We got the orientation package for Son Number
One's NROTC program this week - he starts down at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot
here in Sandy Eggo in mid-August. There were the general orders of a sentry to memorize, a list
of things one could (and could not bring), haircut regulations, etc. For as long
as I can remember, he wanted to be a naval officer, to fly fighters - a boy's
dream. It all seemed so far away, so theoretical, for so many years.
Suddenly it seems real: The Navy,
which has been a part of my life for so very long, is about to become a part of
his. In a way that it never has
before.
There are so many things that
he needs to know, so much that I would try to pass down to him - but he has
learned so much already, living the gypsy life of a Navy dependent. And some
things one must learn on one's own.
I had a sudden flashback to my own experiences,
my own commissioning program. Four long years at the monastery on the
Severn.
In my minds eye, the
image that always comes most forcefully to the forefront is this
one:
For
three years we had observed it as spectators, in the stadium seats. We envied
the grads who left the loving arms of "Mother B," the Bancroft Hall dormitory.
They
were going to the fleet.
They
would learn to fly fighters, or drive ships, conn submarines, lead young Marines
in combat.
We
would turn and walk back to Bancroft Hall. To another year at least of grinding
academic course loads, military drill, stultifying discipline, with only the
release of competitive athletics, and 12 hours "liberty" on a Saturday afternoon
to relieve the stress. If our grades were good
enough.
I remember the moment as
distinctly as though it had just happened - the feeling of freedom, of
accomplishment, of release. Standing there for the first and last time, not
observing from the stands, but for the first time down on the football field
itself. The Very Important People have had had their say, their motivational
moments. Our names have been read off the rolls and the commissioned officer's
oath of office read aloud, proudly and with a plangent meaning it would maybe
never have again, no matter how seriously one took
it:
I do solemnly
swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States
against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to bear true faith and allegiance
to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation
or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties
of the office upon which I am about to enter, so help me
God.
We turned to the left or
right, and with another that we had come to love as a brother, exchanged
shoulder boards on our choker whites - the thin stripe of a first class
midshipman exchanged for the fat gold bar of a no-kidding, ready-for-the-fleet
ensign, complete with the broad star of an officer of the line. The
underclassmen in the stands gave out the traditional three cheers for the
outgoing class, with descending degrees of enthusiasm from those who would take
our places as seniors to to the plebes whose lives we had made as miserable as
was permitted. And on the last hurrah, we flung our midshipmen's hats into the
burning blue Annapolis sky, as hard as ever we
could.
If this were a movie, it would
end right there, at that picture - the hats frozen in the air, the expressions
of triumph frozen on the almost painfully young
faces.
But I also remember this: The
hats come back down, with their hard plastic bills, brass buttons and tearing
anchors. I had never thought about it until that very moment, at the point they
reached the apex of their trajectories and came crashing back down upon our
upturned faces.
It seemed some sort of
metaphor. And in fact, it was. What goes up, will in fact go down. Seniors,
first class midshipmen, are at the pinnacle of one organization. The moment
those hats come back to earth, they are at the bottom of another. Because the
only thing lower that an ensign in the US Navy, is whale sh__. Oh yes, we
believe in karma here; the good and the bad. Because every tide that rises
brings a promise of an ebb.
And that is
the life that Son Number One has chosen - freely, willingly. In spite of my
every effort to tell him that it was his life to live, his choice to make. That
just because this had been my life, it did not have to be his. But he would not
have any other life, could not imagine it. And he is very
happy.
So I am very happy for him, as
he embarks upon his new path, and very, very proud of all his
accomplishments.
But I am also a little
bit afraid for him. Because that orientation class is at the Marine Corps
Recruit Depot, in San Diego, California. And waiting for him there will be a
granite faced drill sergeant who couldn't care less that his father is a captain
in the United States Navy.
And it is a
different world that he will join, a different country that he will defend, some
four years hence.
I am now become old -
I have served my time on the line. I have faced the wolf, and flung my willing
craft at those who would gladly kill me, if they
could.
But he is young, and he is my
son.
So I am proud, and a little bit
afraid.
Posted @
06:53 PM
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"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." - John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Ceasar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friederich Nietzsche
