Stuff.
Found this shit whilst packing. I cross-posted the pic on Facebook as well.
It actually hurts to look at this shit, because there's just so much emotional baggage tied up in it. I really don't like to talk about my 5 years in the marines which is probably a red flag that I should do so. So here goes. Flying the queeb flag for the first time in a goodly long time for this one - not sure what's going to come out.
I joined the Marines right out of high school. I didn't really have any other options to speak of. I'd never done well in school, I was sick to death of school in general in any case - I don't generally learn well in the "normal" teaching idiom, never have. I really should have gone with the Air Force or somesuch, especially as I was about 280-300 pounds at the time I decided to join up. But hey, it was the most improbable thing I could think of to do at the time, which endeared it to me. I've learned that this "It's improbable - do it!" impulse of mine is best to be followed, despite the pain that it almost inevitably brings - as much shit as I've gone through because of it, I am forced to admit that the events that follow from following the impulse have managed to shape me into a halfway decent person. I was recently told by an old friend that I was likely the most internally stable person out of all of our circle of friends. I question that, but that's my nature, I suppose. It's not really that I'm stable per se - I just have strict internal rules that keep me honest - or if not honest at least true to my ideals.
To say that I was not the typical marine recruit was more than an understatement. The Marines had a hardon for me because I had a 99.9 ASVAB score and my GT (General Technical) score was off the chart. So, a 300-ish pound blob of a genius with serious personality issues (extreme introversion at a minimum) and no real drive or sense of self. Perfect! Yeah - not. Nevertheless, I made it through bootcamp, much to the surprise of friends and family. I won't say that it was easy - I loathed every moment of that shit. I suppose that it didn't help that I dropped from holding to my training platoon on my 18th birthday. Yay, me. 3 months later, I graduated with my platoon, wearing my blues and looking like a different person. I suppose the fact that I felt no different should have been my first clue that this was just the beginning of an extended hell. I guess for most people bootcamp is a crucible that shapes who they are. For me, it shaped only who I was physically. Mentally I was still the 300 pound blob of genius that had gotten off a plane 3 months earlier.
I went home on leave, then back for Advanced Infantry Training at Pendleton, and after that I shipped out to 29 Palms for my school. I got to go home for Christmas leave, since the school was basically closed down until the January training classes began. It should be noted that when I went home for leave that year, it snowed in Phoenix. I maintain that this was proof that Satan was ice-skating which would explain my getting through bootcamp and AIT.
During the course of my 11 months of training at 29 Palms my biggest dream was of graduating and getting the hell off that particular base. Had I not failed a test one week I would have been off to Hawaii for SATCOM repair training. Sadly, failing one test lost me that billet and I maintained my original MOS - ground radio repair. The day finally came that I was ready to graduate - and I got my unit assignment - Victor 3/7 - 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines. Stationed in 29 Palms...
Now 3/7 is a rotational unit - although it is headquartered in 29 Palms, it rotates duty in Okinawa Japan - I went through two rotations (and saw Korea both times). Okinawa sucks - possibly less so if you're not a marine - but I went, I suffered, I dealt with it. I also saw duty in Kuwait after the first war - not a lot of fun.
I won't go into too many details of my time in 3/7 Comm. Let's say I didn't fit in with other Marines and I was a problem child. Now, if you're going to be a problem child in the military, the marine corps is probably the wrong place to do it. Still, I learned the lessons that are only learned by not learning the lessons that were being taught. I was a lousy marine, but I was also the best goddamned radio tech the unit had had in quite some time - I did repairs in the field that should not have been attempted at my echelon of repair, and I did them quickly and efficiently. In short, as much as my superiors hated me, I was indispensible - particularly come gear inspection time, especially in Okinawa, since the equipment that we inherited was never right. We'd pick up the account and we'd have an inspection of comm assets within a month or so - and damned if we didn't pass every fucking time because I busted my ass getting the shit fixed and up to snuff. Our RO's (Radio Operators) hated me but respected me - when they turned gear in for repair I would find every single problem from "It don't work" to "There's a pinhole in this dustcover" which meant more work for them. But they knew the shit would work when I was done, so they dealt with it.
I suppose my time in 3/7 was my crucible in ways that bootcamp failed to be. The goal of bootcamp is to break you down and rebuild you. I suppose it's effective for the weaker minds out there, but it didn't work in my case - or at least not for very long. But 3/7 changed me. No, scratch that. 3/7 caused me to be who I was. I found myself during my time in 3/7 - I refused to bend before my superiors despite their every efforts. I got thrashed (made to exercise until exhaustion) just about every morning by one of my staff sergeants (SSGT Brown - don't think I'll ever forget that name) and every time he got done I'd pop up to attention and stare him down defiantly. It's funny - He hated me, but I know that he respected me, too - I have a feeling he had been in a similar place at one point. Sometimes I wonder if he saw what he could have been in me if he hadn't finally "got with the program" (One of his favorite sayings)
So what the hell did the marines make me? Or what did it bring out in me, I suppose I should say...
I'm stubborn, I don't quit, I stick to my guns despite adverse bullshit. I do NOT kowtow to authority, nor do I miss a chance to point out the flaws in the logic of said authority. I am who I am and if you don't like it, too fucking bad. On the other side, I'm fiercely loyal, I am (as I have always been) an idealist, but my ideals are probably NOT yours...although they may be similar in some cases. In short, I'm no longer that 300 pound Introverted genius that got pushed around in high school. I'm the 180 Pound genius that will rip your head off if necessary - but will go out of his way to help you if asked nicely.
I suppose life has been pretty harsh to me, much of that harshness is my own doing, though. As shitty as it is when you're going through it, though, what comes out the other end is usually worth it - even if it takes years and stumbling upon a memento to make you realize it.
Semper Fi - but faithful to what, that's always been the question. To self, to god, to country, to corps is the rote response. I'll buy the self part. The rest can take a flying fuck off a rolling donut IMO.