Tales from the Sandbox Part 1

Why in the world would you do a thing like that?

I have decided now that one thing of value I can offer people is my insights about past experience. As a result I have decided to start a somewhat regular segment called “Tales From the Sandbox.” In the following posts I will share what it's like to be someone like me serving in the U.S Army during war time. I hope that you find some value, or at least some entertainment, in the following reflections. Here goes nothing.

If you went back in time and asked teenage me if he ever thought he’d wind up being a Veteran of a Foreign War, I think he would’ve laughed in your face. He would say, “I’m an anarchist and I don’t agree with the ethics of military service. Besides that I’m an artist!”

I was that foolish, idealistic youth that thought I could somehow afford college without my fathers help. I thought my skills as a writer would be enough and that someone out there would see my creative value and give me a shot. That kid was a complete idiot. My young, idealistic, foolish mind had no idea what was coming.

Fast forward to when I was 20 years old. I had already been fired from several low paying temp jobs. My mother was putting me up at her house and was quickly tiring of my presence. She’d already begun threatening to kick me out if I didn't find a job. I couldn’t find one. Even the local pizza joint didn’t need anyone. Hemet California at the time was not the most fertile job market and despite all my trying I couldn’t land anything. I found myself having frequent anxiety attacks about what I was going to do when my mother finally tired of me and I wound up homeless. When I asked friends that were serving they made it sound promising.

Higher education was beyond my ken at the time. My divorced, and remarried parents, both made too much money for me to qualify for grants for college. On top of that I had no idea how to even apply for loans. I had no idea how to survive as an adult with minimal education and maximum issues from a traumatic upbringing. To boot I was the kind of emotionally damaged young fool that pined for unrequited love. Worse and even more cliché is that the woman of my dreams was deeply in love with my best friend. I simply couldn’t cope with the reality of that and was looking for anything to find a sense of belonging in.

Looking back now I see that I was quite literally the perfect candidate. I was the ideal undereducated, overly intelligent, misanthropic, misguided, misinformed miscreant that the U.S Military recruiters drool over. When my mother plopped me down in front of one I bought all the promises of a better life hook, line, and sinker. I probably could've been convinced to ship out the next week if I hadn’t been overweight. I knew and started preparing as best as I could manage for joining the U.S Army.

For the next several months I devoted myself to getting into the Army. Much of that was just the act of listening to my recruiters. I started starving myself and running miles a day wrapped in plastic wrap to try and lose weight. I was lightheaded constantly, my moods were in constant flux, and the heat was excruciating but I pushed myself through it. I didn’t see any other way to proceed with my life.

At the same time I did my best to try and prepare for the reality of what I was getting into. The only sustenance I had at the time was my dreams, goals, and foolish obsessions. Half of my thoughts were dreams of camaraderie and honor born of my life immersed in films of sacrifice and heroism on battlefields.

The other half of me was accepting that I was going to have to give up the core parts of me for a chance at bettering myself. I was going to have to get used to eating shit, of being put in the worst positions, and having no say in how I was going to be able to live my life. I tried to get used to having no choice in *any* matter. I despaired at the thought but also felt that somewhere deep down inside that I had it in me to make it through. Honestly the military didn’t sound that much different than living with my father. Looking back it wasn't all the unfamiliar in many ways.

I rationalized everything to myself. It was a post 9/11 world but not by long. The nationalistic fervor was cranking up slowly but surely. Besides that I had something to prove and needed somewhere to go. I figured that if going to Afghanistan was gonna happen at least there was a reason for that conflict that my foolish mind could wrap itself around.

As I said I had something to prove. To myself. To the world. To my disapproving parents. To my friends. To the woman who I thought I was hopelessly smitten by. Her boyfriend, my estranged bestie who I’d betrayed by my very thoughts and desires. He had recently washed out of basic training due to leg injuries. Instead of caring for my friend I entertained toxic and arrogant parts of me. I found that I wanted desperately to prove that I could succeed where he’d fallen. It’s something I still feel ashamed of to this day even though my bestie has long since forgiven me. He’s much more mature and benevolent than I probably could ever deserve after what I’d done.

Aside from that, the practical concerns of eating and having a warm place to sleep were constant. Once my mother realized she had an out from the situation and she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about kicking me out, my fate was already sealed.

My plan, nay my hope, was all starting to rest on joining the Army in every way that my young mind could conceive. I just knew I would be able to find a job in computers when I finished my service and that I would have a stable and somewhat lucrative future. Like everyone that joins, I was misled by my recruiters (classic mistake! Trusting recruiters!) and was quickly nudged into taking the position that they were incentivized to fill. I thought I would be entering a technology centric field and I would be able to put my previous experience with computers to use. That's how they get you, with promises of hope when you have none.

When it came time to sit down and choose a career the job that I wanted wasn’t available quickly enough. My mother had already set her expectations of getting rid of me and I wasn’t going to have me around for another year until my desired school had an open slot. Instead I chose the next closest thing based on my understanding. I picked one of my back ups, one with a fancy sounding name “Multi-Systems Transmissions Operator Maintainer.

I took it partly because my recruiter assured me that I would wind up in some boring place in the Midwest working on telephone poles all day in the snow. The other part of my choice was my need to GTFO to somewhere as soon as possible. I realize now a big part of me was just trying to run from failure and grasping for anything to find a sense of stability in.

My course was set. I was soon on a plane headed to the South and Fort Benning Georgia for Basic Training. What I didn’t realize was that what I was getting into would be anything but clean, easy, or what I expected.