Random Thoughts and Musings

Several people (as in, 12 of the 20 that ‘wrote in’), asked whether I was really in the Navy, and what Boot Camp was like, among other things.

Yes, I was in th U.S. Navy. I enlisted in October 1994, in the Delayed Entry Program, and headed off to boot camp March 1995. I joined to remove myself from a situation that was not good for me or the other person living it, and happened to luck into a position that I would come to love.

Boot camp was … boot camp. We worked our asses off. I lost tons of weight - I wore a size 6 when I entered, came out nine weeks later with brand new uniforms in a size 1. I didn’t realize I was losing weight til I stood up and my pants fell down around my ankles. Literally.

I learned that mind games are not just played by parents, but by everyone who thinks they can control you. I learned to play the game in a manner that allowed me to be independent, without getting into trouble or causing anyone else to get in trouble. I learned to sleep with 150 other people in the same room. I learned to shower with 150 other women and zero privacy. I learned to fold clothes in a fashion that I never used once I left boot camp. I learned that my stepfather’s rules and requirements had trained me for this stage in my life.

I watched several of my shipmates deteriorate and drop out due to various reasons: personal weaknesses, medical issues, mental issues. I watched one particular shipmate deteriorate to the point that she tried to commit suicide. Thanks to a quick-acting shipmate who was standing nearby, the deteriorated shipmate remained unscathed and was sent to a hospital. I do not know what happened to her from there. I watched grown men cry like babies, and grown women throw tantrums to rival the most terrible-est two in the world. I witnessed a newly-minted US Citizen (his family had ridden a raft from Cuba) not only master the English language, but excel at everything we did. His ENTIRE US-based family was at our graduation. One of our shipmates lost his younger brother AND gradmother in the Oklahoma City bombing. I still remember that he had to be told four times before he understood what happened. The look on his face was haunting.

I ran into several people form high school - which was odd, sincce I went to boot camp 2 years after we graduated - including one of my high school crushes. He managed to pass me a note (high-school style) during a field day-type event. I tossed it, realizing I would probably not see him unless we happened to be in town on leave at the same time.

I made fast friends: my Division Commander got in my face and hollered, and I laughed. He cycled me til I thought I would die, then got in my face and yelled again. I managed to only smile. He cycled me again, until I was too weak to move. Literally. Afterwards, he pulled me aside and asked why … I told him if he’d grown up with my stepfather, he wouldn’t think he was scary either. We became friends that day, and remained friends for a number of years. I earned privileges (a few of us earned pizza Sundays, outings to the local mall, and then … for those of us who were really well-liked, a free afternoon to do whatever we wanted, off-base). I put my loud mouth to use as the 2nd in charge of our Division: I was the loudmouth you hear calling out commands *grins*.

I learned to toss a rifle: my division was somewhat unique:
1) we were a 900-Division (meaning we were one of the performance teams for graduation ceremonies); our particular division was Division 9-1-1. (That’s how we were taught to pronounce it, tho it was Division 911).
2) We were an integrated company: we had both males and females in the same company, and did everything together. We slept in separate bunk halls - their bunk hall (room) was across the hallway from ours. All activities; marching, classes, chow time, punishments, cycling, duty, etc … were all done together. In free time we were allowed to socialize together, unlike other divisions, where males and females would not meet face-to-face.

I fractured both of my ankles the 3rd day there, because those stupid boondockers are a health hazard - especially on pot-hole filled, icy ground covered by snow in March. ESPECIALLY to someone who will trip over the same bump in the carpet in her own home at least twice a week. I learned to stand up for myself and to call in favors when needed: my 7th week in, they finally discovered the stress fractures in my ankle: they didn’t show up on X-ray, only on the bone scans. Prior to the discovery of the truth, their answer to my grapefruit sized ankles (I wish I could find those pics - my ankles were hideously huge and bruised) was to prescribe ice baths 15 minutes every 4 hours, enough motrin to fry anyone’s liver, and sleeping with my feet elevated. As soon as they realized what shape my ankles were in, they declared I would have weak ankles for the forseeable future, and began the paperwork to discharge me.

After an hour of stunned silence as I packed my bags, I became angry. And vocal. I went to my Division Commander (a hardass 1st glass petty officer), who called in our brother company’s DC, (a mean and ornery female chief who had medical training), and she went with me to the medical hall. We requested the doctor’s time, we fought my discharge process together. It did no good: the doctor refused to hald proceedings. My DC then asked me if I knew of anyone who would defend my capabilities & right to be in the military. I made a call to a friend of the family, who  made a few calls of his own, which were apparently highly effective. Five hours later, I was told to unpack my shit and get my ass into gear, I was wasting time. I was put on crutches for one week, and if I failed to pass the PT at the end of that week, I would be discharged, no matter who I knew, where.

I passed my PT (although I would have sworn it was killing me at the time) with flying colors. I proudly stood at attention with the rest of my division, and was even able to perform my rifle tossing in the ceremony. I had not one member of my family in the audience.

I came out of boot camp as an E-3 (because I was a good girl and got good marks on my exams, as well as played along with the mind games of my DCs and excelling in our performances), with paperwork for my guaranteed A-school (technical tranining), meaning I would not have to go to a ship and swab decks and let someone else decide my fate.

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xoxo