Thanks for checking this out; hopefully, you'll stick around if you find this little project interesting. Originally, I had mentioned this years ago while I was on active duty about doing a memoir of my 20 years, and to my surprise, folks seemed pretty supportive for the most part. Let's be honest, military memoirs are a dime a dozen, and being a desk jockey for Uncle Sam isn't novel-worthy and damn sure isn't getting me on any daytime tv show. I recently mentioned this idea of a memoir or possibly making it a blog series to a friend, and when he said, "I WOULD READ THE SHIT OUT OF THAT," that was the right amount of cheer that I needed.
So here we are, making my 20 years of military service a blog series. I'm not sure who will read it, and I'm not too worried if this series becomes "a thing" or not. The idea for this blog series is to break it up by chunks of years (1-6, 7-12, etc. This is no way set in stone, we'll go with the flow and see what the universe is saying to us) at the same time, attempting to capture not only what I was going through in the military but also what was happening in my personal life as well. This tale cannot be told without mentioning the folks who were by my side. Obviously, Nicki (my wife) rode shotgun for over 18 years on this journey and continues to be the foundation of my universe. This series is for the joy of remembering some really great times. This is for the pain that comes with this career choice. This is for the journey I was placed on that led me to a great family and great friends. With that being said, let's go back to 1997 when I was living in Piedmont, Mo, and graduating high school.
I'm 18! This was an odd time for me as I was in a town where I stuck out like a sore thumb; however, I made some really rad friends while living in Missouri, some I still talk to thanks to social media. This was definitely a turning point for me because I was graduating, I was leaving for boot camp right after graduation, and I had so many questions that I was scared shitless to ask. I was your basic teenager. Video games, comic books, and sports memorabilia were my jam and still are to this day. My teenage years is when I really started to branch out about my stance on political issues. I started reading books on Eastern philosophy and trying to figure out who I was as a person. The Celestine Prophecy didn't leave my side. Was I some ordinary dude, or did I have a purpose? Considering the dysfunction of my family (as with most), I was mixing a cauldron of life lessons and comparing what I wanted to borrow from what I've seen and heard while growing up. I started writing more and thinking about how cool it would be to write a comic someday or a video game script, something along those lines. Alas, that wasn't going to get me out of my parent's house as quick as joining the military would.
Joining the military in this part of the country is stooped in family tradition. That tradition usually reads something like God, country, family, self, or a variant of sorts, so my decision wasn't unique by any means, but my reason was. My reason had zero to do with any sort of heavenly or patriotic calling. The government was going to pay me, an 18-year-old, a salary with benefits? Where do I sign up?
I enrolled in the Delayed Entry Program (DEP) when I was a junior. I made the decision with zero influence from my folks which I really appreciated; however, the decision wouldn't hit me until a weird moment before graduation, more on that in a minute. I have military scattered throughout my family. My biological dad and step-dad were both in the military; grandparents, uncles, and cousins all managed to give Uncle Sam some time. The lifestyle wasn't new, so I wasn't going in completely green but green enough.
As my senior year drew to an end, I was looking out of the dining room window while the Smashing Pumpkins song Here is No Why from the record Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness played. Until this moment happened I never really paid too much attention to the song. I mean it was a rad tune but wasn't getting a whole lot of airtime so to speak. To this day, I see my 18-year-old self looking out of that window, and thinking to myself, am I making the right choice? Is this what the universe had in store for me? I remember thinking that I had to do it differently than my brothers, step-dad, biological dad, etc. I had to do it on my own terms; I just didn't know how I would do it. This moment still lives with me. Sometimes I'll put the song on just to spark the memory and just smile. It was such a rad time in my head, so much confusion, with zero direction or thorough guidance besides being young and stupid.
I was looking for a sign. A sign to say yes, some sort of approval for what I was doing. I had military in my family, but I wasn't doing it for them. Was I wrong? I wasn't doing it for God or country but for myself. 18-year-old me struggled with this for a little bit. The biggest factor in my decision to join the military was the simple fact is that I didn't want to live at home anymore. I wasn't right for college, my folks sure as hell didn't have the money, and there was no way I was staying in that section of the country, definitely too secluded, not my bag. I saw the military as the classic trope of using it for something new and refreshing. The only thing is, I knew my "new and refreshing" were going to be my hometown of Norfolk, Va, more on that later. I graduated from Clearwater High School in Piedmont, Mo, on June 22, 1997; I left for bootcamp on July 17, 1997.
The bus stopped, the door opened, and my pulse picked up. I had arrived at Recruit Training Command, Great Lakes, Illinois. The sounds, the smells, the environment sang a song rich in tradition that you couldn't help but become overwhelmed at the fact that where you stood and soon you were going to be fitted to wear the uniform of some really great people in history. I was pumped up, I was ready, I was...getting yelled at for moving too slow! As I remember it now, the in-processing portion of bootcamp was way more taxing than any other portion of the training. The military is the only employer that will yell at you for your newly ill-fitting uniform that you just got. Apparently, I should have called ahead and made sure they had my size. My mistake! It's so ridiculous and staged, but until you find that out, it's terrifying.
The in-processing process, aka "P-Days," is the stuff of nightmares, boring nightmares at that. The fun begins when you are considered "Fit For Full Duty," and you can officially start the training. Push-ups, gas masks, and cleaning the toilets, oh my!
If you made it this far, thanks! So, I think we've come to a good stopping point; the next installment will have us graduating bootcamp and heading to our first duty station, Pre-Commissioning Unit Harry S. Truman, in Norfolk, Va., meeting Nicole for the first time, and shenanigans in Nova Scotia. Thanks for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment