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By Alyssa, December 10, 2009 11:20 pm

If you missed the first segment of “My Story” read this post first.

College.  Oh, wonderful, amazing, exhilarating college.  I counted down my high school days on the cover of a three-ring binder for almost a year vying to make it to that first day of college.  All three siblings and my parents drove me to Spokane, Washington for the drop-off.  My stomach knotted with excitement almost all seven hours of the trip.  Fresh off of the forty-acre farm, Spokane appeared to be a metropolis.  Whitworth College, a relatively small liberal arts campus tucked into the wooded north end of the city, seemed huge to me.  I spent my first few days on campus gaping at everything I saw, looming pine trees, stately brick buildings, people… so many people.

I remember it all happening so fast.  I piled my stuff into a cinder-block dorm room, met my fantastic freshman roommate, and toured the campus in almost a single breath. Before I knew it, I was hugging my brothers and sister and waving to my parents as they headed back home.  I’ll admit my confidence vanished watching their maroon-striped suburban leave the parking lot.  My eyes flooded with tears and I barely made it back to my new room before breaking down.  Why was I so determined to get out of Idaho and leave small-town life behind?  I blotted my puffy cheeks reminding myself that at least my boyfriend settled in the building.  Mr. Hometown lived three floors up in the same dorm.

Freshman initiation began as I pushed the homesickness aside and humiliated myself wearing pigtails and a men’s necktie around campus, a Whitworth tradition.  Mr. Hometown and I saw little of each other as we prepared for classes and met new friends.  I had almost forgotten about my Army scholarship in the initiation chaos and, a week after settling in, made my first drive down to Gonzaga University for uniforms and inprocessing. Although I attended Whitworth, their ROTC students fulfill scholarships by attending classes on the main Gonzaga campus.  Little did I know how many times I would soon make that fifteen minute drive south to the impressive College Hall, one of Gonzaga’s oldest buildings.

After my uniform fitting, I rushed back to the dorm to model the camo outfit for my new dorm girlfriends. “You have to show your boyfriend!” they exclaimed as I clumsily attached every Army gadget I’d recently acquired onto my body.  Striding up the three stories, I knocked firmly at Mr. Hometown’s room. “SURPRISE!” I yelled as he swung open the door.  Then it happened.  He looked at me and I searched his face as my smile slowly faded.  ”Wow” he said, trying to appear enthusiastic.  ”Yeah,” I stuttered softly, “I, uh, just got the uniforms and wanted to show you. Gotta start going to physical training early in the morning too.” He avoided eye contact as I muttered a few things before drifted back down to my room.  ”Well?” the girls asked expectantly in the hall when I returned. I smiled shyly and headed for my door, “He likes it I think, but, uh… I better change.”

It only took a week or two before Mr. Hometown and I were through.  He said that he wanted to be with me and that we could make it work, but it was in that moment, his first glance at my camouflaged fatigues, that I knew otherwise.  We had discussed my Army commitment and talked about the possibilities, but I don’t think it was real for either of us until I stood before him in uniform.  I broke-up with my first love and realized then that being in the Army might not be as easy for me as I thought it would be.

To be continued…

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By Alyssa, October 22, 2009 5:50 pm

I’m not sure when it all started.  Was it the first time I wore Army boots?  I was nine, I think, slipping my pink and white striped socks into my dad’s spit-shined pair of black boots.  We stood next to the ironing board as he pressed his uniform for weekend drill and showed me how to salute.  ”Elbow up and tuck that thumb. Good.  Now tilt your hand towards the ground.”  I held my arm stiff as he inspected.

Almost ten years later, I grabbed a ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) brochure by chance on my way out of a college fair in Boise, Idaho.  I didn’t really think I’d follow through with the application.  I confidently assured myself midway through senior year that with a top placement in my sixty-student class and my winning personality, I would be turning down scholarships.  Reality set in as I received multiple “thank you” letters explaining I did NOT receive a scholarship for my submissions.  It was about this time my parents first financially positive year in real estate coincided with my application for aid.  What luck!

I panicked in March of 1997.  Graduation loomed and I’d won just enough scholarship money to cover buying books for a semester.  I pulled the crumpled ROTC brochure from a bag and applied only days before their deadline.  I wish I could say it was my patriotic spirit and willingness to serve that inspired me to apply for ROTC.  I can envision myself humming “Yankee Doodle Dandee” as I marched to the mailbox and sent off my packet.  Yes, I tear up every time the national anthem is played and love this country, but my first few steps to joining the military were in desperation.  I gave myself two options.  Spend my college years sharing a room with my sister or use a ROTC scholarship to live on my own.  It didn’t take long before I received my answer. Accepted!  I completed a physical fitness test (still not sure how a shuttle run and throwing a basketball while kneeling proved I was physically ready for the military) and applied my ROTC scholarship to a private liberal arts college in Spokane, Washington.

After celebrating with my family, I discussed my plans with my high school sweetheart, Mr. Hometown. He was the captain of the basketball team and we were voted most likely Mr. and Mrs.. Although we’d only officially started dating the beginning of our senior year, we were desperately in love.  We’d discussed where we would live and knew how many kids we would have.  He debated between a college in Oregon and the school I wanted to attend in Washington.  I begged him to go to school with me.  How could we possibly be apart?  I was thrilled when he finally decided we would go to the same college.

To be continued…