I have always loved the military. I played with Gi-Joe’s and watched the cartoon. I watched all the Rambo movies. I watched John Wayne as a Green Beret and wanted to be one of the dirty dozen. Once in 6th grade I was asked to draw a picture of what I would look like when I was grown up. I drew a picture of myself in a black wet suit with a spear gun, a spitting image of one of my Gi-Joe’s. When I was a kid I played “War” with the other kids in the neighborhood. The kid who lived across the street from me, his Dad had been in the military and may have even served in Vietnam. He took the time to let us borrow some old uniforms and gave us a few pointers. We would play War all day long on the weekends decked out in camo from head to toe, jumping fences, hiding in bushes and setting up basic ambushes. We learned to stop and listen before rounding a corner, to look for moving bushes and to hide in shadows. We got water from the hose and Mom would bring us out sandwiches for a lunch break. I moved to a new neighborhood right after 6th grade, into a new group of friends and turned the corner on no longer doing “kid” things. I got into football, baseball and pick-up games of basketball. Sports, especially football started laying the ground work for teamwork, putting the team before yourself and playing through pain. I love the rush from playing sports and I never forgot the rush I got from playing war as a kid too. The thrill my side would get when we won a game or battle and the hurt felt when we lost. On its basic primal level with the game of War we were playing what came natural to young boys, like little bear cubs play fighting or little lions stalking one another. 2-a-day football practice in the Texas heat, battling for a starting position and practicing all week to play like a team for the big game on Friday night. They were games we played, they were practice and it was training for my future.
the last full day
10 years ago
