The immature middle schooler in me laughed. I couldn’t help it. I’ll try to keep this as PG as possible but if you haven’t noticed already look at his middle initial and last name. Read it slowly.
Now imagine being at a memorial service and it’s dead silent. You snort giggle in an attempt to keep it in.
A few minutes later you look at the Staff Sgt’s name again. For some reason, it gets funnier the longer you look. You can’t risk howling with laughter and embarrassing yourself in front of 300 people and you don’t want everyone to collectively glare at you.
So far you’ve managed pretty well with the exception of a huge grin on your face. But you’re pretty sure you can feel the disapproving eyes of the old ladies who sat behind you. You keep thinking, “Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t you dare laugh.” You try to think of something depressing like dead puppies but your morbid sense of humor barges its way in. Crap surely this is the last straw.
Imagine feeling like this for three hours. Thankfully, the pastor joked about his “unique name combination” and I let out a huge laugh of relief. Finally.
On a more serious note, Enis was one of seven who was killed in a helicopter crash over Iraq. He was a true gentleman, selfless and kind. He never met a stranger, rather a friend he hasn’t met yet.
Enis was also a manly man, the type of character that every man aspires to become. He loved fishing and hunting and he was an avid outdoorsman. This guy could dive forty feet on one breath of air and hunt a twelve-foot gator and bring it to shore in an eight-foot canoe. He had so much meat and fish from hunting trips that he and his wife haven’t bought meat for three years. Most men could only dream of being half the man he was.
Requiescat in Pacem Staff Sgt. Carl Enis. Only a real man can handle a name like that.