing the world for all its good and beauty or its bad and ugliness.” — Gen. Doug Satterfield telling us that we will never really know the world but we should do our best with what we have.
Randy, excellent point, however, Gen. S. Says he is not getting too philosophical but of course that doesn’t mean we can’t.
Yes, I think you’re right about that. This explains, in part, why there is a mental health crisis in America.
I just love this story. As a kid, I too learned about the constellations in the “dark sky.”
Another great letter from Gen. Satterfield. While I’m sad that this series is quickly coming to an end, I’m still going to enjoy every part.
I’m new to this blog. I found it in my search engine, so I clicked on the link. Now, I’m very happy I did. This letter is about a young boy trying to find himself, to figure out what he will be later in life as an adult, and what he admires—like his dogs and family—which he sees as a difficult task. Great story. And now I’ll be reading the rest of these stories.
Welcome aboard, Kathleen. I’m glad your search engine took you here.
Thank you, sir for reading our words. 👍
💌 Hi, Gen. Satterfield. We all hope you are well and recovering from your recent surgery. It’s tough, but hang in there for your granddaughter and other grandkids. 💌 And please continue writing your stories. 💌
Patriot Wife, yes! I agree that we wish Gen. Satterfield a fast recovery from his surgery. I understand that he got a new knee. Well, that means a long road to full recovery.
WOW. BEAUTIFUL. LOVING. WONDERFUL.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️