This past week we spent the week cleaning and starting to declutter some rooms of the house. At the end of my bed I have a hope chest my dad made for his mother. In that, I packed all my military uniforms, hats, coats and odds and ends. And then, I hauled them around with us for 6 years like that, unused, never worn, just taking up space. I saved out my caps and just before hauling them down to the Army-Navy store, I took pictures of the kids wearing the caps. Along with those pictures, a flood of memories came back to me as I said goodbye to my clothes and a feeling that the door to that part of my life was closing forever.
Just like high school, or mission, or wedding, or childbirth, most people don't forget their days in basic training. Some of my uniforms still had the markings on them you use to identify them as your belongs. First letter of your last name and last four numbers of your social security number. The day we got our uniforms we were instructed in how to identify our uniforms and particularly reminded to remember that those numbers go on the UNDER side of your cap visor. Well, guess what? I wrote them on the TOP of mine. Then we had to stand at attention at the end of our beds and our Drill Instructor (D.I.) walked down the aisle and inspected our work. Then he got to me. Now, Sgt. Berrigan was a Scottish immigrant and had a thick Scottish accent. He chewed gum a lot. He was a big dude, and very much intimidating. He sees my hat and loses it. He snatched the cap, threw it on the ground and was screaming the whole while. I was trembling and on the verge of tears from embarrassment and just...no one had ever screamed at me like that. At the end of his rant he screams "Now look what you made me do! You made me spit out my gum!!!!". From then on, he called me Visor. Or Dookeystomper.
Marching. I can't do it. Walking in step, marching to time, parades, I just couldn't get the hang of staying in step. One day he started yelling at me to get in step. I tried and tried and finally he sent me to the back of the flight after yelling DOOKEY STOMPER at me. The day that we were being judged on our abilities to march (it was like winning a competition between flights), I was put on dorm duty so that I didn't embarrass him with my marching (a.k.a. dookey stomping).
When our uniforms were issued we were also issued BCG's (Birth Control Glasses). These things were hideously ugly. I had heard that if you got bifocals in them, it took longer to get them. So, I thought I was being sneaky and order the ones with bifocals having had them off and on through high school. Three days later, I snapped my normal glasses in half attaching a nerd strap to them because they kept sliding down my nose and Sgt. Berrigan caught me pushing them up while marching at attention. Again, I was sent to the back of the flight and told how much I embarrassed him. I was used to getting yelled at by this point, so I just went. Later that afternoon I had to approach him and tell him I busted my glasses. The result: I was given BCG's long before anyone else in the flight got them, but even worse, they weren't even my prescription! To see out them, I had to turn my head so I could see out of the outer edge of the glasses. If I didn't embarrass Sgt. Berrigan before that point, I sure as heck was doing it now. One day my glasses arrived and they had been placed in my locker. I was so excited at just being able to see, I put them on and was jumping up and down with excitement, and then in the middle of my glee-fest was called into to report to Sgt. Berrigan and then had to report several times to get my greeting correct to thank him for my new glasses.
I had no idea you could be so tired you could fall asleep while marching.
It is extremely uncomfortable to stand in formation while listening to the girl behind you hyperventilating so she didn't throw up, and then keep your stance while she barfed all over beside you.
My hair that has never worked for me in the past, failed me again in Basic Training by growing 1/4 inch too long below my eyebrow. In line to get lunch I was berated about my hair being to long.
Another day in the lunch line I was accused of bribing Sgt. Berrigan by leaving a nickle in the folds of uniform pocket that he found while doing a dorm inspection. Dorm inspections included him searching your dirty laundry hanging in a laundry bag at the top of your bed. Later on, I made the mistake of correcting him that it was only 5 cents I tried to use to bribe him while he got after another girl for bribing him with 10 cents.
On the first day of basic training we were instructed on how to set up our lockers. Ever one of our uniform buttons were to be buttoned, our hangers to be 2 fingers apart, our iron cord to be wrapped without twists, our personal items to be placed on display in the bottom of a drawer in our locker and our shoes to be polished, shined and laces at even lengths and then evenly aligned at the bottom left side of our beds. I was woke one night during a midnight inspection because my boots were too shiny. I also failed most of the locker inspections because while we were being instructed in all this, I was day dreaming and looking around. I recently asked a friend if there was anything he kept doing left over from the military. He said it was how we folded underwear and socks: six inch squares.
My career field training took place in Denver, Colorado, that base now shut down. My first duty station was in Merced, California, also shut down now. My last duty station was in Tacoma, Washington. Later in the Air Force Reserves, I was assigned to bases in Utah, Ft. Worth, Texas, and then did annual tours and trips to Italy, Hawaii (twice), Alaska, New York, Georgia (4 times, each time in a different season), and San Antonio.
The day 9-11-01 happened I was at an NCO school in San Antonio. They announced we were under attack, and I remember panicking, thinking, no one in the building we were in was armed or prepared for this. We were all wearing dress blues. Later when we were sure the building was secure we were in we were allowed down to the break room to watch the news and we arrived just in time to see one of the towers fall. It was scary. Even scarier was to be separated from my husband and little boys. When it was announced the airlines were shut down I started feeling so trapped. There was no way for me to get home without a great deal of expense. My parents lived 2 hours away and we were able to get together that weekend. They returned to San Antonio with me, and was able to stay in the room right next door to me, where we shared a bathroom. It was the most comforting thing ever, and a little weird to realize that at 27 years old, you still felt better and safer in the presence of your mom and dad. The flight home, a week later, was the eeriest travel I have ever experienced. No one talked. Everyone was tense. Every little bump and strange sound caused visible jumping of the passengers and clenching of the arm rests. While I was certainly agitated, I noticed a muslim woman in the airport who was even more uncomfortable as everyone eyed her in suspicion and judgement. I remember feeling that things would never be the same.
Three years after that I went inactive upon Simeon's birth and it became near impossible for me to attend my drills with four small children and my husband on a civilian contract in the middle east.
Really, not a day goes by that I don't think of the military life. It gets so ingrained in you. There is a sense of pride that comes to you, but also a lifestyle that is comforting and conflicting at the same time. Patriotism, honor, courage. Things that make you grow and mature. It teaches you to things that you pass onto your kids. It is with some envy that I pass by military members in public. I feel that twinge of "I once wore that uniform, too". I also feel pride and thankfulness for them for carrying on where I left off, not that I did some great job in the military...I cooked and passed out lodging rooms or basketballs to them... but it was all for a greater purpose: the protection of our country. So I say my final farewell. More than likely I will never wear the military uniform again, but I do have some great memories.
