Leaving...

           "All my bags are backed, I'm ready to go…I'm standing here outside your door…"

           You know the lyrics…they're from a famous John Denver song.  Of course, I've always loved Chantal Kreviazuk's cover better. 

           What can I say about leaving for the military? 

           Well, it was scary.  Damn scary.  Probably the scariest thing I've even gone through. 

           Which, is saying a lot, having lived the life that I have.  I remember the car ride the day before I got on the plane.  My recruiter stopped by the house to pick me up.  I didn't cry…the whole thing seemed too surreal.  I might have cried a little as the car pulled away, I really can't remember.  I just know the whole thing seemed rushed.  I can't even remember if I kissed my parents goodbye or not.

           The way it would work, is that I stayed in a hotel room overnight near the MEPS station, did all my paperwork the next day, where I officially enlisted, choose my job category, etc., and then had dinner with my parents.  I stayed at the hotel again that night, then met my parents at the airport the next morning, where I dispatched from the airport with about eight or nine of my peers.

           I remember the kid I roomed with…small, blonde haired kid.  We became pretty good friends, so much as you can become friends with anyone in a day and a half.  He was one of the eight that left on the plane with me.  He seemed small and shy…I wonder if he made it through?

           I can't remember much about MEPS…there's a lot of paperwork and interviews…a couple recruiters there to convince that the Army really was the best thing for me. 

           I wanted to be a linguist, but they told me I would have to wait a while to take the test.  Me, being that impatient little shit that I was, decided to choose another job.

           Now, I had no idea what I wanted to do.  I just knew that I was smart…an official genius is what the doctors told me growing up, and I wanted to something that would actually put my brain to work.  I also wanted to do something that involved sitting around a desk and had as little to do with combat and the military as possible. 

           So, I figured military intelligence was a good fit.  My recruiter actually picked my specialty for me, which I won't divulge here.  I didn't know what the title meant then, although it would come to define me and consume my career for the next eight years.  All I knew is that I would have as little to do with the actual Army as humanly possible.  Or so I thought…anyone who's actually been in the Army knows that every Soldier is a SOLDIER.  But, being a naïve, 18 year old kid who hadn't done his research, I didn't know any better.

           And, being in this MOS offered me all the college money I needed, which like I said before, was the only real reason I joined. 

           I remember signing the paper…I don't remember what it said.  I remember going through some silly little ceremony, where I raised my hand and swore allegiance. 

           I don't remember if my fingers were crossed behind my back.

           I remember the third best pancake breakfast in the history of the world at the hotel the next morning. 

           I don't remember when I met my parents, even though I know they were at the airport when I left. 

           I remember some big goofy kid taking charge of our little group.  He was the one that played the Chantal Kreviazuk song for me.  He also explained to me that my seat could used as a flotation device…which offered little comfort to someone riding a plane for the first time. 

           I remember…my mom, my dad, my little brother.  It was the last time I would see my little brother as still little…whenever I would later come home from leave he would be three feet taller with facial hair.  My mom would be 70 pounds heavier, and my Dad 50 pounds lighter.  Both would have gray hair. 

           At the time I didn't want to admit that these people, this place, and this life, would all change while I was away. 

           I had convinced myself that I would come home on leave over and over…that I would return to my little life a much better man, and make everyone else better in turn. 

           My mom cried, she always did.  I think…I can't quite remember, but I think the men in my family stayed strong in front of one another. 

           I also can't remember if I cried on the plane. 

           But I can remember that my first plane ride felt like I was stuck on a never-ending roller coaster.  I had to get used to the motion sickness.

           I can't remember their final words to send me off.  I can't remember what happened when we arrived, or how I got from the airport to the Basic Training post. 

           But I can remember that song…that song from the Armageddon sound track that my friend played for me on the airplane.  It become my anthem, my inspiration, and stayed inside my head through every tough obstacle I would face over the next weeks.

           And in the end they were not that tough…

           Not nearly as tough as that first day, when I said goodbye to all I had known and loved for eighteen years.

            And found myself "Leaving, on a Jet Plane".