The Forced March

Mamma, mamma, can't you see?

what the army's done to me?

Mamma, mamma, can't you see?

what the army's done to me?

Woah woah woah woah...

woah woah woah woah...

woah woah woah woah...

woah woah woah woah...

I used to date a beauty queen...

now I pack an M16...

I used to date a beauty queen...

now I pack an M16...

US Army marching cadence 

I grew up very tall and very skinny, extremely shy and insecure, afraid of my own shadow. All of the other boys were stronger than me and it was no rare occurrence for me to come home from school bruised and bloody from a beating. I never fought back because I was a complete coward. I dreamed of being strong and tough someday, of growing up to be a real man, no longer a sniveling cry-baby as I was at the time. 

Double tragedies in my 15th and 16th years of life left me struggling to make it alone in a city with a population of about 200,000 people. I really tried to make it on my own, going to school during the day and washing dishes at a restaurant at night to pay for the little room I was renting, but it was simply too much for me as traumatized as I was. I finally called an Aunt and Uncle who lived on a farm, and they took me in. They loved me and did their very best to help me but I'm afraid I was already too far gone by that time. I went wild, got into drugs and alcohol, really went off the deep end. 

I realized maybe 4-5 years later that I was in the fast lane to nowhere and that I had to do something to change the course of my life, and do it now. Something drastic.

I joined the US Army...




I figured that counted as a pretty drastic move for a sniveling coward who'd often come home from school bloodied and beaten, a young man still traumatized by the loss of his family and lost in a world of drugs and alcohol. In the end it turned out to be exactly what I needed. A sniveling coward went in. A man came out. A tough man, strong and true.

They set up a rhythm right from the very first day in basic training. You get up at 5 am, do PT (physical training), eat breakfast, shower and put your uniform on, then train hard all day. You go to bed at 10 pm every evening, thoroughly exhausted. We had barely fallen into that rhythm when the lights went on at 3 am one morning and the drill sergeants burst into the barracks shouting at us to form up at the foot of our beds. Now anyone reading this who has gone through basic training knows that drill sergeants have a genetic defect: they cannot speak at a volume under 200 decibels. They told us that we had 20 minutes to form up outside in front of the barracks in full combat gear, including M16s and fully packed backpacks. 

When a drill sergeant tells you to do something, you do it...





Believe you me, we were formed up in front of the barracks in full combat gear 20 minutes later, scared to death, having no idea what was about to happen to us. The drills- each company has 2 of them- walked back and forth in front of us berating us, wondering how anyone could ever expect them to make men out of a bunch of wimps like us, how we were nothing but a bunch of mamma's boys who needed to have their butts wiped for them, and all kinds of other stuff like that. Finally they said, "So, ladies, we're going for a walk. You will keep your M16s one hand width from your bodies at all times (the closer to your body, the easier it is to carry). You will not drink without first asking for permission. If anyone needs to relieve themselves they will likewise request permission (in which case the company kept marching and you had to run to catch back up to them after you were finished)" Then came the commands: Right, FACE! Forward, MARCH! And off we went, off the post and out into the boonies. 

We marched, and we marched, and we marched. We marched for hours. At least we didn't have to march in step! They had said we had to ask for permission to take a drink from our canteen? Well, nobody wanted to and we all waited as long as we could before asking after we saw what they did to the first soldier who asked! Sgt. Taylor tore into him as if he'd shot his dog or something! Told him what a wimp he was for wanting a drink already after only 2 hours! Asked him why he even joined the army. Said he should have stayed home where his mamma could give him a warm glass of milk before bed every evening...

The first soldier stumbled and fell sometime that afternoon. That seemed to destroy everyone else's inhibitions and the whole company- all 40 of us- went down within seconds. Someone began snoring almost immediately.

Sgt. Taylor and Sgt. Bustamonte went nuclear...



Those two drill sergeants ran around with the cords standing out on their necks, their faces red, screaming at us in absolute rage! Whoever did not stand up immediately was not good enough for the US Army and would be dishonorably discharged and would never be able to get a job for the rest of their lives and should not be able to get a job anyway because they were a waste of the air that they breathe and they have been drill sergeants for 15 years and have never seen a bunch of wimps like we were and none of us would ever survive when the bullets started flying and the bombs started going off and did we think the enemies of the United States of America were such pussies that they couldn't handle a little walk in the woods and hopefully the Russians weren't looking down at us with a satellite because we were shaming the entire United States of America and especially the United States Army which has a long proud tradition of tough fighting men who are strong and true and who never give up in the face of hardship and maybe they should radio in for a bus to take us to a girl's boarding school where we could learn to knit socks and host Tupperware parties...

My life passed before my eyes as I lay there on top of my M16 in the dust, somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I thought of the many beatings I endured throughout the years at school. I thought of my sniveling, cowardly, cry-baby existence up till that time in my life. I thought of my father throwing me to the dogs because his new wife hadn't liked me. Suddenly I felt myself begin to be filled with a slow burning anger, or maybe it was more self-loathing at my own worm-like existence up to that point. After all, I had LET all of those people do all of those things to me. I had never, ever once stood up for myself! I was a weakling. The drill sergeants were right! I was a wimp!!!

I began to channel that anger, that self-loathing, and I began to fight. I got my hands under me and began to push with all my might, my whole body aching and trembling. I was exhausted and weak- at the end- but so determined, and I began to growl like an animal, and somehow managed to get to my knees. Others had noticed and were beginning to make their own efforts. Using my rifle for support I began to fight my way to my feet, nauseous and dizzy, growling through gritted teeth all the while. I finally made it to my feet with a final mighty roar and stood there swaying, only then becoming aware of the fact that my fellow soldiers were also standing up all around me, one by one- all of them swaying on their feet as well. And it was amazing! With each one of us that fought his way to his feet, the rest of us stood just a little more firmly. Soon we were all on our feet, standing tall and steady at attention, having discovered a source of strength deep within ourselves that we hadn't even known existed up till that point. 

Those drill sergeants? They changed in an instant. They looked at us a little differently, more respectfully in some way, even if they didn't say it. They took up their position and commanded: Forward, MARCH!

And you know what? We stepped out with a spring in our steps, chests out and heads held high, for the first time really feeling like soldiers in the United States Army. 

And you know what else? We were back at the barracks about an hour later! We had all given up only an hour from our goal! We hadn't known we were that close. If we had stayed on the ground we would have all been dishonorably discharged and sent home, one hour from the finish line, one hour from success.

I've never forgotten that lesson. I've never forgotten in hard times, when all seems lost, when it seems like I just can't go on, that I might be only one hour from my goal...

I'd love to hear any comments anyone may have...