I have become obsessed with the war. It defines me. It is somethign I wanted, more than growing up. And now I don't want it.
As a kid, I would watch my dad, who never spoke about his war. I watched the movies, the jarheads and grunts making history with their rifles, returning home damaged. The first Gulf war consumed my youth, the sandbox the stage for the battle for world peace, the lines of razorwire and humvees, the phalanxes of bitter men the last defense between a man I was convinced could destroy me, safe in my home tucked behind the Oakland hills, invisible to Saddam and his missiles. My dreams always turned to the desert. When I was old enough, I broke and ran, straining towards the sands, the memory of New York and Washington, DC seared into my heart and mind.
The Army would not take me. Years of bad luck had reduced my body, the joints worn down to nothing, my spine twisted. I continued to abuse it, anyway, lifting and running and swimming through searing pain, dreaming of a future as a hero.
The Marines were enthusiastic. They didn't care, they told. Could I run, depsite the pain, could I pull myself through their boot camp? Yes, I answered, I can and I will. As insurance, however, I talked to Navy, as well. They were ecstatic. High ASVAB, above average run times, pushups from sunup to sundown-I was more than qualified. I could be anything, a nuke, a SEAL, aircrew-whatever the fuck I felt like.
The day came to ship out for Parris Island. I had spent the days and weeks prior talking to my father. He told me about his war, about how foolish I was to try and be like him. He wanted the best for me, I now realize. But 17 is a stupid age, the age to do stupid things. I backed out of the USMC, a billet as a mechanized infantryman, safe and still rolling in harm's way, the brain tucked within tons and tons of steel. One month later I left for the Navy.
I saw more war than I could have imagined, too much war for anyone, too much for someone newly minted as 18.
I could have been anything, whatever the fuck I felt like. I should have donw the right thing. I should have stayed a kid. But I swam off into the war, growing up too too fast, shitting away my youth in a steel beast, camouflaged against the endless blue, wasting it like sand, letting the wind carry it off to Bahrain and Jordan and Saudi Arabia, melthig it way with the exhaust of jets and chatter of machine guns.
I became the war. I am no longer Kevin. I am war.
Now to become Kevin again.
As a kid, I would watch my dad, who never spoke about his war. I watched the movies, the jarheads and grunts making history with their rifles, returning home damaged. The first Gulf war consumed my youth, the sandbox the stage for the battle for world peace, the lines of razorwire and humvees, the phalanxes of bitter men the last defense between a man I was convinced could destroy me, safe in my home tucked behind the Oakland hills, invisible to Saddam and his missiles. My dreams always turned to the desert. When I was old enough, I broke and ran, straining towards the sands, the memory of New York and Washington, DC seared into my heart and mind.
The Army would not take me. Years of bad luck had reduced my body, the joints worn down to nothing, my spine twisted. I continued to abuse it, anyway, lifting and running and swimming through searing pain, dreaming of a future as a hero.
The Marines were enthusiastic. They didn't care, they told. Could I run, depsite the pain, could I pull myself through their boot camp? Yes, I answered, I can and I will. As insurance, however, I talked to Navy, as well. They were ecstatic. High ASVAB, above average run times, pushups from sunup to sundown-I was more than qualified. I could be anything, a nuke, a SEAL, aircrew-whatever the fuck I felt like.
The day came to ship out for Parris Island. I had spent the days and weeks prior talking to my father. He told me about his war, about how foolish I was to try and be like him. He wanted the best for me, I now realize. But 17 is a stupid age, the age to do stupid things. I backed out of the USMC, a billet as a mechanized infantryman, safe and still rolling in harm's way, the brain tucked within tons and tons of steel. One month later I left for the Navy.
I saw more war than I could have imagined, too much war for anyone, too much for someone newly minted as 18.
I could have been anything, whatever the fuck I felt like. I should have donw the right thing. I should have stayed a kid. But I swam off into the war, growing up too too fast, shitting away my youth in a steel beast, camouflaged against the endless blue, wasting it like sand, letting the wind carry it off to Bahrain and Jordan and Saudi Arabia, melthig it way with the exhaust of jets and chatter of machine guns.
I became the war. I am no longer Kevin. I am war.
Now to become Kevin again.
posted by Diebold at 12:27 PM
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