Thursday May 1

Recovering soldier given Purple Heart

Medal ceremony raises mixed feelings for Iraq veteran

By Lisa Fernandez / Bay Area News Group

Guests ate cake and drank punch in his honor. His mother was handed a bouquet of yellow roses. Supervisors praised him for his humility and heroism.

But 21-year-old Army Cpl. Bryan Castro did not want to be at his own ceremony Wednesday to receive a Purple Heart, the country's oldest military award given to those wounded in combat.

"It sucks," Castro said after he was handed the medal at the Veterans Affairs hospital dining hall in Palo Alto. "I never intended to get this medal. I don't want to remember what happened that day."

That day was Oct. 8, 2007, in Iraq, when a bullet from enemy fire shattered his skull. For the past several months, Castro has been recovering at the VA on Miranda Avenue, which specializes in treating traumatic brain injuries.

The most visible sign of Castro's injuries are pencil-thin grooves shaved into his buzz cut, showing where surgeons put titanium mesh into his skull. But other than that, to a casual observer and even to some of his Army buddies who attended the ceremony, Castro looked good.

Dressed in a blue button-down shirt and clean white sneakers, he grinned his characteristic toothy smile, noting that he's able to walk, talk and even run these days - although not as fast as he used to. What people can't see is the occasional short-term memory loss, the times when he can't remember what happened that morning, or what someone told him the day before.

Among the blank spots in his memory - Castro says perhaps it's a blessing - is that he can't remember anything about the day he was shot. People have told him he was late to breakfast, after his alarm didn't go off that day.

Friends say that he was later standing cover for his unit as they were inspecting the driver of a suspicious vehicle in Baghdad, who was indeed carting around a cache of weapons. Then the sound of gunfire pierced the air, and a bullet struck Castro's head. His friends rushed him to the nearest military hospital, saving his life.

Two of those buddies from the Alpha Battery, 3rd Battalion, 82nd Field Artillery, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division of the U.S. Army, flew in for the ceremony - the first reunion for the trio since the attack.

Sgt. Rafael Rijos, 26, of Puerto Rico, and Staff Sgt. Michael Pool, 27, of Dallas, now stationed at Ford Hood in Texas, said Castro - a shy, smiling friend they call the "Guam bomb" - is the only combat injury they've witnessed.

They haven't discussed many of the details with Castro, known for his determination and speed in loading cannons, because he hasn't wanted to know them. Though Castro didn't necessarily want to receive the Purple Heart, it meant a lot to his friends.

"It seemed like there was no closure," said Pool, who had picked up Castro's near-lifeless body that day and rushed him to the hospital. "This was good today. It seemed like a chapter that needed to be closed."

Purple Hearts were first given out by George Washington in 1782 to reward troops for "unusual gallantry." Now, they are given to military personnel who have been wounded in combat. More than 18,250 Purple Hearts have been awarded to U.S. Army servicemen and women wounded in Iraq.

Castro's parents, Barbara, a substitute teacher, and Vincent, a construction foreman, left their home in Guam soon after Bryan Castro was injured and have been living at the Fisher House at the Palo Alto VA ever since.

Their two other sons, Vincent, 24, and Benjamin, 23, both in the U.S. Army stationed at Moffett Field, attended the ceremony, along with the couple's daughter, Teresa, 18, and other friends and relatives. Having three sons in the military has been hard, the parents said. But all three boys wanted to find "better opportunities" than what are typically found on the small island of Guam, an American territory in the southwestern Pacific Ocean that has a large military presence "and not that many jobs," their father said.

Bryan Castro said he's not bitter and he has no regrets about enlisting - a decision that he saw as "getting out of his house the fastest way he could."

He's already planned out his post-Army career: taking basic math at De Anza College in the hopes of one day becoming a teacher.

But Castro said that every day since the attack just seems like "a dream, no, really, a nightmare.

"I just don't feel like I've woken up yet," he said.