Twenty-seven years ago today I entered Marine Corps boot camp at MCRD San Diego a young, confused, but ready to get my life moving forward adolescent.  Growing up an Army brat as well as having a friend complete Marine boot camp months prior gave me an awareness and insight some of my fellow recruits did not possess. I picked both my father’s and friend Bill’s brain before departing and although very different people, they gave similar advice. Keep your mouth shut and do everything quickly and to the best of your ability. Good advice on paper, not always easy to follow in the chaotic environment that is boot camp.  Whatever advice you follow and however ready you think you are, the first night is a shock.  Here is my recollection of it-

In terms of mileage, the distance from San Diego Intl Airport to MCRD Sand Diego is less than a mile as the crow flies. The bus ride took an eternity. I boarded the bus with the other marine recruit from the Houston MEPS (Military Entrance Process Command), another tall lean kid like myself named Hawkins. The similarities end there. Hawkins waited his whole life for the day he boarded that bus. Hawkins was there to serve his country. My decision to join the Marines was a more recent development and born from a lack of options.  Reasons are irrelevant at this point; I’m on the bus.

The anticipation building during the lengthy quiet ride was bad enough but the situation was compounded by a nervous recruit losing his lunch in the back of the bus. A few groans were met by a “Shut your mouth!” from the bus driver. I arrived at the airport in the early evening and as the bus reached its final destination, darkness had settled in. The “I’m not in a hurry” procrastination I carried upon boarding was replaced by a”get me off this frickin bus” desperation. Let’s get this going.

A Drill Instructor boarded the bus and gave simple directions. Get off the bus, find a set of yellow footprints, and stare straight ahead. Simple. I screwed it up. (I can’t remember if this is when we were given the “everything out of your mouth will start and end with “Sir” lecture. Quite a few things from that night are hazy)

I exited the bus in fine form and found my yellow set at the end of the second line. Staring straight ahead I accomplished my first mission. But as more recruits jammed the second line, those of us at the end were pushed further down the line. As I scooted more to my right a DI got in my face to tell me to look forward. I scooted over one last time and stared straight ahead. The DI came before me.

“Are you stupid son?”

The answer is obvious right? Of course not. As I’m wont to do, I couldn’t answer. I had to think on it.

The obvious answer is no, but why is he asking me this? Shouldn’t he call me STUPID, not give me the opportunity to answer?  If I answer yes, does that preclude me from having to answer this question the rest of boot camp?  AM I STUPID? Am I? Hmmm…..

The DI leaned in closer and through gritted teeth asked again.

“Are you stupid son?”

No, it’s gotta be no.

“No sir”.

His head bowed towards the ground to look at my feet and waited for me to join him. I didn’t dare and kept my stare to the front. His head stayed in place while his eyes made contact with mine. His eyes moved down to my feet. I remember desperately wanting him to go away. This time my eyes followed his. My yellow footprints had disappeared. Ahh man. Not good. I closed my eyes and waited. It came.

“THEN HOW ABOUT FINDING A SET OF YELLOW FOOTPRINTS LIKE YOU WERE TOLD!!!”

In hindsight it wasn’t a bad thing to get the first dress down out of the way. Many more were to come. Not necessarily due to my ineptness in boot camp. I remained under the radar for most of boot camp but sometimes it’s just your turn. No one is immune. You take it and move on.

The night was one long fire drill . Heads were shaved. One older Hispanic recruit showed up with a shaved head. He still went into the chair and came out with the back of his head bleeding. My first “they’re not fucking around” moment. I didn’t have the opportunity to  see my reflection for hours. But if I looked like 95% of the other recruits in the room, I looked pathetic.   My red polo shirt, jeans, and old New Balance shoes worn to MCRD were shed, boxed, and stored. We were issued uniforms and filled out forms. So many forms. The night was one long confused hurry up and wait.

As the hour gets closer to morning the easiest of orders turn into a mess. We can’t line up right. You’re other right. A few recruits fell asleep filling out forms and are forced to stand up. A few talk when they shouldn’t and are shouted down. A recruit I later became friends with named Day made eye contact with me and we give each other a “yeah, this is fun” look. One recruit kept acting out and eventually disappears with a DI. I’m hungry but have no idea either when we will be fed or what time it is. In a less chaotic moment I ask myself whether this was a good decision. There are no other options I reply. Not good ones. That thought and the prospect of facing my Dad and Bill if I drop out propel me through boot camp. In truth, it never came close to happening.

We hurriedly exited a building, lined up in a half-ass formation, and found ourselves in the morning light of a damp, chill San Diego dawn. The early light reminds me of dawn patrol surf sessions of my high school days. We “marched” (I hesitate to call what we were doing those first days marching. It demeans the term.) towards the chow hall. Standing in line my stomach growls in anger and we see other recruits further along in the process. They looked like completely different creatures in their pressed uniforms and precise movements.  I thought how the hell will we ever be that squared away?

In the distance an airplane takes off and I begin my first day at MCRD.