From Army to Mommy: My Story Part III
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It only took a week or two before the novelty of college FREEEEDOOOMM (said with Mel Gibson gusto) wore off. After playing ping pong until 3 a.m. several nights in a row with my newfound friends, I started to wonder why I was the only one getting up two hours later to exercise. I learned quickly that Army physical fitness was not a “how about a few sit-ups and jokes around the weight set?” kind of deal either. I came to the Gonzaga ROTC program barely able to complete 15 “knee” push-ups and within two months could easily knock out 40 real ones. I froze my rear end off running along the Spokane River Walk, began my lifetime loathing of flutter kicks (an evil, EVIL ab exercise), and kind-a started to feel tough.
I launched into my leadership education about the time my skinny arms developed muscle and I discovered the art of calling cadence (One, Two, Three, and a Quarter… Somebody, Anybody, Get me some water!). Along with attending my other academic classes, I drove to Gonzaga three times a week for ROTC classes and outdoor lab. Quite a switch in thinking to study core theology concepts in the morning and react to an ambush in the afternoon.
I wish I could say that education was the only thing on my mind those first few months of college, but my journal tells a different story. To be honest, my journal is a little embarrassing. I recently thumbed through the pages of September 1997 to March 1998 and prayed two things today: 1. Please don’t let my sons ever find this boy-crazy-nonsense 2. If I ever have a daughter, please remind me of these journal entries when she goes through her boy-crazy-nonsense. No kidding, every other entry in my diary detailed some new dude I’d met and fallen for.
After sifting through too many pages of nauseating twitter-pation, I did find one or two heart felt entries. One on Valentine’s Day, February 1998, read: “I miss home, but where is home? I stress about school and ROTC and grades and money. I guess this is what real life is like. I’m so lonely.” At that point in my life I wanted to belong so much and unfortunately equated belonging to having a boyfriend. To make matters worse, a pattern emerged with every new boy I met. Initial attraction became clumsy friendship and then, boy learned that girl was more than girl, girl was ARMY girl, POOF, boy chased other girl. Almost every male interest I met my freshman year viewed me as not just a girl, but an Army girl. In my experience, those nineteen-year-old boys thought my combat boots were intriguing from far away, but intimidating within reach. I had just broken up with the only boy I thought would understand my military call with no replacement in sight.
I decided not to date anyone within the ROTC program, despite a crush or two I kept on some of them. Early on, I joked that there was enough Army in me for whoever I dated and kind of stuck to that thought. In April 1998, however, I became a desperate. I needed a date to my first military ball and couldn’t think of anyone that would be up for it. The annual Gonzaga ROTC gala was a tough sell. Hey Whitworth guy, wanna go to a fancy dinner and dance where you won’t know anyone except me and all the other guys will be in tough Army greens? No wonder men weren’t lining my dorm hallway begging to be my date.
I was just about to break my “no-Army-dating” rule and ask another cadet, when I met him. Tall, dark, and handsome, a Whitworth football player, and fellow Army brat, he seemed to good to be true.
To be continued…
Themocracy