 Ships are the nearest things to dreams the hands have ever made, according to the poet Robert N. Rose. For me, it was a case of being happy to wake up from a dream, and a few months later, wishing every night I could dream it again. My ship is the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman, a dream I lived for 1,092 days. Truman is 1,092 feet long. Her whole number is 75. I was born in 75. It seemed she was fated to be my ship, and I, her sailor. I'm proud to call her my ship. That's how we refer to the ships on which we've served. It's a common practice, a tradition. I was supposed to deploy with the crew in early 2013, but due to last minute delays, she set sail shortly after my transfer, leaving me on shore duty to follow her voyage through photos and stories. I was determined to be at the pier when she returned. As much to welcome home my former shipmates as to welcome home Truman herself, I wanted to see my ship come in. At the pier, waiting to see her mast on the horizon, I was surrounded by hundreds of other people waiting on their ship to come in. She belongs to the families of the crew, she belongs to the current crew, and to all of us who once called her home. In this cheering crowd, she is our ship. On the pier, I found second generation sailors waiting on third generation sailors to come home. I saw babies who had waited their whole lives to meet their fathers. I saw salty Navy veterans who show up for homecomings just to pay tribute to their Navy and to their ships. I met a retired Navy father, whose son was returning from his first deployment. Truman is his ship too. He proudly told me about his son, and in the same breath, boasted the ship's condition and even shared some history of the ship's namesake. Now I can experience what it's like for a family member coming home, you know, in all the hurry up and wait if you will on the pier, because the family has to endure while the significant other is underway. I think the ship is in excellent condition. You know, I know I saw it firsthand, you know, doing the unload, helping my son bring some stuff on board, and material-wise it looks great, and then I know they went on to win the battle, which is huge. President Truman, he was really a true leader, being an Army reservist in World War I, and never having any of his artillery unit become casualties is pretty significant. You know, so I feel that President Truman was an excellent example, you know, of American patriot. It is common for us to become official historians of our ship's namesakes. Hearing this former sailor and father talk about President Truman helped me fully understand the connection I have with him and everyone else on the pier. On a cold, gray day in Norfolk, surrounded by people to whom I am forever connected, I watched my ship come in. And as the crew poured into the arms of their families, I saw the sun come in as if it had been waiting for the perfect moment to shine. Before the embrace is ceased, the sea stories began. That is the life of a sailor to sail and tell. Watching the excitement, I thought back about my own Truman homecoming in 2010, when I walked right past the crowds and straight into a cab to tell my first sea story to a stranger, because there was no one on the pier for me. This time, I was on the pier with no one to greet, but eager to greet them all. I went to Norfolk to see a ship, a piece of steel pulling up to a pier. What I found was family, my Truman family, all there waiting with me for our ship to come in.