Journal Entry: "Thanksgiving"

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I have to admit that the Army takes pretty good care of its soldiers (even us sub-human trainees) on the holidays. They put our quite a spread including lobsters, prime rib, turkey, ham, and plenty of cakes, pies, and desserts. As none of us have had dessert in 2 months, it was almost unbelievable. I got the sense it was a sadistic trick and we would be allowed to fill a plate, then be forced to throw it away and marched to the PT field for MREs. But it wasn’t a trick, and in fact, the food was pretty good save for the lobster, which met my low expectations. After dinner, we went to one of the classrooms, which we had converted into a sports bar themed party room with 3 big-screen TVs and a Play Station for an inter-company Madden 2005 gaming tournament. But the best thing by far was the unlimited phone usage! Though I had to wait 2 hours in the cold for it, I was able to speak to my wife and family at leisure for the first time since I arrived here.
It wasn’t “the best” Thanksgiving ever-–that could never be the case when so far away from those I love, but it was, by far, that most thankful Thanksgiving I’ve ever had. Having everything taken away from you is very effective way of developing an appreciation for all you have. This experience has solidified my resolve to serve others in my community; my world; my home. Being around a sampling of more average Americans has helped me understand both blessed I am and how well-equipped, mentally and physically, I am to face the challenges that stand in the way of those who wish to construct a better, more peaceful world. How many of us waste the gifts we’ve been given on ourselves, only to lead mediocre lives of squandered potential and surrounded by the trappings and comforts of all our self-absorbed pursuits, but none the better for it? At what point will enough of us realize that so many of our pervasive social goals and ambitions are hollow and meaningless? I always prefer to think of myself as slightly ahead of the curve, a pioneer in an awakening of a more insightful, enlightened and compassionate social conscience that lies just below the consumer’s veneer we’ve mistaken for our lives’ only purpose. The next revolution is within the hearts of men. I hope that more and more of us wake up and join the fight.
One last thing: a special note to my nephew Mason. I read your book report about me; how you were proud of me for joining the Army to help others, and how much you enjoyed spending time with me. It was an excellent paper and it meant so much that you feel that way, since you and your brother are a big reason for me wanting to build a better world. I hope and trust that that as you and your brother grow up to become young men, my actions might inspire you to live more conscious, deliberate lives of service to those in need. If that were all I could ever be, it would be enough.

Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas!

Journal Entry: "Platoon Guide Theatre"

Only 24 days and a wake up left before I see my wife again on family day. It’s going by quickly but never quick enough. We did a confidence course yesterday that included the infamous zip-line jump where you’re put on a 12-meter platform, strapped to a parachute harness, hooked to a pulley and thrown off. It’s a blast! Those with fears of heights didn’t find it as amusing as I did, but I could’ve done it all day long. I suppose we all have different fears, but I am constantly amazed at just how much fear many people seem to have within them. I suppose it comes from living in a culture that essentially denies and resists the natural phenomenon of death, but I won’t go any deeper on that topic here.
My adventures as platoon guide continue to be a source of aggravation, fascination, and distraction for me. I’d say I enjoy it about 75% of the time, but the 25% of the time that it isn’t fun can really suck. The troops that don’t naturally choose to behave have already figured out that my “commands” are merely suggestions and the almost complete absence of repercussions for unprofessional, even subordinate, behavior has been sorely disappointing. Talk about being hung out to dry. I’m responsible for everything, but I have no authority to ensure everything is done properly. I’ve come to believe it’s a set-up to test the high-caliber soldiers on how to deal with failure.We did manage to hatch a plan, the DS and I, to mess with the rest of the platoon and possibly instill a bit more appreciation for the difficulties of being a platoon guide. The plan is that I will be fired tomorrow with some fanfare. We’ll put on a good show, make it seem like a big deal, and then I’ll be replaced by one of the soldiers that has the worst authority issues. After a few days, I’ll be reinstated; hopefully with renewed appreciation and some lessons learned… but maybe not. We’ve got some real hard cases. I’m just honored that the Drill Sgts. have chosen to bring me into the game. I used to get about 30 seconds to make a report. Now, we converse for 5-10 minutes at a time, and much of the trainee/ DS formality is set aside during those times provided proper respect is maintained, which isn’t ever a problem for me. I really admire and respect many of the cadre and hope to get to know them a little better before I leave, especially DS Allen.

Journal Entry: "Illusions"

Time is both eking and flying by. How strange a concept: time. In retrospect, it’s as if I arrived here just yesterday, yet from another perspective it’s as if I’ve been here for years. There are moments that I feel like this is all I’ve ever known and everything else was a dream. If it were not for the letter and the rare call home, I might start to think of my life before basic as a delusion. I’m mostly joking but it is weird how distorted your sense of time can become when essentially under confinement. I simply cannot imagine trying to resist the madness creeping in under permanent or indefinite incarceration. At least here there is a relatively short countdown to hold on to when those feelings of disconnectedness take hold. Anyone who hasn’t been through this might think, “It’s only a couple of months. It couldn’t be that big a deal.” And most of the time it isn’t a big deal, but there are those moments, those days, where all proper perspective is lost and you honestly feel like you’ve been here forever and you have so long before you get out that everything will be different, that you’ll be forgotten. It’s a strange panic-filled sensation. I’ve written about this before and now that I am “over the hump” those moments of dark dread have passed for the most part. In fact, a silent strength has settled in where my tolerance for both my surroundings and my separation from my loved ones has dramatically increased.

Journal Entry: "Leadership Changes"

We’ve pretty much spent the whole of the last week in BRM (Basic Rifle Marksmanship) practicing for qualification. I’m learning the nuances of my M16A2 and should be able to qualify that first time out, which is next week. Of course, I’m going for the expert badge–why not? Other than that, the week has been rather uneventful. I did fired from my PG (Platoon Guide) post in a mass firing due to some fit thrown by the First Sgt. Only to be reinstated by my Platoon Sgt. almost immediately. She waited a day, and let the first squad leader perform the PG role I think just to see how I’d react to someone else being in charge. I was the perfect soldier for my squad leader, and I could sense that the Drill Sgts. appreciated my positive attitude toward the issue. Frankly, I enjoyed the vacation. I continue to quietly lead by example and hope that it rubs off on at least a few of the younger soldiers.
There are several of the more serious soldiers that have confided in me that the lack of difficulty and discipline here at Ft. Jackson is disappointing and even disconcerting. I have to say I agree. I had mentally prepared for a more grueling experience, and frankly, the lax enforcement only serves to annoy those of us who understand we’re going to war. Most of these kids betray no understanding of the global events unfolding before them. I had one kid ask me where “Balujah” was and why we invaded it. It took me a second to realize he was talking about Falluja, which we just retook this week. I hope and trust it went well. I had a strong feeling we would take it down just after the election and sure enough….’bout damn time.
I’m so glad the election is over. I’m hoping the constant sniping and venomous partisan politics will cool off at least somewhat now that this critical decision has been made. Time will tell if it was the right one and if it was as fateful as it feels.
I found out Arafat died today in Paris. I fear this will make things temporarily worse for the M.E., but I’ve always maintained that pretty much everything will get worse before it gets better…eventually.I think about my nephews everyday here. There are young soldiers barely five years older than they are here, and as proud as I would be of them if they choose to serve when they come of age, I would hope the nature of their service would be to preside over and protect the peace and be placed in a position where it would be necessary to take a life or lose his own. I serve this duty out of love for them and for my future children and of an acknowledgement of the love that all people have for theirs.

Journal Entry: "Ready, Aim, Fire!"

We’re currently on day 3 of a 3-day range Bivouac. I’m writing instead of cleaning my weapon for the 3rd time, like I’m suppose to, but it’s directly under Drill Sgt.’s Ortiz’s gaze. I’ve pretty much determined that he and I are cool. I guessed correctly by his accent that he was from Brownsville, TX. Not that I’m some Henry Higgins, but I suppose living in Texas for most of my life has given me some talents. Anyway, he thought that was amazing and when he found out I was in my thirties, he started sidling up to me with an occasional “old guy” joke. As long as I don’t let it go to my head, I’ll continue to enjoy a great deal of latitude. It’s nice that there is some acknowledgment of my efforts and maturity. It makes things feel less constricted when there’s no one yelling at you like a dog who just shit on the rug.
We started firing live ammo yesterday. They’ve got it fairly foolproof, so no one made any major safety violations. It was kind of fun. A break from the typical hurry-up-and-wait ennui – and I did well on my shots; kept my groups right on top of each other. If I keep doing this well an “Expert” qualification, I’ll be on the short list for soldier of session or whatever the official title is. It’d be some good "cred" to take back to my reserve unit, but at this pint it kind of feels like winning Gold at the Special Olympics. Hmm.. I guess after saying that I’d better win! Actually, there are several very bright and able soldiers here (mostly OCS candidates) so, I’m not going to get too cocky just yet, but the winner gets a day pass to leave base on family day and at this point that’s like Wonka’s Golden ticket.
With conversations centering around keg-stands, drinking games and prom adventures, I find myself becoming more withdraw and introverted; preferring to make journal entries, write letters, or my favorite pastime: thinking about spending time with my wife, dogs and family. I’m also compiling a list of foods I’m going to want as soon as I’m done: Venti vanilla-hazelnut latte, a king-sized Snickers Bar, a huge bowl of banana pudding, Salt lick BBQ, a big filet-mignon with a glass of Cabernet and a pitcher of vodka tonics. Strange the things you want when you can’t have them. Isn’t that always the case?

Journal Entry: "Shifting Into Gear"

It’s been awhile since I’ve had an opportunity to write for both good and bad reasons. One is that I have such outstanding family and friends that send me so much mail that I spend all my writing time responding to them.
So much has happened I’m almost afraid I’ve forgotten too much detail already.
The one thing that first comes to mind is a moment I had with another soldier whom I befriended over the last few weeks. We met because we’re in the same platoon and are almost at the exact same running pace as each other. So, we’ve been challenging each other on the track every other day or so and through that have built a strong bond of mutual respect. He’s also a squad leader and now that I’m Platoon lead, we’ve been colluding to whip our humble group in shape. He’s 20 years old and I still can’t convince him I’m over 30! He’s not the only youngster here in denial that the “old Man” can beat them all out with the highest P.T. test score in the whole company (Physical Training). But, back to the story- the other day this soldier comes up to me and says: “I just want you to know that you’re an inspiration to me.” And some other kind words about me being a good role model. My first reaction was to laugh, as I’ve never had anyone tell anything like that before. But, he was very serious and we ended up having a very moving conversation about his family and specifically the lack of integrity he perceives in his father and other male role models in his life. I was so honored by the sentiment that later I got a little misty about it. I’ll certainly not soon forget that moment.
I wouldn’t exactly call myself a father figure around here, more like a big brother, bit it seems like daily someone drops by my bunk for some advice on something or just to talk about things or try to find out more about me and my “adventure”. Word is out that I’m a little different in my motivations than most and it is apparently a compelling topic, and I enjoy discussing it (obviously). So, it works well, although when I’m trying to get my Platoon guide duties done or read a letter from home it can get trying.
My father said something in a letter that really captured the essence of the psychological trauma of entering Basic Training, particularly when you’re 14 years older than the typical trainee. It was something to the effect of how strange and horrifying it is to have your entire social identity ripped away from you in a matter of hours. It couldn’t be more accurately put. Imagine waking up one day but you’re back in the 8th grade with your adult mindset and experiences intact! But, this time, you really fucked up somewhere because you’ve been shipped off to military school to boot! You find yourself wanting to hang out in the teacher’s lounge exchanging anecdotes of stupidity witnessed over the course of the week, but- you really are an 8th grader! But, you’re NOT, too! It’s crazy and frustrating, but then there are those subtle moments where the “teacher” almost breaks character and shoots you a knowing glance or smile, and you remember who you are and you know that your spirit is not only intact, but growing stronger. I’ve said it before, but one of the best things about graduation is going to be looking back on this with the cadre and having a good laugh. It’ll be like the movie “Big” in reverse.
We’ve started checking out our weapons (the famous M16 A2) nearly every day no, but it will still be another week of handling instruction and safety briefings before we’ll even see a live round. And that is a damn good thing! If they passed out live ammo here urban warfare would break out within minutes…or at least a few of the more intellectually challenged would have already volunteered themselves out of the gene pool.
One of the most fun things we’ve done was the pugal stick matches. Yours’ truly again “represented proper” for the elderly soldiers who remember the bi-centennial. I was surprised at my sped and innate ability, as I know I have bit of anxiety when it come to physical confrontation. But it appears that, in fact, if really helps me focus. In short, I kicked a bunch of kid’s asses and almost made it to the finals for Company Champion, had it not been for my aforementioned friend who went on to win it for himself and for the glory of our Platoon.
Being Platoon Guide has changed things for the worse with a few platoon members. Some of them forget themselves entirely when the Drill Sergeant is around and have no problem with debating me when I ask them to return back to their position in formation. It’s still very much a “Me vs. authority” mentality that is understandable being that a lot of them left their parent’s home to get on the bus here. I get accused daily of being “unfair” or of picking on a select few, but only by those select few who can’t see the difference between their chronic childish defiance and the occasional slip of a soldier trying his best and thereby earning my gratitude for making my job easier. They immediately accuse me of favoritism. I know they’re just kids, but Damn! The lack of introspection and self-awareness is phenomenal.
We did the gas chamber a few days ago as well. It was interesting and it was novel as it is a right of passage shared by all that serve, but aside from burning the shit out of my eyes and producing a 10-inch snot stalactite from my nose, it was an anti-climatic experience. It was kind of a sadistic pleasure though to watch some of the more annoying soldiers freak out and flail about. A couple of them passed out right in the chamber.
The sleeping quarters (A.K.A the Bay) continues to be a non-stop soap opera of melodrama and interpersonal conflict. A couple of problem children that suffer from the same lack of self-awareness that is epidemic around here are the main sources of entertainment/annoyance, and they’re so hostile and anti-social I’m surprised a major incident hasn’t occurred sooner. Today it did, unfortunately. As Platoon Guide, and because I have the bad luck of sleeping right next to the one big problem child, I was caught right in the middle of it. Night after night this sociopathic individual would loudly make attempts at amusing other soldiers or complain loudly about some perceived injustice from his various daily conflicts. Even the most polite attempts at reasoning with this guy, heaven forbid asking him to do anything to help out, is consistently met with a strong verbal assault followed by a long period of profanity-laced grumbling. He was finally reported for his consistent misbehavior and instead of simply taking his punishment quietly, he chose to level allegations of racism on several others in the bay, blowing up an incident where, in a moment of camaraderie he and a white soldier exchanged their best racist jokes. Naturally, he conveniently omitted the context and it came down to the other kid being threatened with charges. The whole bay was assembled in front of the 1st Sgt, who is a bonafide asshole, I should add, and the grilling began. I had already given my story to the 1st Sgt. earlier that day since I’m Platoon Guide. But, I was again called in front of the entire formation to explain the previous night’s incident as well as the racial joke incident that I had witnessed. Although we all got “smoked” with some brutal P.T. Drills (try clapping your arms over your head 300 times in a row, then 50 slow pushup pausing every 5th one for 30 seconds, then do 100 flutter kicks) it actually turned out really well. I told of the incident as it happened including the curse words used, at which point the accused called me a liar and claimed that I was the one who had used foul language (which I had NOT). What a foolish mistake! I don’t know if he was so disillusioned as to think that anyone had any sense of loyalty to him or, if he is just an idiot (my bet is both), but when the 1st Sgt. asked if things had gone down as I’d said, every hand in the bay went up. When asked if I had returned the verbal assault as claimed, not a hand was raised. True colors exposed. It felt good to have that instant vindication and know that the men in bay stood with me. I hope it taught the little malcontent a lesson.