I did it. I'm done (almost). I'm in. I'm official. I got the T-shirt and everything. I'm a Marine Corps Poolee enlisted in the DEP.
I'm happy, excited, relieved. But these are all feelings post-swearing in.
If you had asked me how I felt at, oh, let's say, eight o'clock yesterday morning I would have told you I was bored out of my mind seasoned with a little bit of tired and a pinch of nerves.
Sunday afternoon I met with yet another recruiter who took myself and two other now-poolees down to MEPS to be sworn in. We got to the hotel around four o'clock in the afternoon and it was nothing but a huge waiting game from there.
We waited for dinner. We waited for the briefing. We waited for bedtime. We waited for our wake-up call.
My room mate, who was also swearing in to the Corps, was a tiny nineteen year-old gal who didn't want to go swimming for fear there may be germs in the water and didn't like the effect that chlorine had on her hair and skin. The picture of her in the United States Marine Corps only got more fuzzy as she told me that she didn't like being told what to wear and didn't like people who thought they could boss her around.
She was sweet and cute and determined to find a hot Marine to date when out of Boot Camp. She also ate slower than any other human I have ever met in my entire life.
I had to break down and ask her why she was joining the Marines. She replied that she respected them and I shrugged and left it at that. This is not to say or imply that I don't think she could make it in the Marine Corps, only that the transformation of thought and opinion will be a drastic one for her to achieve. It's not my job to decide whether someone is fit for service or not though I'd love to be a fly on the wall for her first few days of Boot Camp. As it turns out I should be going through my final phase of Boot Camp when she stands her tiny little feet on the yellow footprints. I wonder if I'll ever see her down there.
The next morning we were up and I was out to the bus as fast as my feet could carry me after a quick pit stop for breakfast and a bubbling, "Good Morning" to the rows of silent boys waiting to depart.
There were three girls at MEPS that day and all three of us were swearing in to the Marine Corps. In actuality there were twenty-eight Marine Corps applicants that needed swearing in and only two National Guard and two Navy applicants.
I was painfully aware that it would be a long day, especially when all twenty-eight of us tried cramming ourselves in the liaison's office as he let out a, "Holy Hell."
I had to go down and get my height and weight retaken and was three pounds heavier than my last trip to MEPS.
After that it was just waiting upon waiting upon waiting.
And, when you have twenty-eight people swearing into the Marine Corps, waiting and sitting in the same room for hours you get lots and lots of conversation.
There was talk of jobs and MOSs, speculation of war and Boot Camp. There was the bravado of, "I joined the Marine Corps to kill," and a lot of talk about the superiority of the basic rifleman to any other MOS in the Corps.
I sat back and smiled.
Having been a Marine Corps wife for years and in association of the Marine Corps for over eleven years I know my fair share of infantrymen as well as Marines of many different trades and skills. I am well aware that the life of an infantryman is not as glorious as it is portrayed to be nor is it as exciting. These young men are in for a big surprise once they exit SOI and get to the Fleet.
My ears especially perked up when one young man began squabbling with one of the gals about why females were not allowed in combat. There was talk about our compassion and our unwillingness to pull the trigger when the time came and the young man proclaimed that, "killing a human being is a lot different than killing an animal." While I agreed with him I wondered if he truly understood what it meant to take a life, especially after listening to him rave about how much destruction he was bound to do and how many people he hoped to kill.
My heart sank in my chest as I thought of the dozens of Marines that I personally know, my own husband included, who have had to take those shots and end human lives. The experience has almost unanimously been sobering, saddening and one that is tormenting. I have seen these strong Marines cry, heard their regrets at having to do what they had to do conflicted with their satisfaction that they were able to do what was necessary to survive and keep fellow Marines alive and safe. I have also heard many a story about Marines who could not do what was necessary when the time came.
I wanted to tell this young man to be careful what he wished for. I wanted to tell him that better men than he have buckled under the weight of combat and never healed from what they have done. I wanted to warn him that war is, indeed, hell and a hell that doesn't seem to go away just because you have left the front lines.
I opened my mouth to speak and as he raved on about the glee he will get in killing and destroying I closed my mouth and turned away.
Some people just have to learn for themselves.
As more talk continued the title of a popular movie amongst Marines came up: Full Metal Jacket. While the complete movie is a bit boring the first thirty minutes or so are a depiction of Marine Recruit Training and, as I have heard, the most accurate depiction to date. The Drill Instructor is played by "the Gunny" who actually was a Drill Instructor in the Marine Corps at one time. It is a movie much quoted amongst Marines.
Blondi, to my right, said, "That movie has scarred me for life."
"Why?" I asked.
"It just has. I'm so glad the Marine Corps isn't like that these days."
I furrowed my brow and said, "What do you mean?"
"Well, Drill Instructors can't insult you or touch you..."
There was a roar of laughter from all around her.
While it's true that Drill Instructors are not supposed to touch recruits there is what is "not supposed" to happen and what actually happens. Those two things can differ from time to time. However, I had never heard of any policy stating that Drill Instructors were to refrain from insulting recruits and all reports seem to indicate that insults are widely and heavily used as a means of motivation.
Again, I marveled at the level of adjusting that would be required for this girl once she arrived at Boot Camp. As before, I was not ready or willing to make a judgment as to whether or not she could become a Marine, just wishing I was a fly on the wall to see just how shocked she'd be at her first insult.
I certainly don't think I know everything there is to know about Boot Camp or the Marine Corps. I am sure that once I get there I will have my own levels of adjusting and shock, frustration and trouble. What I do hope is that I have enough for-knowledge to get over my shock as quickly as possible and give my all. After all, before the world of the internet where former recruits and Marines have been able to share their experiences and poolees have had a forum with which to connect to these people and gain their foresight there have been plenty of people who have gone to Boot Camp not knowing one single darned thing about it and succeeded. I have just as much of a chance at failing or succeeding as anyone else has and I'm humble enough to say I'll have my own problems adjusting to Marine Corps life, but I am grateful for how much I do know and have been prepared for.
My goal is to go into Boot Camp with no mental restrictions. I don't want the words "can't", "won't" or "don't" to cross my mind in regards to myself or the Drill Instructors. Just my luck, the moment I start thinking, "Drill Instructors can't make me do.." or "I don't want to..." or "They won't do..." is just about the time that's exactly what they will make me do. I want my mind to be so open it's about to fall out of my head.
It helps to have heard plenty of Boot Camp stories and hear about the creative ways that Drill Instructors come up with to motivate and teach.
I smiled and looked ahead.
Once again, some people just have to learn for themselves.
Finally there came the time to do our Initial Strength Test (IST). I wasn't aware we would be required to do one but I was not worried. I have been consistently doing well over the amount of crunches required and my flexed-arm hang was more than sufficient, but the whole room buzzed with speculations.
Some of the applicants expressed worry while others boasted of their physical abilities and the ease with which they would pass.
The two girls, one on either side of me, both groaned in protest and expressed not being ready.
The boys went first with their pull-ups and it was amazing to see the different strength levels in the different body types. There were big, burly boys who looked as though they could bench press a bus who couldn't do a single pull-up and there were tiny little skinny boys who could pump them out one after the other. On the reverse side there were plenty of boys who were skinny who couldn't do a single pull-up and plenty of muscle-clad young men who did as well as you would expect them to do.
When it came time for the girls to do their flexed arm hang I was curious to see how the other two would do compared to their physical appearance.
The blond to my right got up on the bar and immediately her eyes started to bat frantically and the liaison had to remind her to breathe as her face began to turn red, then purple. She lasted twenty seconds after taking a few shallow gasps.
My room mate was called up but had gone to the bathroom and so she was passed over and it was my turn.
The liaison assisted me to the bar and as the clock started I took the advice of another female Marine who said, "Sing the Marine Corps hymn in your head. Don't count because it will just psych you out. Instead, sing the Marine Corps hymn and if you can get through it three times you know you have maxed out on the time."
I held on for dear life and started silently singing the Marine Corps hymn while I steadily breathed in and out with even, long breaths.
I didn't worry about time and after some time there were ripples of whispers in the crowd watching.
When I lowered myself from the bar the liaison said, "One minute. Great!"
Sixty seconds. I was pleased.
Next my room mate returned and got up on the bar only to instantly start to shutter and drop to the floor in only fifteen seconds.
When it came time to do crunches they took the applicants into the office six at a time and they came out gasping for breath and joking with each other.
The girls went in and when they came out my room mate was happy with her forty-six crunches while the other blond began to cry.
"What happened," I asked.
Between sobs she said, "I.. only.. did.." gasp, "twenty."
She continued to sob and my room mate and I tried to comfort her.
"They will.." sniff, sob, "disqualify me." Big tears started to tickle the edges of her eyes.
"No," I said, "I'm sure they won't. You'll just have to try again a little later when you get stronger."
"No.." she sobbed and sniffled and wiped her nose, "I know they will.. disqualify me."
I suddenly started to feel sorry for Drill Instructors. Of thee three of us girls you had one who was underweight by three pounds (me); one who didn't like to be told what to wear, was afraid of germs and obsessed with her hair and skin; and you had one who sat there sobbing in fear of disqualification for not meeting the crunch requirement.
Not to mention you had rows and rows of boys filled to their eyeballs with attitude just waiting to try it out on anyone who would challenge them.
Yes, I definitely feel sorry for Drill Instructors. They have one TOUGH job to do.
Giving up on Sputtering Blond to my right I waited for my turn which turned out to be at the end. I was the last person to go into the room with another young man.
He did his crunches and then it was my turn to do mine.
Immediately I knew that something was off as I couldn't seem to get comfortable and get all the way up to the proper position.
I knocked out forty crunches rather quickly but very suddenly couldn't seem to do any more which irritated the fire out of me seeing as how I had been doing seventy-five with relative ease just two weeks ago.
I tried hard for another and another and another and another and another only to get about half way up before I would collapse back to the floor. Grunting and cursing myself (rather loudly, I'll admit) I would try again and finally my time was up and I was very irritated with myself.
"Forty-two," the boy holding my feet reported.
The liaison dismissed us and as I was walking out the door he called me back in the office.
"You got forty-four," he said.
"Sir?" I queried.
He smiled at me and said, "You got forty-four," as he wrote the number beside my name.
"How many is the minimum?" I asked.
"Forty-four." He smiled again.
"Sounds good to me," I said with a grin and left his office feeling a bit better about myself and determining to work harder on my crunches.
We waited for another four or five hours and as the time painfully crept on the attitudes got worse as patience wore thin and people became tired.
I'd never heard so much complaining and whining in my life.
The boy sitting behind me whined for hours on end and then said to the boy beside him, "I think I want to become a sniper."
I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing and said, "If you can't take these few hours of waiting than DO NOT become a sniper. As a sniper you have to sometimes wait two or three days in one spot for the perfect shot or spend days moving mere yards just to get into position. If you can't take a few hours of waiting in a comfortable chair you will not make it as a Sniper."
The boy's eyes widened and he said, "Wow. You really have a lot of waiting around as a sniper?"
I laughed and turned back around. Again, some people just need to learn for themselves.
My husband and son arrived at noon but the hours ticked on before I was called in to complete my paperwork and released to my interview and my fingerprinting.
When I was finally allowed to go and sit with my family to wait for the Swearing In Ceremony it felt like it had been a year when in actuality my day of sitting in a chair had only been about eleven hours long.
When eight of us were put in the briefing room the patience was just about gone. There was cursing and disrespectful remarks and I was astounded when one young man spouted out a very vile comment to the man giving us our instructions. Bless him, he had a lot more patience than I would have had but you could see the anger in his face as well as his disapproval.
He took us into the Ceremony room and taught us how to stand at parade rest and how to snap to attention when the Major came into the room which we all did well enough for first timers.
When my family entered the room my son ran to me and stared up at his Mommy standing at attention in front of a Marine Corps Major. He stood in front of me, watching me intently as I gave my oath to defend the Constitution of the United States of America from all enemies foreign and domestic.
It was a very sobering and wonderful moment.
When we were done we took some pictures and told to go back into the briefing room where the Major would come in and sign our contracts with us.
When I got back into the briefing room I saw the other applicants slouched at chairs and talking with the same disrespect and attitude with which they had gone in.
I sat in a chair, silent and distant from them as to not be associated with their chatter. Again, I felt sorry for Drill Instructors.
When the Major came into the room I was the only one to stand at attention.
He smiled at me, pointed and said, "You go first."
The others around me moaned and griped and I biometrically signed my contract with my fingerprint and photograph.
The Major printed out my contract and chatted with me about my service asking me if my husband had also served.
"Yes, Sir. He's prior service Marine Corps."
"That's what I like to hear," the Major said. "And now he's passing the torch to you, huh?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, good luck."
I shook his hand and was enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.
