Thread by @jackmjenkins

1. I have written many threads, but this will be my most important — at least to me.

I want to tell you all about my father and namesake, John Jenkins, who passed away last week.

He is the greatest man I have ever known, and we don’t talk about Americans like him often enough.

2. Since so many of y’all follow me because of politics, let me begin by noting that my father often insisted he was politically independent.

In practice, this generally meant he defied tidy political stereotypes.

This will make more sense as I go on.

3. Dad was born in South Carolina, his family’s ancestral home, but bounced around several states throughout his childhood as a military brat.

His high school years were in Alaska, where he became a local baseball hero — one of the newly-minted state’s first “batting champions.”

4. It was AK where he said his prejudices “began to be ground away.” He often spoke of when he realized a black girl in his class was “just obviously smarter” than him.

Although reared in a racist region, Dad reacted by…concluding justifications for systemic racism were false.

5. I tried many times over the years to explain to my father that many people don’t have that kind of matter-of-fact reaction when confronted with the illogical nature of racism.

He always responded with a confused look, followed by a shrug.

6. Anyway, Dad was eventually admitted into West Point.

He graduated in 1966, the same class as Wesley Clark, and was promptly deployed to Vietnam.

7. When you ask veterans about Vietnam, you get a myriad of different responses. Some will note how rough it was, or how crazy, or how horrifying.

But my Dad always gave the same enigmatic answer: “It has the most beautiful sunsets.”

(This is his photo — Dad loved photography)

8. You see, I’ve come to learn my father was a different kind of soldier, one rarely discussed in modern discourse. Rather than demonize his enemy, he always voiced – and, through his actions, displayed — a profound respect for those he fought against.

Let me give some examples.

9. Dad was gravely wounded during his 2nd tour when an enemy RPG struck a boat he and his soldiers were using to cross a river.

That’s a whole story unto itself (Dad was a uniquely talented storyteller) but here’s the upshot: shrapnel remained in his back until the day he died.

10. After being medevaced to a hospital, he awoke to an unusual bedmate beside him: a wounded North Vietnamese soldier.

The soldier was petrified, hiding under a bedsheet. He was also hungry: he declined to eat, either due to fear or unfamiliarity with the food/western utensils.

11. So Dad, his back freshly riddled with metal, responded: He stood up, grabbed his IVs, hobbled over, and taught the soldier how to eat with a fork.

Dad saw a person in need—even an enemy combatant—and instinctively offered comfort.

That’s the kind of man he was.

12. Granted, the soldier may have already known how to use a fork, but that wasn’t really the point.

Dad was signaling to the solider — and, more importantly, everyone around him — that he was not alone.

13. Another time, Dad convinced those under his command to spare the life of a wounded Vietnamese officer.

They were set on murdering a man they (thought) had killed their friend, but Dad persuaded them—after a tense barrage of orders, speeches, and bargaining—to relent.

14. If that sounds like a scene out of Saving Private Ryan, that’s because it basically was — but Dad was telling that story long before Spielberg directed his Oscar-winning his film.

Dad was the kind of person you wrote stories ABOUT.

15. Note: Dad never bragged about this. Heck, the only thing he ever bragged about was his family and his ability to adjust artillery (he was apparently freakishly good at it). This despite Bronze Stars (w/valor) and a Purple Heart.

We just got this out of him eventually.

16. Anyway, Dad — an Army Ranger — left Vietnam after 2 tours, embarking on a 20+ year military career. He also earned a master’s degree in anthropology, which he says broadened his worldview and sparked a fascination with culture (he also eventually became fluent in Spanish).

17. Oh, and he did a bunch of jaw-droppingly awesome stuff that set a pretty impossible standard of coolness to live up to.

Like, say, scuba dive around coral reefs. Or join a ski team. Or drive a motorcycle. Or fly airplanes.

But Dad never bragged about that stuff, either.

18. All of this was before I was born in Washington DC, when Dad worked at the Pentagon. It’s still not entirely clear to me what he did there, although I’ve pieced together it had something to do w/the Army’s response in the event of a massive attack.

Yes, seriously.

19. Dad retired from the service (as a LTC) soon thereafter, eventually taking a job at a nuclear facility.

There, he (and others) helped develop the nuclear power supply for NASA’s Cassini space probe, which ended its mission to Saturn last year by crashing into the gas planet.

20. Sometimes I look up at the sky at night and smile, knowing that a piece of my Dad will forever reside among the stars.

I think he’d like that: Astronomy was one of our favorite shared pastimes growing up, and my Mom just got him a new telescope this Christmas.

21. It’s worth noting that Dad was both passionately devoted to science AND deeply religious.

Science was never, ever incongruous with faith in our household. When Dad told me the Creation story, it always included evolution.

22. But perhaps my Dad’s most immutable traits were his heart for others and passion for what he saw to be the foundational principles of the American experiment: duty, decency, and equality.

My Dad rarely angered, but when he did, it was usually because someone was mistreated.

23. For example: my father once debated a state senator in the pages of our state newspaper over the Confederate flag.

Dad, a veteran whose Southern roots date back from before the American Revolution, argued passionately that the flag should be taken down from the state house.

24. No one asked him to do this. He wasn’t part of any activist group or organization.

He just felt it was the right thing to do.

And he did it in the 90s — decades before the 2015 debate.

25. It was because of him I was able to write this: thinkprogress.org/how-the-charle…

I reference him here.

26. Career military folks often insist on being apolitical in public, but Dad also spoke up for others in quiet ways and through constant conversations with peers — for LGBTQ people, for environmental preservation, for women in the military, and for immigrants, among many others.

27. There are so many other stories. I could wax poetic about how my Southern military father never taught me hyper-masculinity, but—along with my AMAZING mom—raised my sister and I to pursue “adulthood” (not “manhood”).

I could tell you about his unpublished book on leadership.

28. But really, I just want y’all to know that people like my father exist in this world, and model a different way of being.

Dad was not perfect — he would certainly never claim to be — and, of course, we did not always agree. But he insisted on growing throughout his life.

29. To me, my Dad symbolized the ultimate difference between a certain kinds of nationalism and true patriotism.

Nationalists can prioritize sacrificing others for themselves.

Patriots prioritize sacrificing themselves for others.

My father was a patriot.

30. I love you, Dad, and I will miss you so, so much. I will try to use what you taught me.

And for the record, you were right: I visited Vietnam several years ago and made a point of watching the sun dip below the horizon.

It was the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen.

31. Not surprisingly, one of the memorials we have chosen for my Dad is a scholarship in leadership fund at my alma mater (and that of several in my family) Presbyterian College.

You can give here, just note that it’s in his name: my.presby.edu/givenow

32. (Note: was just informed you need to select “PC Scholarship Fund” or “Other” from the drop-down menu if you donate, and, again, note his name in comments)