Josh, however, has a completely different story. Josh was born on a military base in Frankfurt, Germany, on April 13, 1986. His father worked on tanks, while his mother did what every other military mom and wife does: tried to figure out what to do with herself without the support of any friends or family. Military housing for an Army sergeant is less than desirable, especially on foreign soil. Josh’s home in Germany came furnished with items that some might say were not choices you’d make if ordering from a catalog. Their apartment was emblematic of post–World War II life in Germany. It had bare walls, bars on the windows, and no carpets. Josh and his mom did their best to live as normal a life as possible in Germany.
Before long, Josh’s father, Patrick, was ordered to come back to the United States. He was stationed at Fort Bliss, Texas, outside El Paso at the United States–Mexico border. This is the part of Army brat life that Josh remembers best. The house in Fort Bliss was affectionately named “the square house.” There were hardly any walls separating the rooms in the house, hence its nickname. The lack of walls inside mattered less once Josh discovered the backyard, his new oasis. It was a yard filled with lava rocks surrounded by a cinder block wall. Beyond that wall was the desert—a haven of mysterious creatures, extreme temperatures, and lots of dirt. They first moved when Josh was five years old, and he needed a lot of supervision in the backyard at first. Any adventures beyond the cinder block wall usually led to a whipping for one reason or another. In the backyard, Josh had a toy box. I suppose the toy box was once filled with normal things, but a Josh Wetzel toy box is useless unless it’s harboring wild animals. Rattlesnakes, horned frogs, tarantulas, lizards, and rodents would take turns living in the box. Whenever he could sneak away, Josh would hop the wall into the sand and come back with pockets full of desert-dwelling critters. He does not have a single scar from a scratch or bite to show from any of them, but what he lacked in animal bites I’m sure was made up in gray hairs for his mom. Josh wouldn’t lay down roots until after his parents split up when he was almost six years old. He and his mom settled down in her hometown of Glencoe, Alabama. When Josh landed in his family’s North Alabama homestead, he began attending church with his nana on a regular basis. Church was an event Josh enjoyed well into his teenage years, even if it was just to hang out with his friends. As is the nature of a small town, these same friends would also be Josh’s classmates and teammates. The daring kid born in Europe who had once entertained himself with catching hazardous animals finally had a homestead.
Somewhere between his father’s genetics and his early years of adventurous boyhood lies the reason that Josh isn’t afraid to do anything. Being afraid of something and afraid to do something are different things. I think my husband is actually afraid of a lot of things, but there’s something inside him drives him toward danger instead of away from it. He would be the first to admit that he is afraid of heights, but he could not wait to jump out of a plane during Airborne School. I guess that’s what makes him perfect for the Army.
Josh was made for the Army, but he joined after he flunked out of college. It’s actually pretty ironic how much he embraced the structured military life, because a year before he enlisted, he couldn’t wake up in time for a 9:00 a.m. class. I guess the learning environment makes the difference sometimes. Josh would prefer someone yelling and cursing in his ear while he’s doing some kind of grueling physical activity over a PowerPoint in a lecture hall any day.
I, on the other hand, am nothing like Josh. If it looks scary, I won’t go near it. I need predictable, safe outcomes with little risk. Deep down, I have always known I needed someone like Josh in my life. Someone who would help me live and try to put myself out there, but fear and doubt were rooted deeper inside me than I think I understood.
He couldn’t survive without his optimism, but I don’t know if he ever thinks twice about his decisions. There’s a lot that can go wrong even if most of it goes according to plan. Regrettably, I am often double-minded when it comes to Josh. I don’t always respect his laid-back attitude, thinking, Oh, he thinks this is just a big joke. The other part of me is so jealous of his perspective. How amazing would it be to live in such freedom? To not care what people think, even though you know that they know you messed up? The whole world knows how Josh ended up joining the Army, despite how much I tried to control the narrative with sugarcoated versions of the story. Yet, he still walks around with a smile on his face, never stopping to think someone might think less of him. Even if they did, he would say that’s their problem to sort out.
We were ignorant to what this would ultimately bring to our marriage because we positioned ourselves in our faith the same way. Ironically, we agreed on a similar theology—there is a God, and He knows what He’s doing—but we had completely different approaches for what that meant for us as individuals. I approached faith and religion believing there were blanket
