The Essence of a Marine Somewhere between the security of childhood and the insecurity of the manhood, we find the Marine. Marines are found everywhere in bars, in cars, behind barns, in motels, in holes, in fights, in trouble, running on the double. You will find them in battle, on streets, overseas, in love, on leave, but mostly in debt and waiting for orders. Marines come in assorted sizes, colors, weights and stages of sobriety, along with varying stages of anger, misery and confusion. Marines also come in cammie green, brown, black, muddy, and sporting the native bushes on their stylish Kevlar combat helmets. A Marine reflects laziness with a deck of cards and misery with a grin on his face waiting for battle orders or the next round of beer if someone else is buying. A battle hardened Marine exhausted, sleeping in the mud, a penniless millionaire, bravery with a beer in hand, and courage with a grain of sense, he is the protector of America with a Playboy in his back pocket and a letter from home in his shirt pocket. A Marine is a composite. He comes fully charged, is air cooled, alcohol operated, and foot propelled. He is a cocky SOB, conceited, high-strung and self-centered, often overbearing and considers himself way underpaid. A Marine is also shy as a fox, has the nerve of a dope addict, the energy of a shark, the brain of a rock, the stories of an old sailor, and the sincerity of an aged liar. He has the appetite of a horse, the table manners of a chimpanzee, and the aspirations of Casanova reincarnated. When a Marine wants something it is usually a three-day pass, a light for his cigar, his own field jacket, an extra poncho liner, or anything else he can appropriate from supply. But every Marine wants hot chow, a step up in rank, more pay, a ten dollar loan from his buddy, or someone to stand his duty. Every Marine likes to fight, they are the essence of America and what it stands for, politics don't matter, but defending the shores do. A Marine has the tenacity of a tiger, the viciousness of a pit bull, the strength of elephant, the cunning of fox, the appetite of a bear, the speed of a rattlesnake, and the hunter instinct of a wolf. Marines like girls, women, females, ladies and members of the opposite sex, in that preferable order. They like sex, beer, liquor, liberty, leave and sixteen-to-thirty when they can get it. A Marine dislikes answering letters, wearing his Alphas, standing inspections, second lieutenants, getting up for reveille, Marine Corps chow, close order drill, training, work detail, the day before payday, long stays aboard those Navy cruise liners, and the curfew set by the Parents of the girls he takes out. No woman can tame him, no man can beat him. He is unwilling, unreliable, irresponsible, impossible, incorrigible and indestructible. A Marine is a magical creature. You can shut him out of your home, but not out of your heart. You can take him off of your mailing list, but not out of your mind. You may as well give in; he is yours. He is your brother, lover, friend or son. He is a bright-eyed, ,good-for-nothing bundle of worries, but he is still yours, but most of all he is and always will be ..., A Marine.

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