I was in high school when 9/11 took place. I remember being at home, starting my day and the house phone rang. It was my Aunt, telling me to turn on the TV because there was something going on in New York. She didn’t know what it was about quite yet, but it seemed important. I turned it on and felt like I was having an out of body experience as I watched the second plane hit. I had no idea what I was seeing, but I had the chills.
Fast forward the next couple of days and weeks, I saw how America as a community came together. I was in awe of the first responders who put themselves in danger and I couldn’t comprehend the pandemonium that was taking place at Ground Zero. A new word, terrorism, entered my 16-year-old vocabulary. I was fueled by that term. I became obsessed with the news. I watched the countdown until America was at war. I watched as convoys entered the Middle East and I admired those folks more than anything, in fact, I idolized them. I started to research the branches of the military and checked out Marine Sniper from the local library. I tore through the book, fascinated by the courage and commitment of Gunny Hathcock, and I wanted to get in the fight.
I called all the local recruiters and the Marines invited me to start showing up to Saturday morning PT sessions. We would run, do calisthenics, play paintball, shoot rifles and we learned about how to be a warrior. I was sold. If I didn’t become a Marine, I would never forgive myself. My family was not so sure about that calling. By this time, I was 17, and my parents thought I was completely crazy. I was talked to by different friends and family members and I was told that this was the craziest thing they have ever heard. It only fueled my motivation. I would fantasize about killing Osama Bin Laden.
When it was finally time for me to sign up, right before my 18th birthday, my parents came around. They signed the papers and I shipped out 6 months later to begin my 5 year enlistment. My boyfriend (who would later become my husband) and I talked about this goal and he understood and supported my decision to leave.
Leaving home for the very first time, flying from California to South Carolina. I’ll never forget that feeling, when I got off the plane and was met at the airport. I felt so small and so lost. Fast forward 90 days and I was among the worlds more powerful and deadly fighting forces. A United States Marine. There is no greater honor and no greater title that my 18-year-old self could possess. I could not be prouder of this decision. It was truly my first example of following my heart and being true to myself.
The question I get all the time, why did you join? I can’t summarize in one or two sentences, so I usually just reply that it was a calling. I was obsessed and gave myself no other choice. Fueled by patriotism, love of country and eager to get in the fight. I would go on to become one of the first women to graduate from Enlisted Aircrew Training and become a CH-46E Helicopter Crew Chief and Door Gunner.
Today, it has been more than 11 years since I exited Active Duty, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about being a Marine. I have painful and fond memories of my time in the Marines, and above all, an overwhelming sense of pride. It is my life’s mission to instill the Marine ethos of Honor Courage and Commitment within my household, passing down the legacy of patriotism and a life of service to my children.
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