My First Afghan Flashback

So I was shopping in Sam’s Club last week, near the power bar aisle, when I spotted a crate of “Clif Bars.”

Instantly, wonderful memories of wars not so long ago came flooding back.

I thought I had repressed my memories of Clif Bars. They fall into the “just OK” category of power bars. By themselves, Clif Bars aren't very memorable. They're just power bars.

But we loved them in Iraq and Afghanistan. We knew which mess halls kept them in stock when I was stationed in Baghdad last spring and at Bagram Airfield in Afghanistan last summer. We would ask friends to score a couple for us if they were heading to a particular mess hall suspected of carrying them. We would save them in our desk drawers for those times when we didn't have time for the mess hall.

Fast forward to last week: I bought one box. And just like I had remembered, they’re “just OK.” They are, however, great for dashboard dining when I have to eat in my car. Combined with a Diet Coke, a couple of Cliff Bars can hold you for the day. Half the box is already gone.

I completed my tours in Iraq and Afghanistan a couple months ago. Yet I still don’t feel completely ensconced in my civilian life in Southern California. Every now and then, something as bizarre as Clif Bars triggers memories of incredibly intense war-time experiences. Working seven days a week, up to 15 hours a day, I felt like my brains had been run though the spin cycle. I still haven’t decompressed from my adventures.

Among veterans, I’m just fortunate that something as benign as a Clif Bar triggers a wartime memory. In my six months overseas, I didn’t even get as much as a paper cut. Obviously, I vividly remember the sounds of incoming rockets and attack sirens, but if I heard them now, they might not trigger memories as powerful as those triggered by Clif Bars.

It’s just bizarre. I can’t explain the paradox.