Regrets? I Have A Few...

(I preface this post to say that I have, indeed, been spending time with my good friend, Jack Daniels).

To say that I have "regrets" in my life isn't to say that I regret my life as it is today. I understand that the decisions I've made have shaped who & what I am, but still...

I regret that I didn't make a career out of the Army. I enlisted at the age of 17, and entered service on September 21, 1988, 16 days after turning 18. I wanted to be an Military Policeman.

It turned out that the minimum height requirement for an MP is 5'8".... I was measured at 5'7-3/4". In my stockinged feet. So I was relegated to the ranks of the Infantry -- 11M.

(That's, "11 Mike", the designation for Mechanized Infantry, as opposed to 11B, or 11 Bravo which is "ground-pounder" infantry.)

Basic Training was fun for me, it really was! After the first three days, when I and everyone else was scared shitless, I began to see humor in what the Drill Sergeants were doing in order to 'break us down, to bring us up". I could laugh at their antics, while at the same time, understanding that what they were doing would make us better soldiers.

I learned how to strip (with my eyes closed), clean, and fire the M-16A2 (and hit targets at 800 meters, with open sights, consistently). I learned how to operate the S.A.W, the M-60 machine gun, and the M-203 grenade launcher, not to mention hand grenades and land mines.

I learned how to read a map, operate a field telephone (the PRC, or "Prick"), set an ambush, march in formation, stalk in the dead of night.... In short, I learned everything there is to know about how to take the life of another human being in the service of my country.

And I loved it.

But that wasn't enough.

Although I was in the best shape of my life, my physical and psychological prime, there was the matter of 2 sit-ups.

Yep. Two set-ups.

At the time I was 'listed, a soldier's minimum requirement for physical training (PT) was 42 push-ups in 2 minutes (I was good at 50), 52 sit-ups (which my Drill Sgt. counted at 56 -- good enough!), and a 2 mile run under something like 15 minutes (which I ran at 12-1/2 minutes).

I wasn't the best by far, but I did my best to all concerned...... Except to the grading NCO.

My first count on sit-ups was 50 -- 2 short.

My second count was 48.

My third (and final) count was, again, 50 (my Drill Sgt. counted 56).

Three shots were all we got.

My Drill Sgt. was PISSED! Not at me; at the grading NCO! Drill Sgt. Hill worked with me, trained me, and taught me to do "army sit-ups" just as he did them, and when that grading NCO failed me, Drill Sgt. Hill went BALLISTIC....... "How the fuck are you going to grade me when it's my turn?!", he shouted. "Pvt. F__ did 'em the same as me! Are you gonna flunk me, too, you dumb sonuvabitch?!?!"

I stayed at Fort Benning, GA, much humiliated, until February 14, 1989, when I was sent back home in disgrace. At times, I still, 18 years later, remember the looks on my parents' faces when they picked me up at the bus station. I still feel the shame of failure. Even now.

I was to have been shipped off to Germany, to one of ten Bradley units stationed there. Seven of those units were sent to Iraq during the First Gulf War.

I can't help but wonder, who took my place?

Granted, if I'd made it in the Army, I'd've never met The Missus, had my kids, etc.... But if I had made it, they wouldn't be an issue, now would they? I wouldn't know any better.

I'm happy with The Missus, & with my childerbeasts.

But still I wonder: Who died in my place?