Boot Camp

The Senior Drill Instructor stated at this point that any men who wanted to go back and see their mommies could stand over by yonder tree and wait. Basic training is one of those experiences that I would not do again, but by the same token, would not take back. Perhaps we all just wanted to believe. The only genuinely stressful training was the road marches, at least for this one hundred thirty pound teenager; try to imagine speed walking, in boots, for twelve miles with sixty pounds on your back.

The rest of boot camp was no real surprise; one adapts to a new environment quickly or suffers the consequences. ” Despite the response that such a question begs (“Would you do that for me? Gee, you guys are great!”), I responded with a quick “No, Drill Sergeant!” Of course that was the wrong answer. Oh, and no fair taking more than a couple breaks in between. Physical training was not really that bad, especially considering that others paid good money to do the exact same thing we were getting paid to do. More than a few of us exchanged whispers of relief that perhaps boot camp would not be so bad after all. They joined us later, disheveled and tired but, wonder of wonders, still alive.

Nearly a decade later I am no worse for the wear, and, I would like to think, the beneficiary of some much needed maturity. Amidst the cacophony of eight drill instructors yelling deliberately contradictory commands, we were told to lie on our backs and lift our feet six inches off of the ground, keeping our legs straight. After that it was carefully orchestrated pandemonium, the drills separating the chaff from the wheat through this shock process. ell, and to the naïve eyes of a country boy, the underlying problems illustrated why such a nonsensical thing such as racism should exist. Needless to say, they did not get out of signing their contract so easily.