Graduation

The Book of Ron · 19 of 48 · 3 minute read

On my birthday, when I was 17 years old, I found myself standing on the yellow footprints at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego. About five minutes after learning how to tell time the Marine way—a lesson that started on the bus—a massive drill instructor came in shouting, “You have six seconds to be off my bus. Ten of them are already gone!” Before I could even calculate the time properly, I was still seated. He grabbed me, picked me up, and literally escorted me off the bus.

Standing on those yellow footprints, I could see the others around me through my peripheral vision. We were at attention, eyes locked straight ahead, daring not to do anything else. I felt reasonably secure. Most of the platoon looked like you might expect in the ’70s—long hair, rough clothing, druggy-type appearance. I was a farm boy, clean-cut, hair short, trying to look as squared away as I could. I felt certain my appearance would set me apart.

We marched through the hatch opening into a large room. Within about five minutes, approximately 60 or 70 of us had this in common: we were all naked, shaved bald, and being assigned uniforms. You could not tell one individual from the next. We were stripped of our identity and about to begin the process of being converted into United States Marines.

At that point in my life, I had never shaved before. As I was doing it, under extreme duress, I nicked myself in two or three places. A drill instructor circled the herd and picked me out. “Oh, here’s our first casualty. Hasn’t even been to war yet.” Three drill instructors surrounded me, demanding to know why I thought I could damage Marine Corps property.

My experience in boot camp was wonderful. There, I found consistency and structure I had never known with the explosive temper of my father. There was certainly temper in the Marine Corps. There were consequences for failure. But there was also steadfast instruction. You knew exactly what was happening from the time Reveille sounded until Taps. You knew when you would sleep, when you would eat, when you would use the restroom, even which shoe you would put on first. Everything was structured. Everything had a purpose.

On graduation day, I stood on that parade deck in my uniform and became a United States Marine. It was the proudest moment of my life. To this day, it still is.

Yet in that very moment, pride turned into sadness. I looked around. My peers were embracing their families—wives, mothers, fathers—sharing the accomplishment together. I had no one there.

So I picked myself up, got a taxi to the airport, and reported to my next duty station.

Graduating from Marine Corps boot camp—graduating from any military boot camp—is more than completion of training. It is indoctrination. It is discipline. It is pride. It is accomplishment. Not diminishing anyone else’s achievements, but in my mind, it surpassed a four-year college degree. In boot camp, you learn lessons that shape you for life.

There is a companion workbook for this story. Open the workbook (PDF).