Read Online Our Last Best Chance: The Pursuit of Peace in a Time of Peril by King Abdullah II, King Abdullah - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: King Abdullah II, King Abdullah
Tags: Fiction, General, History, Biography & Autobiography, Political, Political Science, middle east, International Relations, Royalty, Diplomacy, Arab-Israeli conflict, Peace-building, Peace, Jordan, 1993-
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me from the other students at Eaglebrook, they did have one overwhelming virtue: their own car. Gig and I would ask them to take us to his parents’ house whenever we had a long weekend. The first time we visited, Gig’s parents were a little nervous to see us pull up in a car accompanied by armed bodyguards. Thankfully, Gig’s younger brother Chris broke the tension as I got out of the car—by shooting me with a BB gun. After that, we all laughed and relaxed into the chaotic family atmosphere of the Faux home. Gig’s mother, Mary, an Italian American, had cooked a delicious lasagna that I would come to know well. After each visit, she would give us a large tray to take back with us to Deerfield, and to this day I cannot eat anyone else’s lasagna.
One of my favorite teachers was Dan Hodermarsky, the exuberant, white-bearded head of the art department. He was a warm, gregarious character and beloved by many of the students. Like so many of the Deerfield teachers, “Hodo” looked after us as if we were his own, often delighting in our antics but reeling us in with gentle admonitions.
When it came time for him to go to high school, Feisal, not wanting to forever be known as “Abdullah’s younger brother,” decided not to follow me to Deerfield. When we were children he was determined to do everything the opposite of me. If I wore a T-shirt and jeans, he would wear a suit. Very academic and gifted at math, he went to high school at St. Albans in Washington, D.C., before studying electrical engineering at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. After Brown, he forever differentiated himself from me by attending the Royal Air Force College in Cranwell, England, graduating top of his class and winning five of seven possible awards for cadets. He later joined the Jordanian Air Force as a pilot.
My time at Deerfield passed quickly, and before I knew it I was coming to the end of my senior year. I was planning to attend Dartmouth with Gig, but my life was about to take a quite different turn. Shortly before graduation I sat down with my father, and he asked me how school was going and what I planned to do next. I told him about my plans for university, and how I wanted to study law and international relations. After listening quietly for some time, he said, “Have you ever considered the military?” Coming from my father, this was more of a command than a suggestion. So I began to look at options. I went to visit the Citadel, the military college in South Carolina, but was put off by the thought of four years of its strict, Prussian-style curriculum. When I walked through the dining hall, the cadets seemed very stiff and formal. It was a long way from what I had experienced at Deerfield.
Back in Amman one evening I was watching a movie with my father and Feisal. Sensing that I was not excited by the thought of an American military education, my father said, “What about Sandhurst? It’s where your grandfather and I went. Why don’t you go there?”
PART II
Chapter 5
Sandhurst
T he gravel crunched beneath the car’s tires as I pulled up to the gate. I got out of the car, picked up my bag, and walked through with the academy adjunct, who was responsible for welcoming new students. Back in the United States in the fall of 1980 my Deerfield friends were discovering the delights of pop, dancing to Fleetwood Mac and the Blues Brothers. Some of my peers in the UK were engaging in body piercing and dyeing their hair purple. But I was about to undergo quite a different experience. Walking through the gates of the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, I was in for the shock of my life.
The first five weeks were hell. We marched for hours on the parade ground, woke up before dawn to go running in the pouring rain, and shined our boots endlessly, with color sergeants shouting at us constantly. I thought, “What the hell have I got myself into?” All my classmates from Deerfield were freshmen at places like Dartmouth,
One of my favorite teachers was Dan Hodermarsky, the exuberant, white-bearded head of the art department. He was a warm, gregarious character and beloved by many of the students. Like so many of the Deerfield teachers, “Hodo” looked after us as if we were his own, often delighting in our antics but reeling us in with gentle admonitions.
When it came time for him to go to high school, Feisal, not wanting to forever be known as “Abdullah’s younger brother,” decided not to follow me to Deerfield. When we were children he was determined to do everything the opposite of me. If I wore a T-shirt and jeans, he would wear a suit. Very academic and gifted at math, he went to high school at St. Albans in Washington, D.C., before studying electrical engineering at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. After Brown, he forever differentiated himself from me by attending the Royal Air Force College in Cranwell, England, graduating top of his class and winning five of seven possible awards for cadets. He later joined the Jordanian Air Force as a pilot.
My time at Deerfield passed quickly, and before I knew it I was coming to the end of my senior year. I was planning to attend Dartmouth with Gig, but my life was about to take a quite different turn. Shortly before graduation I sat down with my father, and he asked me how school was going and what I planned to do next. I told him about my plans for university, and how I wanted to study law and international relations. After listening quietly for some time, he said, “Have you ever considered the military?” Coming from my father, this was more of a command than a suggestion. So I began to look at options. I went to visit the Citadel, the military college in South Carolina, but was put off by the thought of four years of its strict, Prussian-style curriculum. When I walked through the dining hall, the cadets seemed very stiff and formal. It was a long way from what I had experienced at Deerfield.
Back in Amman one evening I was watching a movie with my father and Feisal. Sensing that I was not excited by the thought of an American military education, my father said, “What about Sandhurst? It’s where your grandfather and I went. Why don’t you go there?”
PART II
Chapter 5
Sandhurst
T he gravel crunched beneath the car’s tires as I pulled up to the gate. I got out of the car, picked up my bag, and walked through with the academy adjunct, who was responsible for welcoming new students. Back in the United States in the fall of 1980 my Deerfield friends were discovering the delights of pop, dancing to Fleetwood Mac and the Blues Brothers. Some of my peers in the UK were engaging in body piercing and dyeing their hair purple. But I was about to undergo quite a different experience. Walking through the gates of the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, I was in for the shock of my life.
The first five weeks were hell. We marched for hours on the parade ground, woke up before dawn to go running in the pouring rain, and shined our boots endlessly, with color sergeants shouting at us constantly. I thought, “What the hell have I got myself into?” All my classmates from Deerfield were freshmen at places like Dartmouth,
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