April 27, 2003 Son gets one M and M closer to Pop's return By NORA K. WALLACE Each time 2-year-old Zachary Bako eats an M and M, he knows his Pop is one day closer to coming home. When your parents are in the military, there's always a chance that one or the other could be gone for months, particularly in war time. That's the case for Maj. Pete Bako -- "Pop" to Zachary and 9-month-old Hayden. Since Nov. 15, 2002, the 35-year-old officer has been at Prince Sultan Air Base in Al Kharj, Saudi Arabia. He's usually chief of operations in the Civil Engineering Squadron at Vandenberg Air Force Base. His wife, Maj. Stacee Bako, decided her oldest son needed to somehow grasp how long his father would be gone; checking off squares on a calendar didn't have much meaning to the little boy. So she counted out 90 M and Ms -- one for each day Pete was expected to be gone. "I wanted there to be a visual clock," said Stacee Bako, chief of Vandenberg's Public Affairs unit. "Zach's 2. He doesn't get time. He doesn't get a calendar. This is something he could look at and look to see how much more time we have to go." The little boy can barely even say M and M, mangling it into "Nem-en-em." Prompted to explain what it means when the jar is empty, Zachary grins and says, "Pop home." If Zach stuck to his one-a-day candy routine, the little jar would long be empty by now. But because of the war in Iraq, and other concerns around the world, lots of military people had their tours extended until further notice. Now Pete Bako isn't expected home for at least another month. Because Zachary won't really understand that time change, his mother hasn't told him anything; she just surreptitiously added more candy to the jar. While Zachary can remember his father, 9-month-old Hayden will have no such connection. He was 4 months old when his father left. "He's missing so much, and the kids grow so much that first year," Stacee Bako, 35, said. "They (babies) go from little balls, lumps, to wonderful, fascinating, involved, interacting people, and it happens in a matter of months. And he's missing it." After her husband had been gone for a few weeks, Stacee Bako sent Pete a photo album of the boys and care packages of favorite food and cards. "We want him to know he's loved," she explained. "We miss him. We miss him being here." At Prince Sultan, Pete Bako is basically in charge of the 300 or so men and women who take care of the infrastructure at the base. His wife labels him an overachiever and notes he's working 12-hour days, six days a week. Prince Sultan Air Base is about 50 miles south of Riyadh and houses an estimated 4,500 U.S. military personnel. Much like a city, it has permanent structures, including a recreation center, dining halls and a coffee shop. In a side room of the coffee place, a special curtained area has been set aside for parents. It holds a video camera and a pile of children's books. Sitting in a blazing desert thousands of miles from home, the deployed mothers and fathers can sit and read stories to their children while a videotape records the moment -- with the sound of a cappuccino machine going off in the background. Maj. Bako recently made a tape, and occasionally his wife will pop the video into the family VCR and show Zachary and Hayden their father. "I don't want the kids to forget their father," she said. "Until I hear otherwise, he's coming home. It's important they know who he is. This helps Zach remember." In one segment of the tape, Pete Bako picks up a Sesame Street book, featuring the character Big Bird. It is titled, "I Want To Go Home!" "That's Pops saying it, too," Maj. Bako says on the tape. "I want to go home to see my family." |
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