 | richwrapper Dec 2 | (November 27, 2923) hope (almost) last thing anyone (male) holds on to or (at least) admits when (waking up) still can not say ever I heard DI* say *(Parris Island Drill Instructor never uttered that immortal message about dropping something important (to most all men I suspect) and "pick up your socks. It appears in all the literature, including Leon Uris' immortal "Battle Cry" but never did I ever hear that chant's opening phrase, though we did have one lout try to encourage his early release from that first night in our brand new barracks for Platoon 1047, 1044 Series, B Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Recruit Training Regiment, PISC tried to make the springs on our ancient but never rusty bunks squeak...he got nary a titter - which in retrospect possibly meant nary a twitter (long before Elon Musk stole that joke). Next night no squeaks. Was the miscreant gone? Or like the rest of us, just too damn scared-exhausted to try a reprise? Hope for each day and know no one else ever has faced these tortures. Now I know why Marines gladly want off the deity durned boats and off the beach. Nothing ever could approach those 9 p.m. to 4 (or 5 on Sundays) a.m. bouts of "can I make it another day tomorrow?" and ohhh, my aching calf muscles scream louder than the rest of me for relief. Hope I can make just one more day of this madness. Hope sustained us all I expected, even the near dozen of our numbers who went elsewhere on That Island where boys become men who would face a bastard beach than go back to bends nd thrusts, many, many, many of them...Ready! Begin...) | | | |  | You can also reply to this email to leave a comment. | | | | |
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