His name was Adam, and sometimes he wondered if his parents actually opened a book and pointed, rather than making any kind of effort to pick a name they liked. At least that's how it felt growing up.

There was never any tenderness in his parents' tone when they called him in for supper. In fact, he imagined they regretted not naming him Gregory or Archibald, something they could enunciate through their gritted teeth, dragging each syllable through the venom in the forced conversations they needed to have with their only child.

As an adult, looking back at his childhood, he had little doubt that he was an unwanted product of a marriage built on shifting sand. For whatever reason they'd married, Adam was certain it wasn't love. His childhood home was a mixture of resentment, accusations and blame. At least, when the marriage ended, Adam was given credit for that. It was a bitter irony to get credit for anything, he told the doctor, before reciting his mother's words. "You dirty little snot. It's your fault we're getting divorced. Before you were born, I was beautiful. Look at me now," his mother yelled at the ten-year-old boy.

It took eight years for Adam to grow up, finish high-school and get away from his mother permanently. Most of the years were spent with his grandmother. His mother was busy, "Looking for a new husband," Nana said.
He never saw his father again, but by the time he struck out on his own, he didn't blame his dad for leaving--his mother was a cold shrew. In his young mind, his father became a tragic hero who left to save himself. No man could live with that woman, though two men tried, and failed.

Even though he never slept under the same roof as his mother and her two new husbands, when those relationships ended, he was blamed for those failures as well. "Why did you tell Robert you were my son? I'm too young to have a sixteen-year-old child." Her rage was all-consuming. "I told him you were my little brother. Why did you have to spoil it--again?"

His grandmother was kind to him, but she neither had the energy nor means to raise a child. Widowed, living off her social security, she scrimped and made her dollars stretch, but Adam knew he was a burden. He'd never been loved and he began to believe he was incapable of feeling tenderness.

Women became conquests. Men became competitors. Adam had neither family nor friends, and he liked it just fine that way--less baggage to haul around. His expectations in life were so low, he was never disappointed--except once.

After leaving his grandmother's house, he joined the navy. For two years he'd lived a disciplined life, honing his skills to live with the bare essentials, respecting the rules and earning attention. The US Navy was his new home. It was only when he applied to become a SEAL, that he felt the sting of disappointment.

Passing both the physical training requirements and vocational aptitude tests, he was stunned to learn that he'd been turned down as a SEAL.

"Son, I know you're disappointed, but the psychological tests have determined that you don't work well in a team setting. As a SEAL, every member of your team has to depend on you-- know that you've got their back. Your ship-mates attest that you've never gone on shore leave with them and the tests bear out their assessment. You're a loner," the commanding officer told him.

*****

"Doctor, are you suggesting that the patient in room 645 was a potential SEAL and that he served in the United States Navy? I find that hard to believe. Even given the report about his early childhood you've shared with the committee, the man on paper is a survivor. Our patient is a suicidal parasite who is using military services to expunge every last nickel. My suggestion is to medicate the man--this Adam Wallace, and recommend vocational training."

A dark-haired doctor, a civilian appointed to the review board, pushed his glasses up on his nose and leaned towards the chairman. "Sir, I find this a compelling story, but there is no evidence of any traumatic experience that would validate this man's claim to compensation and absolutely nothing that points to military responsibility. It states here in your report that the seaman fell in love. How is this relevant? And, what part does this woman have in this claim?"

"None whatsoever; Dr. Spencer; there is a statement in the attorney's disposition from the wife, but even I must dismiss her ability to evaluate the situation--after all, the marriage lasted mere months. Her claim is that Petty Officer Wallace never recovered from being disallowed into the SEAL program and that he was ill-equipped to deal with the emotional aspects of a human relationship. In her words, 'he cracked.' She blames the navy--says they rejected him--broke his spirit."

The members of the board shuffled papers around; sat reading the psychiatric reports and the therapists' observations.

"These emotional outbreaks seem to disclose deep-seated pain--nothing to do with his service," a member of the board said.

"There's nothing in the file that indicates any responsibility for the US military to give any kind of long term compensation. We've done enough."

"I think he's faking it," Doctor Spencer said, shoving the file across the boardroom table, dismissing the last person on the review board's agenda. "He's looking for a free ride."

"Still," the chairman said, as he cleared his throat, "He's one of our own."

The derisive snort from the end of the table riveted the committee's attention to the retired Admiral, the usually silent member of the board. "What is this scribbling in the file--some of your psycho-jumbo? No wonder the SEALS turned him down. There's no room for this kind of clap-trap in the service."

"Admiral, we encourage our patients to write out their feelings. Sometimes it helps the patient reveal deep truths that they won't discuss. Their military discipline gets in the way."

'It's crap. The kid can't write worth shit. SEALS didn't want him, and reading all this drivel about love makes me want to puke. This boy's not 'one of our own,' and I should know, having served for thirty years."

Fearing a long dissertation from the Admiral, the board quickly moved to vote. Denied.

"Let him go back to his people, get the help he needs from HMO. This isn't a military matter," Dr. Spencer said as he left the meeting.

The chairman leaned back in his chair and looked around at the empty room. He couldn't help scrawling the words 'missing in action' on the inside cover before he closed the file.

His name was Adam--Petty Officer, Adam Wallace.