Wednesday - April 26, 2006
350 Motivators
We gathered on the parade deck for our annual
run. After returning from Iraq several of us had put on some pounds. The
severe diet, a polite way to describe the meager rations issued, that we had in
Iraq had made most of us look chiseled and thinner, but now that we were back in
the land of the big PX many of us older guys have been reverting to a more
rounded shape. Now we had to stretch our legs for three miles and confirm we
were still fit for duty.
It's a big
field, with a 3/4 mile track inside it. Tents were erected, some sort of dog
and pony show was pending. Green hulks dominated one end of the track,
self-propelled howitzers, a stryker vehicle, and other largish army gear were
staged for inspection of family members or dignitaries of some
sort.
On the other end of the field was
a strange group formed up doing exercises. Once in a while a gaggle of them
would be cut loose and come running past to run little errands. They wore
different colored shirts and shorts. One guy had his hair waxed up in a punk
rooster comb. A motley assemblage but each of their faces radiated energy and
excitement. They were poolees.
Three hundred and fifty poolees, mostly high
school students waiting to graduate in a couple months were there from all over
northern Texas. Three hundred and fifty Americans, young people, were signing
up to be in the Marine Corps during wartime. Three hundred and fifty volunteers
who have been watching the news and hearing the stories of the war were there
just because they wanted to be.
They
weren't being paid. They haven't raised their hands yet. No one could make
them show up, there's no legal requirement. But they were there
anyway.
one, two, three, ONE, one two
three TWO, one two three THREE, one two three FOUR. Three hundred and fifty
young men and women, standing in formation doing exercises, shouting out the
counts while recruiters sang out the
cadence.
Three hundred and fifty
patriots there at Fort Sam Houston, home of Brook Army Medical Center, where
scores of mutilated soldiers and Marines come for healing. They couldn't help
but see some of these that have gone ahead of them, in their wheel chairs, with
prosthetics, mutilated features, yet three hundred and fifty men and women were
there nonetheless.
They were poolees,
waiting to go to boot camp. No one promised them a rose garden and all that
stuff. They were doing all they could to prepare for what they rightly expect
will be the most challenging and difficult time they've ever lived through so
far.
A lot of weasely people in this
country whine about this war that is foisted on us, picking nits about whether
this enemy or that was worth fighting. Three hundred and fifty were there,
signing on, literally, to a plan to fight the enemies we've found so far.
I know where they're going. I know
what they'll be asked to do. I know how hard it will be. I know some of them
won't make it through their training. I know some of them won't make it through
their deployments. I know some of them won't make it home
alive.
They're going anyway. And
they're so anxious to start, they're gathering from hundreds of miles away, on
their weekend of free time, to get an early start.
I couldn't have been prouder.
Americans can sleep well at night. I've seen those that will stand watch for
the next four years. Have no doubts, we'll be safe.
Go Back to the Start, Do Not Collect $200 Send me your two cents
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