I had always thought about doing it. It had always been there in the back of my mind. From when I had a glorified vision of it to when I rebelled against the idea and, finally, to when I understood and accepted what it actually was. It's been a lurking urge somewhere inside of me--for better or worse--somehow related to an obsessive search for purpose and balance and maybe even some kind of naive patriotism. Enlisting.
"Yeah, honestly: I've always wanted to do it." He said. "The discipline and the structure and the hierarchy; I like following orders. I could be a surgeon and also be in the Army. It's like having two lives: saving lives in one and saving the country in the other. I don't want to sit around after college for months and not do anything. I'll never be able to do anything with my life after that. I want to do something, you know?" Then, when the others were around, he continued. "And I really want to kill somebody."
I had a hard time paying attention after that. I sat there chewing my food and thinking about everything I knew. He asked about all the benefits that came with it. Things I had never really been concerned about. Benefits? I'd never actually sat down and thought about any benefits. Or costs. My dad always frowned at the people who preoccupied themselves with the benefits. "They think they're owed something," he told me. "They can only think about what the Army 'should' give them. They never once think about what they can give, and that's why they never go anywhere." It was a lesson I've tried to apply to everything, with limited success.
The conversation went on, and I got further away from it. I couldn't deal with the silliness. It was so... childish. So I ignored the pseudo-macho posturing and the emotionless bullshit and smiled and nodded until it was time to leave. "When you think about doing it," he said. "Give me a call." I smiled and nodded.
"Have you ever thought about doing Army stuff?" My dad asked me. I thought for a few moments before I answered. We were driving to La Grange on what had been a mostly silent road trip. "I don't know." I said.
"That's okay." He said.
"Yeah, honestly: I've always wanted to do it." He said. "The discipline and the structure and the hierarchy; I like following orders. I could be a surgeon and also be in the Army. It's like having two lives: saving lives in one and saving the country in the other. I don't want to sit around after college for months and not do anything. I'll never be able to do anything with my life after that. I want to do something, you know?" Then, when the others were around, he continued. "And I really want to kill somebody."
I had a hard time paying attention after that. I sat there chewing my food and thinking about everything I knew. He asked about all the benefits that came with it. Things I had never really been concerned about. Benefits? I'd never actually sat down and thought about any benefits. Or costs. My dad always frowned at the people who preoccupied themselves with the benefits. "They think they're owed something," he told me. "They can only think about what the Army 'should' give them. They never once think about what they can give, and that's why they never go anywhere." It was a lesson I've tried to apply to everything, with limited success.
The conversation went on, and I got further away from it. I couldn't deal with the silliness. It was so... childish. So I ignored the pseudo-macho posturing and the emotionless bullshit and smiled and nodded until it was time to leave. "When you think about doing it," he said. "Give me a call." I smiled and nodded.
"Have you ever thought about doing Army stuff?" My dad asked me. I thought for a few moments before I answered. We were driving to La Grange on what had been a mostly silent road trip. "I don't know." I said.
"That's okay." He said.
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