Thursday, May 27, 2010

The fewer, the proud

posted Mon, 23 Jul 2007

I just wrote about this to my Serious Honey, who has been away from me for far too long but a man has to do what a man has to do. Work does come first, unfortunately. After re-reading it, I decided it was too good not to post. This version has G-rated language.

At boot camp this morning, I was asking Tony more about Marine Corps boot camp. He told me a story of when he was an inductee. These are more or less his words. (I need to start taking a tape recorder to class.)

Tony: I’m on the bus from Charleston to Parris Island. It’s midnight. I know what’s coming up.

Me: That’s right – your brother was a Marine?

Tony: My brothers, my dad, my grandfather. So I know what to expect when we arrive. We all started at 7:00 a.m. at the recruiter’s office, then have flown from all over the country to Charleston. It’s been a long day. These two black guys from Detroit are sitting across the aisle from me, carrying on and talking loud, so I say, “Hey guys. Would you mind keeping it down so we can sleep over here?”

One of the guys answers, “Kindly do not address me, you of Southern, white, rural origin.”

I said, “Hey. It’s going to be pretty intense when we get there.”

He answered, “Perhaps I should inform you that I have had altercations involving sharp instruments in the neighborhood I call home. Indeed, many have suffered at my swift hand. This boot camp will not be a challenge for one such as I. My prediction is that it won’t even reach the level of excrement.”

I said, “If you’ve got a knife, let’s bring it on. Otherwise, whatever.”

Three days later, I was walking through the barracks. The guy was curled up in his bed, crying. Crying! He was saying, “Help me Jesus!”

I whapped him upside the head and said, “Ain't gonna be s***, huh?” And I never saw him again. They booted him out.

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