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I Thought You Said The Army

© Sandy McCollum

He told me he'd joined the Army, thinking I'd take it easier. And, he was right. Even still, I slapped him upside the shoulder and asked him if he'd forgotten everything I'd ever taught him. The military? How could he?

I've always been against the military. Always. I come from a very short line of hippies, thinking the world leaders should all get stoned and sit in the same room together until they've forgotten what it is they're mad about, and then they should all share a big bowl of spaghetti. Maybe it's all the Nitrites in their diet that makes them so volatile. Or, they should have women running the place. Or, violence is the way of terrorists, make babies not war. Or, or, or, and on and on. All of my ideas were ‘fixes,' not taking into consideration the political reasons or events going on to cause all the turmoil, and none of these philosophies take care of the problems themselves. Killing is bad. Military kills. Military is bad. No child of mine was raised to think joining the military was an option - ever.

Or, that's what I thought, until my son joined the Marine Corps. He did it to be able to get the formal education he wanted, and I couldn't give him. Oh, how I cried - the Marines are the first in, first out, and first to die. The few, the proud. There wasn't even trouble going on that would involve our military boys, but I felt as if I'd done this to him with my ‘respect Her and live-off-the-Earth' values and anti-establishment lifestyle . I've cooled off since I've aged a bit, but could it have been too late?

This was a boy who cried to me over the slightest little scratch, and we even put him in Judo lessons to give him confidence and poise. He was the only survivor of the twins and I coddled him more than the others, even when he was a teenager. After being taught all his life to never throw the first punch, he got in an unavoidable fight and cried later because even though he'd won, he was afraid he'd hurt the kid. My only son of five children, he is one of a kind who always tried what was hardest, or what anyone said he couldn't do. He set his sights on something he liked, and didn't let anything stop him. I watched him work himself so hard, and at 13 years old he was known in the neighborhood as ‘Ryan, the mow-for-low kid' because he'd started his own yard-working service, and even had return customers for years. People like him because he's polite and quiet, yet strong and dependably honest. He was stocky and slow, and even the coach said he wasn't a good candidate for the football team, but he worked and worked until he was hard-bodied and faster, and ended up lettering nine times in different sports throughout his highschool years. He worked hard to maintain a standard he'd set for himself, and picked over every thread on his clothing and shoes, returning any item with the slightest flaw. ‘If you pay for something, it should be like new,' was his philosophy, and he was right. It should have been no surprise to me that he'd grow up to make the choice he made, but it still floored me. But then, how else was he going to get a formal education?