Code Name: Johnny Walker: The Extraordinary Story of the Iraqi Who Risked Everything to Fight with the U.S. Navy SEALs Read Free Page A

very young at the time, three or four maybe, but I can clearly remember how horribly my mother cried. Her tears came for days and days. The pain in her heart never left her.
    After Ali’s death, my mother became very protective of her children, all of us, but most especially me. I couldn’t play near a heater, whether it was outside or in, even if it was electric and didn’t have flames. She watched us all very closely—I felt at times that I had a chain around my leg. As I got older, I pulled at that chain, and soon left it far behind.
    Admittedly, I had an adventurous streak. I was far from a delinquent and certainly not a bully, but I never shied from a fight or a confrontation. Mine was a rough-and-tumble childhood.
    Living in tiny, cramped houses with lots of relatives, we kids spent most of our time outside on the streets. Unspoken rules governed where you could go and what you could do. It was best not to stray from your own neighborhood, but if you had to for some reason, an errand or something, you had to act a certain way or pay the consequences. You had to be humble in other neighborhoods and kowtow to the kids who lived there. If you acted like you were too tough or looking for a fight, watch out.
    Naturally, I went against these rules. I went into other neighborhoods a lot, looking for trouble. It was a challenge, a way to prove myself not to the kids in those neighborhoods, but to the ones where I lived.
    Looking back now, I know much of this was silly if not stupid, but as a kid I felt as if I had to prove myself. And I did pretty well in the fights. Not that I won all or even most of the time. Winning and losing wasn’t as important as making a good show of yourself. Not quitting, not giving up, just plain being tough—that was how you got respect.
    Word would get back quickly after an encounter. The other kids would nod and smile.
    “He’s tough,” they’d say.
    “Yeah, he’s a leader.”
    Things didn’t always go very smoothly. I remember quite a few beatings at the hands of larger bunches of kids. One day I found myself in another neighborhood, surrounded by seven or eight kids, all around my age. I would have tried fighting them, maybe all at one time, but they were too smart for that. Instead, they formed a loose circle and kept their distance while pelting me with rocks. As soon as I’d get close to one I’d be hit with a couple of stones and have to duck away. Finally I found an opening and was able to run off.
    The encounter had brought me nothing but bruises. It demanded revenge—an important concept in Iraq, even today. Whether you’re a kid who’s been surrounded and humiliated by others or an adult whose family has been wronged, avenging your honor is critical. If you let a slight go unanswered, it’s hard to hold your head up on the street, even if you’re the only one who knows what happened.
    Feeling wronged because I’d been outnumbered and hit by rocks, I decided I needed to do something to restore my honor. So later that night, I took my trusty slingshot and went back to the street where I’d been pelted. The kids were nowhere to be seen, of course, but I found the house where one of them lived.
    There was a white light outside the house . . .
    Ping!
    A smooth stone from my slingshot broke the light. I had my revenge. I went home a happy boy. I knew the kids would know exactly who broke the light. I hoped they’d venture into my neighborhood, where they would get a proper beating from my gang of friends; we’d use our fists, not rocks. But they never did.
    Looking back, it seems silly and petty, but that was the law of kids and the neighborhood. And worse: in time, the insignificant posturing by boys not yet mature would become something more sinister. If you grow up needing to revenge any and all slights, you can’t help but think that way as an adult. If there is no antidote to this—if the government is weak, if education is lacking—then violence surely begets