American Wife (15 page)

Chris saw him hanging back and went over to talk. Omar suddenly opened up about survivor guilt—he'd lost his best friend in the attack. Finding someone to talk with about the war was difficult, Omar said; he just didn't feel right talking about it.

Chris suggested that Omar write his experiences down. Omar not only did that; he soon began putting them into poetry, and today has a fair number of touching and eloquent war poems.

More than that, the two became good friends. Today, Omar mentors other wounded warriors and works as the Texas coordinator of Feherty's Troops First Foundation.

It was amazing how wise Chris could be. Recently, someone who had randomly corresponded with him sent me an email Chris had sent to his son about joining the service and college:

From: “Chris Kyle”

Date: December 25, 2010 at 12:55:57 AM EST

I appreciate your upbringing and your respect. My dad would have kicked my ass if I didn't call everyone sir or Mr. until they notified me otherwise. So I am telling you, my name is Chris. Please no more sir bullshit.

I went to college right out of high school, but did not finish. Sometimes I do regret that. Now that I am out, I could really use the degree. Even if you think you will retire from the service, like I did, there is life after the military. I joined at 24 years old. I had some mental maturity over my teammates due to joining later. I also got to enjoy my youth. One thing about being a SEAL, you age fast. I was only in for eleven years, but I spent over half that time in a combat zone. Unlike other combat units, SEALs in a combat zone are operating. That means getting shot at on a daily basis. I had a baby face when I joined, and within two years, I looked as if I had aged 10 years. I am not in any way talking you out of joining. I loved my time, and if I hadn't gotten married and had two kids, I would still be in. Unforeseen events will come at you in life. Your plans today will not be the same in four years. I am just trying to prep you for what is to come. I sit in an office or train other people on a range all day, every day. I would much rather be in Afghanistan being shot at again. I love the job and still miss it today. There is no better friendship than what the teams will offer. Once you become a SEAL, you will change. Your friends and family may think you are the same, but if they are really honest, they will see the difference. You will no longer have that innocence that you have now. Sometimes I even miss that person I used to be, but do not regret in any way who I have become. You will be much harder emotionally than you have ever imagined. The day to day bullshit that stresses people out now, fades away. You realize, once you have faced death and accepted it, that the meaningless bullshit in day to day life is worthless.

I know this was a long answer to an easy question, but I just wanted to be completely honest. Take your time and enjoy your youth. The SEALs are one of the greatest things that have ever happened to me, but once you are in, you will no longer be the same.

Chris Kyle

One of the things that I admired about Chris's relationship with our kids was his insistence that each be his or her own person.

Even when that meant rooting against his beloved Dallas Cowboys. Though in that case, there were limits.

He and Bubba were watching a football game one Sunday, with Dallas playing the Philadelphia Eagles.

Philadelphia started winning from the get-go. Decisively. And Bubba rooted for them. Loudly.

Finally, Chris could take it no more.

“Bubba, you can root for whoever you want,” he said at last. “But today, you're going to do it in your head.”

Silly stuff could tickle him no end. Chris loved practical jokes, even when they weren't planned.

One day he brought home a large kudu head to keep for a friend. (Kudus are large African antelopes; this one had been shot and mounted as a trophy.) I was in the kitchen getting something out of the refrigerator. I heard a noise and looked up—there was a beast in my house!

I screamed.

Chris appeared behind the head. For a brief moment his face was tight with concern and worry.

It was a
very
brief moment. When he realized he'd scared me with the silly head, he began laughing so hard the house shook.

“I'm sorry,” he said, gasping for air. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

He laughed some more.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said when he managed to stop momentarily. “I'm sorry.”

Another five minutes of hysterical laughter. By now it was contagious, and I started laughing, too.

“I didn't mean to do it,” he said finally. “But it couldn't have worked out better.”

I liked to make stuffed baked potatoes with all the trimmings, including bacon. But being a health-conscious cook, I cut all the fat parts off, using only the meat. One day I was in the middle of cooking and had piled the bacon on a plate. The fat, still hot, was on another plate waiting to go in the garbage.

Chris walked into the kitchen.

“Bacon!” he said, practically licking his lips.

“Don't eat any of this,” I told him. “There's not enough for the potatoes.

His eyes twinkled. I left the kitchen for a moment. When I came back, all of the bacon meat was still there.

The plate with the fat, however, was empty.

Oh. My. God.

“Tell me you threw out the fat!” I said.

He just smiled.

I'm sure it tasted really good, at least to him. As for the health consequences, he couldn't have cared less. To his way of thinking, when your time came, it came, and there was nothing you could do about it beforehand. So why not eat all the bacon fat you wanted?

As we settled into our home, we developed some family rituals. There was dinner together every night. Saturday sports with the kids. Watching football on Sunday, of course.

At night before bedtime, we'd gather the kids on our bed and read a bedtime story. Then we'd each take a turn saying what we were grateful for, thank God, and pray. It was always fascinating to hear what the kids were thankful for. They'd come out with things I had never thought of, sometimes an innocuous thing that had happened during the day.

I never once heard bacon fat mentioned, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it were.

For most people who have kids, “dates” are pretty much a thing of the past. But Chris and I were able to get some breaks thanks to our family and the occasional babysitter.

One of our best dates was actually a weekend when we went to the wedding of a friend from the Teams. The couple married in Wimberley, Texas, a small town maybe forty miles south of Austin and a few hours' drive from where we lived. We were having such a pleasant day, we didn't want it to end.

“It doesn't have to end,” suggested Chris as we headed for the car. “The kids are at my parents' for the weekend. Where do you want to go?”

We googled for hotels and found a place in San Antonio, a little farther south. Located around the corner from the Alamo, the hotel seemed tailor-made for Chris. There was history in every floorboard. He loved the authentic Texan and Old West touches, from the lobby to the rooms. He read every framed article on the walls and admired each artifact. We walked through halls where famous lawmen—and maybe an outlaw or two—had trod a hundred years before. In the evening, we relaxed with coffee out on the balcony of our room—something we'd never managed to do when we actually owned one. It was one of those perfect days you dream of, completely unplanned.

I have a great picture of Chris sitting out there in his cowboy boots, feet propped up, a big smile on his face. It's still one of my favorites.

People ask about Chris's love of the Old West. It was something he was born with, really. It had to be in his genes. He grew up watching old westerns with his family, and for a time became a bronco-bustin' cowboy and ranch hand.

More than that, I think the clear sense of right and wrong, of frontier justice and strong values, appealed to him.

We never did find a buyer for the San Diego house. The bank foreclosed that fall. We were officially broke.

HELLO, AMERICA! HELLO, CHRIS KYLE!

A week or so before Christmas 2011, the publisher contacted Chris and told him that
Time
magazine had read the advance copy of
American Sniper
and wanted to interview him. It was the first indication that there was going to be a lot of interest in the book.

Chris flew up into the cold Northeast, did the interview, and met with the publisher. While he was there, he learned that the interview was just the start. Television news shows were lining up to talk to him. The lineup included
The O'Reilly Factor
.

Getting on
O'Reilly
is the book world's equivalent of performing at the Super Bowl; there are no guarantees in life, but being Bill's guest is as close to a guarantee as there is that your book will become a bestseller.

Actually, the advance sales were so strong that
Sniper
was already going to be a bestseller, but we didn't understand that. In fact, while Jim and the publisher had told us
some
of what to expect, even they didn't know just how big it would be. No one wants to be too optimistic in a world where even the best books can beg for an audience.

To me, it was all a little surreal.
O'Reilly?
Really? This could really be . . . big. I think.

The funny thing is, Chris would have been completely happy if only ten people bought the book. If it had been sitting on a shelf in the back of the bookstore somewhere, he would have been fine. In fact, I think that's pretty much what he expected.

Chris came home and we had a wonderful Christmas. On New Year's Day, he flew back to New York.
O'Reilly
was just the start.

It didn't take long before he was exhausted from back-to-back-to-back interviews and other events. Things blurred together as he went from studio to studio before crashing in his hotel room.

Sometime during this week, he went on the
Opie & Anthony
show. Toward the end, a caller came on and asked if he'd been in a fight with Jesse Ventura. He said he had; the hosts laughed and shared a joke, then moved on.

Chris promptly forgot about it; there were many other things to concentrate on.

Later that day, he and Jim went down to the World Trade Center site. After going through the temporary museum nearby, they walked a few blocks in silence, found a bar, and had a drink before continuing the day's interviews.

Back in Texas, I sensed things were going well, but I didn't know how well. I hadn't read military books, so I didn't know how they sold or what they could be compared to. And while I knew Chris's life was heroic, I didn't know whether it would really translate into something that would interest other people. They'd had to leave a lot of things out—books can only be so long—and besides, words rarely if ever can get to the real essence of a man. So I didn't know.

Then came the book signing in Dallas.

Fearing there might be threats from al-Qaeda or some other terrorist group, the publisher arranged for security to cover the signing, which was to be Chris's first. As is common, the security team sent an advance man to the Dallas Barnes & Noble bookstore a few hours ahead of the event to check things out.

He called back with an incredible report: there were people lined up around the store already.

Wow, I thought.

Wow!

Wow
didn't begin to cover it. People lined up on two floors of the store to talk to Chris and get their books signed, hours before he was even scheduled to arrive. Chris was overwhelmed when he got there, and so was I. The week before, he'd been just another guy walking down the street. Now, all of a sudden he was famous.

Except he was still the same Chris Kyle, humble and a bit abashed, ready to shake hands and pose for a picture, and always, at heart, a good ol' boy.

“I'm so nervous,” confided one of the people on the line as he approached Chris. “I've been waiting for three hours just to see you.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Chris. “Waitin' all that time and come to find out there's just another redneck up here.”

The man laughed, and so did Chris. It was something he'd repeat, in different variations, countless times that night and over the coming weeks.

We stayed for three or four hours that first night, far beyond what had been advertised, with Chris signing each book, shaking each hand, and genuinely grateful for each person who came. For their part, they were anxious not just to meet him but to thank him for his service to our country—and by extension, the service of every military member whom they couldn't personally thank. From the moment the book was published, Chris became the son, the brother, the nephew, the cousin, the kid down the street whom they couldn't personally thank. In a way, his outstanding military record was beside the point—he was a living, breathing patriot who had done his duty and come home safe to his wife and kids. Thanking him was people's way of thanking everyone in uniform.

And, of course, the book was an interesting read. It quickly became a commercial success beyond anyone's wildest dreams, including the publisher's. The hardcover debuted at number two on the
New York Times
bestseller list, then rose to number one and stayed there for more than two months. It's remained a fixture on the bestseller lists ever since, and has been translated into twenty-four languages worldwide.

It was a good read, and it had a profound effect on a lot of people. A lot of the people who bought it weren't big book readers, but they ended up engrossed. A friend of ours told us that he'd started reading the book one night while he was taking a bath with his wife. She left, went to bed, and fell asleep. She woke up at three or four and went into the bathroom. Her husband was still there, in the cold water, reading.