Timeforablog

The six years the Corps and I shared

In July of this year I ended my 6^th year in the United States Marine Corps.  Today the Marine Corps celebrates its 234^th year protecting this nation.  I figured I would take this opportunity to reflect on the six years that the Corps and I shared.

For most, the memory of their time in the Corps starts when they are told to get off the bus and stand on the yellow footprints.  For me this seems completely detached from my time in the Corps.  Even the day I received my coveted Eagle, Globe and Anchor now seems meaningless in hindsight.  The one thing that I do remember from boot camp though is when a drill instructor told us that we would not be “real” Marines until we came back from our first deployment.

This stuck with me as I finished up my training and, as fate would have, it would not take me long to learn what the drill instructor meant.  The day I checked into my reserve unit I was told not to get a job, not to go to school, not to do anything: I was going to Iraq. I remember feeling proud because I was going to do what Marines were supposed to do.

The first time I left the safety of the base in Iraq I felt this flood of emotions pass over me.  I was excited, scared and proud, all at once.  It felt like I could not see, smell or feel fast enough.  Every light was a possible enemy, every sound an ambush, every movement an attack.  My job on that first day was to close off a road so that other Marines could search for explosives.

It was the summer months in Iraq and we had been out since early in the morning.  I was hot, tired and convinced nothing was going to happen.  As soon as these thoughts entered my head, a car came rushing past our stop signs, past the concertina wire and straight for my unit.  After my shouts and arm signals would not stop him, I looked through the scope on my rifle, saw the driver and pulled the trigger.

There would be several more times that I would do this throughout my deployment, however, it was that first time that stays in my mind clear as day.  It turned out that I missed, the driver stopped and everything was fine.  But there would be days when I didn’t miss, when the driver wouldn’t stop or when everything wasn’t fine.  For each of these days I felt myself slip further and further away from what boot camp taught me it meant to be a Marine and towards what I considered to be a “real” Marine.

After two combat deployments, several trips to other countries and six years, I try to define what that “real” Marine was that I was striving for.  I think about the men that I know to be real Marines.  I think about Sergeant Shogren who took me under his wing and forced me to be prepared for our deployment.  I think about Staff Sergeant Conly who refused to leave the frontlines after being seriously injured and then snuck back onto the battlefield to be with his men.  I think about Sergeant Jacobs who had us give all our money to a poor Iraqi family.

I think about these men and the definition of a real Marine comes into view.  These are brave, selfless men that did more then they ever had to do, in the world’s worst conditions.  It is hard for me to consider myself a “real” Marine when I compared myself to these amazing men.  All I know is that I feel humbled to have stood next to men like these, humbled to have shared the title of Marine.

TAGS: combat, Iraq, Marine Corps

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 10th, 2009 at 1:48 pm and is filed under Observations, Opinion.

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