My Crackerjack

A few weeks back I had to renew my driver license. The last time I renewed it, I wasn't exactly sure where my DD 214 was, and frankly didn't care all that much. When renewing this time though, I had the form and took it with me for the appointment. I know, they tell [us] the DD 214 is the most important piece of paperwork that we own! And that we should never lose it! In my defense I didn't lose it, I simply misplaced it. Over the years one box of old records after another just got shoved back into the corner of a closet, it had been there all along. 

For those of you wondering what a DD 214 is, it is the official certificate of discharge from active duty in the military, and most importantly, the status under which you have been discharged. I have the fancy parchment hanging on the wall in my office, but that isn't really worth the paper it is written on since it isn't an official document. The whole reason I needed the official discharge paper was to have the 'Veteran' designation affixed to my renewed driver license. 

In all honesty though, I've always had an uneasy relationship with my designation as a Veteran. While I am incredibly proud of my service, I am fully aware of the fact that my experience is not the same as many others who wore the uniform. You see, I served following Desert Storm and before 9/11, a time most would describe as peaceful and relatively prosperous. My time in the active duty Navy was also limited, so I spent the bulk of my service in the reserves. Although I had one brief set of activation orders in 1997 (or was it 1998?), all that really succeeded in doing was raise the stress level of my then fiancé. So, yes I feel a little sheepish when being placed in the same bucket as my comrades who sacrificed far more than I did. Yet when I received that new driver license with the 'Veteran' designation it did offer--can I say validation that my service was noteworthy?

I have numerous 'sea stories' from my time in the Navy and won't share them here. Partly because many aren't really suitable for this audience, but mostly because you probably wouldn't consider them all that interesting. But, I do want to share one memory from the very beginning of my adventure. 

Once enlisted, I was sent to boot camp in Orlando, Florida. In the middle of summer. The bus I was in rolled through the gates of RTC Orlando late that evening where we glimpsed a water tower emblazoned with the phrase 'Navy World', obviously as a play on the family themed vacation destination Walt Disney World (for the record, boot camp was no Disney experience). Along with all the other strangers on the bus we thought this clever and that everyone we were about to encounter would be happy to see us and we would enjoy our stay. They weren't and we didn't.

What happened when the bus came to a stop was pretty typical of what you have heard from countless others that have been though it, as seen on television shows, movies, etc. A guy jumping on the bus and yelling at everyone to get off. We were shepherded into a processing barracks and divided up into groups, sorted, interrogated and tested. After a very long night we were again sorted into dark rooms, pointed to a bunk and told to sleep. 

Awakened a few hours later (pretty much how you would expect new recruits to be awakened), we were told to 'get on the line' for muster. I was very surprised to realize that I was in a very large barracks with about 80-100 other young men that I had never seen before. Our 'P' ('P' meaning 'pre-training period') week had begun. Basically we were in limbo for about 10 days while awaiting other recruits from around the country so we could form up enough Companies to begin a training division. We went through the haircut, being issued uniforms (and while having to wait for them to be 'tailored' being forced to march through the base wearing ugly t-shirt and shorts, which were worn like a scarlet letter that designated us as 'P's), and learning the basics of marching in formation.

Once the uniforms were finally issued, we arrived at 1-1 Day (first day of training in week one). I'm not sure if that was by design or if it is perhaps just the way I remember it. Our Company Commander commented that now that we looked like sailors, he was going to turn us into sailors. Boot camp wasn't a lot of fun, and I think most people who have gone through it would agree. There were ups and downs, physical conditioning and mental conditioning, and a lot of other weird and unusual things that come with boot camp. 

When it was over and we all had to travel on to our next assignment, we weren't authorized to wear civilian clothes. Mostly this was due to the fact that all of our civilian clothes had long since been mailed home, but also [I'm speculating] the Navy still wanted to project the aura of having complete control over us. Nevertheless, we were all quite proud of the fact that we now had the privilege of wearing the Crackerjack.  (Aptly given the nickname 'Crackerjack' due to the resemblance of the character on the box of snacks, it is more formally known as the U.S. Navy Enlisted Dress Blue Uniform.)

After donning that uniform and settling into my seat on the airplane it suddenly occurred to me that I had changed significantly. It wasn't just my Crackerjack. It was in the way that I carried myself. It was the way that I approached complex issues, and most importantly provided me with the wisdom of maturity. From my earliest days of boot camp to when I finally mustered out at the end of my enlistment, my experience in the military taught me a lot. There is no doubt it served as a catalyst from youth to adulthood. Trust me, I had a lot of growing up to do, and my service in the Navy certainly helped me with that. So this time of year, when people like to tell me 'Thanks for your service.,' I would also like to say thank you to the service. You helped a boy grow up.