Some things in life have a greater impact on you then others, and then there are moments in your life that you can say changed your life forever. For some people this life altering moment can be something as serious as the death of someone close to them or witnessing a life coming into our world, but for me it was more of a self realization.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I signed the dotted line giving the United States government all rights to my being. It was a hot summer in California, the year I went to Marine Corps boot camp. I could feel my hands shaking as we rode from the airport to Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. The bus smelt like it had been full of sweaty men after a football game but it was probably just sweaty boys such as me sweating in fear of what was coming next.
Another moment of giving my life away on a platter to the government came next when I had to stand on yellow footprints and read the new set of laws that I was to be held accountable for. A list of laws that are called articles, my favorite being article 134 the “general article” which states that I could go to jail for doing anything that brings discredit to the armed forces of the United States. I am not sure why but I found myself agreeing to laws that basically said that I was a slave to the United States Government and there was nothing I can do about it.
That night we were not given any sleep as we went from station to station getting new uniforms and getting buzz cuts that made us all look alike, stripping us of any sense of individuality. Endless forms that I could not comprehend were signed one after another giving my rights away one by one. We were given camouflage green bags full of equipment that had names I have never heard of before. “Hold out your fart sack” was screamed in my face by my bulldog looking drill instructor as I stumbled through my bag of green junk I never new I needed. After five minutes of not knowing what I was searching for the drill instructor pulled out a plain white mattress cover and threw it in my face. It seemed like I spent all night holding out items such as moonbeams, go-fasters, ink-sticks, war-belts, canteens, and other seemingly useless gear.
After forty-eight hours of running from station to station feeling tired, lost and confused we were allowed an allocated four hours of sleep. My excitement of the thought of sleep was quickly diminished when I entered the three story concrete building I would be calling home to for the next three months. The room was bare except for two rows of bunk beds with black wooden foot lockers at the end of each bunk. My excitement was even further diminished when I finally got the opportunity to sit on my stiff worn mattress which just minutes before I had the opportunity to cover with my fart-sack. The first two days of ninety two days of boot camp were what I would compare to hell. What in Gods name did I get myself into I asked myself repeatedly. I am not sure if I slept for more than thirty minutes before I was woken to start the next day of fun.
The next two months they broke me down day after day telling me that I was nothing making me do thousands of push-ups, pull-ups, crunches, hello Dolly’s, flutter kicks, side-straddle-hops, and miles upon miles of running. Every day memorizing M-16 assault rifle nomenclature, learning how to march like every other Marine, eating tasteless food, running through endless obstacle courses. Every night I tried to sleep through all of the pain in my body, the question still lingering in my mind what the hell am I doing here.
Training day seventy four, I found myself marching to the M-16 known distance training course otherwise known as a firing range. It was so foggy that morning that I felt wet, and could hardly see the recruits that were ahead of our thirty man platoon. We marched three miles in the mountains to get to the firing range. My drill instructor was singing a random cadence that he probably heard when he was in boot camp. The other recruits were singing back the cadence but that morning I did not join in the chorus. Instead of hearing cadence that morning, I could hear some war song playing somewhere far off deep in the fog. I thought about all the past Marines that marched where I was marching, that felt the same pain that I was feeling. I thought about the Marines that went on to fight and die in battles on the other side of the world. Suddenly I did not feel like the pain I was feeling was so special, or my complaints were so valid.
It was so quiet and peaceful that morning as we sat in a circle and dry fired (shooting with no ammunition loaded) our weapons at old white painted barrels with black targets painted on them for a few hours. Shooting an M-16 in the Marine Corps is an art, and I was taught to have a love affair with my rifle. I had never shot a weapon my whole life before that day and the sound of pressing my cheek against the cold butt-stalk of a weapon, looking down its black barrel, focusing on a target for three hours without stopping would have never sounded appealing to me but now for some reason I loved it. This world that for the past seventy four days I had hated and considered hell had somehow morphed itself into something I had a passion for.
That day marching in the fog of a mountain and looking down the barrel of an M-16 something changed inside of me. I found love for what I hated and looked forward to the challenges set before me. Before that day I would wake up fearing what I would have to do that day, but not any more. From that day forward I found I could conquer any challenge set before me. I found a new sense of confidence that I had never felt before. I still feel the same way today ten years later. I no longer look at hard times in life as obstacles but as challenges and building blocks. Now in my life I love taking on challenges and times that seem like they are difficult no longer seem so hard.
