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Behaving Responsibly - 5. Basically Training
“Stimson! Front and Center!”
At my Training Instructor’s unexpected command, I leaped to my feet, stubbed out my cigarette, and stood rigidly at attention at the foot of my cot. Curious and apprehensive looks from my bunkmates were focused on me.
It was a few minutes past five in the afternoon, officially our rest time—the one half-hour of the day when we could kick back and relax.
I thought to myself, Shit! My only time to take it easy, and my fucking TI has to interrupt it. This had better be good.
My bunk was third from the end, and Master Sergeant Joe Drucker quick-stepped to face me. As he did every time he spoke to any of us, he leaned in close with his face mere inches from mine, sporting an ominous grimace designed to intimidate.
Over the past eighteen years, I’d grown so used to that look on Dad’s face that Drucker’s didn’t have the desired effect on me, but I pretended it did.
The sergeant glared at me in silence for several seconds, reminding me that I was forbidden to speak or even move until he was good and ready to tell me whatever the fuck he came to say.
Satisfied that I was sufficiently compliant, he spoke at last. “Report to General Wright’s office on the double, Airman.”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I replied loudly, accompanied by muffled groans from my classmates.
“Your ass is grass now, Bob,” someone muttered.
The TI turned in the direction of the voice. “Did anyone give you dickheads permission to speak?”
“Sir. No, Sir!” came in unison.
“Then shut the fuck up!” No response was required, and no one said a word.
“When the general is finished with you, report to my quarters, Stimson.”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I was sure he wanted to know why the base commander singled me out for a personal meeting. Nothing good could come of this strange event.
“And tuck your goddamn shirt in, Airman.”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I hastily straightened my uniform of camo pants and a white tee shirt, saluted the TI, and hauled ass out of the dorm.
As I walked around the parade ground—recruits were forbidden to walk across it until they graduated—I thought back over my first week at Lackland.
The moment I got off the bus from Tennessee, the oppressive heat and humidity of South Texas hit me like sledge hammer. And that was only the beginning.
Over the next seven weeks, I was going to be treated like something lower than dog shit. Everything the TIs said to me was shouted—usually jam-packed with cuss words, and I was not allowed to speak unless spoken to.
The physical and mental trials came non-stop, and the frequent inspections found fault with every little thing I said, did, or wore.
And yet I loved every fucking minute of it! I found the challenges exhilarating and delighted in meeting, and sometimes exceeding, expectations.
Strange as it sounds, I found more freedom in the structured life of basic training than I ever experienced in my eighteen years, and I welcomed it.
By the way, I also did damn well. For some reason—and I should definitely thank Dad for this—the military life agreed with me.
I guess I should have been surprised by the profound change that came over me, but I was so comfortable with it that I embraced it without question or hesitation. Basic Training was making me into a new man, and I fucking liked who he was!
Five minutes later, I stood at ramrod attention again, this time in front of the desk of Brigadier General Wallace P. Wright, Commander of Lackland AFB. I was a little weak in the knees, but I was so curious that it calmed me.
“At ease, Airman.”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I crisply spread my legs apart shoulder-width and clasped my hands behind my back. This was a standard posture in basic training, but it also helped me control my nerves. It wouldn’t do to have my hands shaking in front of the base commander.
“So, Airman Stimson, how are you finding basic training?” The general allowed himself a slight smile.
Stunned by the general’s sudden conversational tone, I mumbled, “Uh, fine, Sir. I mean...” I straightened my backbone and barked, “It’s everything I expected, Sir.” I hoped he wasn’t fishing for dirt on the TI or men in my dorm.
“
Do you go by Robert or Bob?
”
“
Bob, Sir.
” I was so nervous I was almost choking on my words.
“Relax, Bob. This is not an interrogation. I just wanted to meet you.” His smile widened. “Any idea why?”
“Sir. No, Sir.” I did have a damn good idea, but I wasn’t going to admit it. I’d bet my left nut Dad has something to do with it.
“Well, Son. I know your father. He and I fought together in two wars and were stationed together several times in our careers. I visited your family once when you were about four years old. I have to say you’ve grown into a fine young man.”
He shook his head sadly. “Sorry to say, I haven’t been back, but your dad and I catch up with each other when our schedules coincide. Does he still drink Jack Daniel’s?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.”
I said nothing more because nothing was asked. One of the rules of basic training protocol was that you never spoke, except to answer a question or command. The general was in all ways a stranger to me, and his past with my dad didn’t directly include me.
I still don’t get why the hell he asked to see me in person. Does he have some special interest in me?
“You can relax, Bob. Your father didn’t contact me, and he’s not checking up on you—at least not yet.”
Taking his word that I was allowed to relax a little, I breathed more easily and replied, “I’m glad to hear that, General.”
The base commander got up from his chair and came around to sit on the front edge of his desk. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. Didn’t you apply to the Academy?”
The United States Air Force Academy was in Colorado Springs. To even be considered as a candidate, you needed at least a solid B average and a nomination from your Congressman or Senator. Don’t get me wrong—I was a smart guy, but my grades were not up to par, and I never paid much attention to them.
“No, Sir. I didn’t have the grades to get in.”
“Really? I didn’t think it was that hard for a serving officer’s son to enroll. What happened to your grades?”
My face burned red as the conversation became a hell of a lot more personal than I ever expected to get with the base commander.
“I played football, Sir. Games, practice, and weight training kept me pretty busy.” My face turned to a full-on blush. “And I had a girlfriend, Sir. We spent a lot of time together.”
“So, sports and girls were more important to you than your future.” It was not a question. “Why didn’t you enroll in a junior college and spend a couple of years improving your grades?”
“Sir, I’m just not a good student. I didn’t want to waste my dad’s money and my time proving that.” I looked him in the eye. “And there’s a war on, Sir, and I want to serve my country.”
The general crossed his arms across his chest. “And so you chose the Air Force as the place to serve your country?”
“Yes, Sir—kind of a natural choice for me, given...my dad.”
“So you think you can achieve your goals in the Force despite goofing off in high school?”
“I see now that I fu—...uh, that I messed up, Sir. I’m doing my best to make up for it in basic training.”
“You are looking for a career in the Air Force?”
“I hope so, Sir.”
“Well, Bob, that’s very commendable.” He dropped his stern demeanor.
“Your father and I had very similar careers. Neither of us is an Academy graduate. We enlisted in the Army Air Corps during the Second World War and made our way up the chain of command by hard work and patience.”
The general looked me in the eye. “If that’s what you plan to do, be aware how different things are these days. It’s all in who you know and whose ass you kiss.”
“I’ll do the best I can, Sir.”
The general nodded, which surprised the hell out of me. “That’s the right attitude, Airman.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
His face turned more somber. “I knew your mother, too. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I didn’t expect that. I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Sir. It’s been hard on all three of us.”
“Three? Oh, that’s right. You have a younger brother.”
“Yes, Sir. Teddy is a year behind me. He’ll be a senior this fall.”
“Is he going to follow you into the Force?”
“Uh, no, Sir. He’s going to college and hopes to study aerospace engineering. He wants to work for NASA.”
Wright nodded with tight lips. “That’s probably for the best. If he’s got the grades, he can choose a career that’s a hell of a lot less demanding—and where he can progress based on his brains and achievements, rather than bowing and scraping.”
I was a little shocked at the base commander’s frankness, but I’d heard pretty much the same complaint from Dad. I didn’t speak.
The general stood and straightened. He intoned, “That last comment is meant to stay between us, Stimson.”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I snapped to attention.
“As you were.” The general walked behind his desk and stood looking out the window. I relaxed again.
He had a commanding view of the parade ground. I couldn’t see his face, but his body language proclaimed that he was proud of his role in the training of the men he led. I intended to make him, and my father, proud of me.
With his back to me, he stated, “I think you’ve made a wise choice, Bob, and I’ll be rooting for your success here, though I won’t be able to influence it, one way or the other.”
“Understood, Sir.”
That’s good. I was beginning to wonder what his interest in me was. I see that it’s just a friendly gesture to Dad, and I’ll gladly accept that. Next time we talk, I’ll tell Dad about meeting his old pal the general.
Turning to face me once again, his expression was grim as he drove home the ultimate question, “You realize you could be sent directly into combat as soon as you graduate?”
“Yes, Sir, I do. And I’m ready and willing, Sir.”
“Pay special attention to your combat training, then. It just might save your ass someday.”
“I know that, Sir, and I’ll do my best.”
Wright looked at me across his desk. I got the feeling he was assessing my chances of coming back alive. I hoped he was finding reasons to be confident that I would. I also sensed a connection that extended from my father to me.
He wants to do his old friend a favor by looking out for his son, but his position requires him to keep me at arm’s length. That’s just fine with me. I wouldn’t want my fellow recruits to get the idea that I’m getting special treatment from the fucking base commander!
With a deep sigh, he barked, “That is all, Airman. Dismissed.”
“Sir!” I saluted crisply, and he returned the gesture. Then he reached across his desk and shook my hand.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Bob, but I’m sure you know I won’t get involved in anything to do with your training—unless you fuck up.” He grinned.
I returned his friendly smile. “I expect nothing less, Sir, and I’ll do my best not to fuck up.”
With grin and a crisp nod, the commander indicated that the conversation was over. I did an about-face and left his office.
As soon as I got outside, I took a deep breath. Although I had only been smoking for less than a week, I was desperate for a cigarette, but recruits were forbidden to smoke in public areas of the base.
I worried about the fact that Sergeant Drucker ordered me to report to him immediately after my meeting with the general, so I made a beeline to his quarters.
A blunt “Enter” answered my knock.
I went in and stood at attention in front of his desk, waiting to be spoken to. My TI sat writing on some papers, and he let me stand there in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.
He put down his pen, raised his head, and looked me over. Finding nothing to bitch about, he asked, “So how did it go with the general, Airman?”
“Sir. Fine, Sir.” I barked, hoping it would end there, but no such luck.
Drucker growled, “Goddammit, Stimson, I want some fucking details.”
I knew two things. One, he had no right to demand that, and two, my ass would be in hot water if I didn’t satisfy his inappropriate curiosity.
“Well, Sir, he knew my father. They were in the war together.”
With a voice dripping with sarcasm, the sergeant said, “I am aware that your father is a bird colonel on a desk job.”
That pissed me off. With a measured voice, I replied, “Sir, he is the base commander of a top-secret atomic weapons facility.” I hoped that reminding him of Dad’s responsibilities and level of security clearance would dissuade him from sticking his goddamn nose any further into my family situation.
He relented a little. “So he is. And that’s all the general wanted to talk about.” He masked the impertinent question with a leading statement.
“That’s about it, Sir. Just catching up on family stuff.”
“You’re sure that’s all?”
“Well, Sir, to tell the truth, the general met me when I was four years old, so he was curious about my life and shit like that.”
“I see. Did he ask how you’re doing in basic training?”
“No, Sir. I assume he gets detailed reports on every one of us.” I knew that would piss off the sarge, but I needed to establish a line I wouldn’t cross with him.
He glared at me without speaking, saying at last, “Well, if he promised you anything—like making it easier on you—you can fucking forget about it.”
I straightened my back. “Sergeant Drucker, Sir, I don’t want anything to be made easy on me. I’m here to prove myself—to you and everyone one else, and most of all to myself. Also, I know I’m going straight into a goddamn war, Sir, so I want to be one hundred per cent ready.”
The TI relaxed at my words. He took a long breath and relaxed. “I’m glad to hear that, Stimson. I have high expectations of all my men, but for you more than most. I think you show promise, and I mean to ride your ass every minute of every day to bring it out in you. Are we clear?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir!”
“At ease.”
I felt some of the tension leave my body. The drill sergeant reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. Extending them to me, he waited as I leaned down and gratefully took one.
He did the same and then lit up both of us. I took a deep drag and felt some of the tension leave my body as I exhaled.
“Sit down, Stimson.” The sergeant’s voice had far less of its usual edge.
Is he fucking trying to lure me into saying something I would regret? I’ll have to keep on my toes with him.
Silently, I took the chair across from his desk. He slid the ashtray to a position where we could both reach it.
“I know I’m a hard-ass, but that’s my goddamn job.”
“I’m sure we all know that, Sarge, and I for one appreciate it.”
“I’m not surprised you’re doing well here, Bob.” His sudden familiarity put me on guard. “It’s obvious that you grew up in a military household, and having an officer as a father gave you a unique perspective on life in the Force.”
I did my best to hide my discomfort at his constant reminders that my dad was a colonel.
Does he think I don’t already know that? What the fuck?
Drucker picked up on my reaction. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna give you shit about that. None of us gets to choose our parents. I’m sure you’ve been told not to expect any special treatment here.”
“Permission to speak freely, Sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t want any goddamn special treatment, Sir. I want to work my fucking balls off to prove how good I can be. I want you to ride my ass, just like you said, and make me into the kind of airman this war needs.”
The look on his face told me he had his doubts.
“Look, Sarge, I played varsity football for four years. Our coach was committed to one thing only: making us the best players we could be. He constantly pushed us beyond our limits. He rode us like a motherfucking drill sergeant—uh, begging your pardon, Sir.”
The TI just laughed and nodded for me to continue.
“And we bitched about him every goddamn day, but deep down, we were grateful that he was so dedicated to his job and us that he never accepted a half-assed effort.” I dared to look him in the eye. “And that’s what I’m hoping you’ll do, Sir.”
Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, Drucker looked beyond me, out the window at the men passing by. “That all sounds good, Stimson, and I fucking hope you mean every word. You don’t have to ask me to ride your ass because that’s what I’m here for, and I love my job. What you are and what you’ll become are partly in my hands but mostly in yours.”
I nodded once again.
“The men in your dorm are curious about why the general sent for you. What’re you gonna tell them?”
I hadn’t given it a thought. “Uh, I’m not sure, Sarge. Any ideas?”
Drucker’s voice became fatherly. “I would suggest you tell them the general knew your father in World War Two and saw your name on the roster. He just wanted to know if you were related. He asked you how you were doing in basic training, and you told him ‘fine.’ That’s all they need to know.”
“Thank you...Sir.”
Sitting up straight, the sergeant told me, “This is the only time you and I will talk like this, Stimson. Let’s leave it where it is until you graduate.”
I straightened and barked, “Sir. Yes, Sir!”
I stubbed out my cigarette, stood at attention, and saluted him. With a snappy about-face, I turned and left the TI’s office.
Back in my dorm, my bunkmates bombarded me with questions about my encounter with the base commander. I followed Sergeant Drucker’s advice, and they soon turned to other topics. It was time for the next drill, so we grabbed our shit and hauled ass out to the parade ground.
********
On the first day of Basic Training, I met a man who became my lifelong friend.
Cal Rouleau slept in the bunk next to mine. He introduced himself as being “a coonass Cajun from the littlest goddamn shithole in the fuckin bayous of Louisiana.” He pronounced the state’s name as “loozeeana.”
Years later, I happened to drive through that part of the state on my way home from Texas and detoured to find his hometown. I knew the actual name of the town, but it didn’t appear on any maps.
After stopping for directions, I arrived at a dusty crossroads and looked around. I saw a nondescript collection of run-down shotgun houses and decrepit shacks. The few citizens I could see were down-trodden, poor, and suspicious of strangers.
A couple of teenaged boys glared at me, as if deciding whether to tell me to get my goddamn ass out of their town. I could see where Cal got his kiss-my-ass attitude and determination to rise above his roots. I moved on, and I never told Cal I went by there.
It always surprised me that he and I became such good buddies. We had next to nothing in common, but being thrust into the arduous environment of basic training created a bond between us that has endured for a lifetime.
Being in the fucking Vietnam war together helped, of course, and we got into and out of some tight situations. We also “let our hair down” together a few times. I’ll say more about that later.
On the first day of our training, I learned two things about my bunkmate Cal: every sentence out of his mouth had at least one cussword in it, and he chain-smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes. I soon found myself emulating both of his bad habits, although my smoking was a lot less intense.
I knew plenty of guys, and some girls, who smoked in high school, but as a star athlete, I kept myself “clean” and tried to set a good example. The stress and competition of basic training led me to take up the habit, intending to drop it at some quieter time in the future.
I never let on that I knew, but I saw Teddy slip away from the house with one of Dad’s cigarettes more than once.
I figured he was old enough to make up his own mind, so I kept his secret and damned if I didn’t find myself doing the same thing, only a hell of a lot more openly, once I left home.
“So what’s it like wherever the hell you come from?” Cal asked me one evening as we stood bullshitting behind our dorm in the designated smoking area.
“Oh, it’s a little town, I guess. It’s pretty much overrun with the goddamn military, and most of my friends’ parents are either on the base or work in one of the plants.”
“What do they make in the fuckin plants?”
I hesitated. There was no law against mentioning what went on at Oak Ridge. Hell, most of the country knew about it. The demand for secrecy during World War Two was long past.
Instead, I was sensitive about admitting my family’s involvement in making atomic bombs, even though my dad only ran base security.
I outlined the general idea for Cal, and he whistled. “Goddamn! Atomic fuckin bombs? No shit! That’s fuckin cool.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you were ever near one when it went off.”
He guffawed, “Why? I wouldn’t fuckin know anyway—would I?”
I had to admit the truth of his words. “My dad says we need to have them but never to use them.”
“Sounds about right, I guess. Damn! Your dad sounds like one smart sonofabitch.”
Making a mental note to tell Dad about the unlikely honorific, I agreed. “I’m pretty proud of him.”
“That’s some pretty cool shit. You think he’s proud of you?”
“I fucking hope so. I think he is.”
He leaned in conspiratorially and spoke softly, “My goddamn dad is in prison.”
I couldn’t stop myself from recoiling. “No shit? What—” I stopped because I didn’t want to pry.
He chuckled, “Growin’ and sellin’ fuckin marijuana.”
“Holy shit. How long is he in for?”
“This time, he got ten years.” He winked at me. “The first two times he got a lot less.”
“Why the hell didn’t he stop doing it?”
“The motherfucker has no other way to make money, and with six kids, the goddamn welfare’s never enough to pay the fuckin bills.”
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Cal was a poor kid from a bad neighborhood.
I thought back over my life—good schools, plenty to eat, friends who went to college. I’d lived a disciplined, sheltered life, and now I was out in the real goddamn world with people who had a lot less than me.
Despite the deck being stacked against him, Cal soon shone as one of the most promising recruits in our class of five hundred. In addition, he and I were looked upon as an unbeatable team.
Sergeant Drucker shook his head in amazement that the two of us were such tight buds, but I think he somehow sensed that we complemented each other.
Where I was smart, Cal was shrewd. I excelled at everything; he did just enough to barely pass every test. I became a respected leader, and he became my most committed follower.
He never complained or compared himself to me, but he took no shit off of any recruit who bitched about my insistence on discipline and excellence. And he did that for the rest of our lives together.
********
Air Force pilots fired machine guns mounted under the wings of their planes or dropped bombs on people below. They were all commissioned officers and carried loaded pistols at all times.
Crewmembers on bigger aircraft like bombers were unarmed, although weapons were stored onboard in case they were needed, such as after a landing in hostile territory. Of course, gunners fired high-powered weapons that were built into the plane’s fuselage.
Ground-based enlisted men like myself were issued M-1 rifles, and we spent a lot of time on the firing range—one of the places where my military upbringing paid off in spades.
Dad had us shooting as soon as we were big enough to hold a gun, and throughout my school years, Teddy and I competed at gun shows all over Tennessee and sometimes beyond. We won a lot of championships, individually and as a team.
My weapons instructor picked up on that when I scored one hundred on the first trial firing. A couple of days later, he made me a rifle team captain responsible for helping the rest of my squad hone their shooting skills.
That was only one of the things that caught the attention of the training instructors. My years of strength and endurance training as a football player prepared me well for the physical demands of basic training.
Again, my superiors noticed my aptitude, and I soon found myself assigned to help my bunkmates who needed extra workouts.
********
At the end of my first week of Basic Training, I stood in line for thirty minutes to make my call home, grateful that smoking was allowed.
There were ten telephones set up on little tables along one wall of the mess hall. Each call was strictly limited to five minutes from the second you picked up the phone to dial the number.
If you got a busy signal or there was no answer, you could either leave or go to the end of the last line.
The men in my recruit class were assigned shifts in groups of a hundred—that’s ten men lined up at the each of the phones.
Theoretically, the one hundred men could make their calls in a total of fifty minutes, with a ten-minute break until the next shift, which was already lined up waiting outside.
It took five hours to process everyone. Five TIs took one hour each to supervise the process. All calls were monitored by censors. Anyone saying anything deemed inappropriate was immediately cut off and taken to be interrogated and disciplined.
My father answered on the first ring. He clearly knew how the system worked and didn’t want to waste a second of our precious time together.
“Hi, Dad. How’s everybody?”
“Just fine, Son. How are you?”
“Not too bad actually. It’s been a pretty light week—mostly introductory lectures about everything we’re gonna learn.”
“Well, don’t let it fool you. The real shit is going to be damn hard.”
“I kinda got that impression, Dad.”
“So it looks like you earned the use of the phone this week.”
“Wasn’t too hard. I shot a hundred per cent on the rifle range and did fifty pushups faster than anybody else.”
“That’s my boy!”
After a brief silence, I told him, “Oh, by the way, Dad, the base commander says he knows you.”
“You mean General Wright?”
“Uh-huh. He called me into his office, one-on-one. It really pissed off the rest of my dorm. You know anything about that?”
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Bob, I let him know you were coming.”
“Dad—”
“Now hear me out. He would have found out anyway—Stimson is a name he would have recognized immediately. I thought it made sense to be out in front with it, rather than look like we were trying to hide something.”
“Well, maybe.”
“So what did he say?”
“Just told me you were in Basic Training together during the war. You both worked your way up the ranks and were sometimes assigned to the same place. He said he knew Mom. Oh, and he said not to expect any special treatment just ’cause my Dad’s a fucking colonel.”
He guffawed, “Were those his exact words?”
I laughed, “Well, he didn’t say ‘fucking.’ ”
“And what did you say in answer to his warning?”
“Just like I told you, Dad, I don’t want any special treatment. I want to earn everything on my own.”
“That’s the smart thing to do, Son. I’m proud to hear you say it.”
“By the way, they showed us that goddamn video about VD you so kindly shared with Teddy and me.”
“I hope it did some good—both times.”
“I always behaved responsibly with Angie—or at least most of the time, and there’s not much opportunity to do anything else here.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so.”
“Uh, Dad. One thing—”
He answered warily, “Yes?”
“I, uh...started smoking.”
“Oh, I see. Any reason for that?”
“Kind of. The pressure started getting to me, and my bunkmate Cal offered me a smoke. He said it helped him cope with the stress.”
“I have to agree. It can help relax you. How bad is the stress?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but smoking does help. It’s also a social thing. Just about every guy here smokes, and I feel more like one of the gang when I join them on breaks.”
“Well, you’re old enough to make up your own mind about it.”
“How old were you when you started?”
“About your age, also in Basic Training. I’m not saying it’s a good idea, but I understand why you want to do it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And now, your brother doesn’t have to sneak around doing it. All three of us are smokers now.”
“You knew about Teddy?”
“Son, there isn’t much I miss.”
“No shit, Dad. Just tell Teddy I’m not the one who told you.”
“I’ll do that.”
Dad paused for a moment. “Son, you sound different—more grown-up or something.”
“Basic Training will fucking do that to you, Dad.”
“Oh, how well I remember. But you don’t sound worn out or beaten down by it.”
“You know, Dad, I’m fucking loving it, and I wonder if there’s something wrong with that.”
“I don’t think so, Bob. I think you were made for it.”
“When I got here, everything just fell into place. I mean, I loved being at home with you and Teddy, and I loved our life. But this new life...I don’t exactly know how to put it. It feels like I belong here.”
“How so?”
“I dunno. It’s hard to put into words. I guess I’d say you nailed it—more grown-up.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Son. I hope it works out for you, but don’t be too concerned if your feelings change. The military life is—well, you fucking saw it for yourself—not your everyday existence. Civilians have no goddamn idea what we sacrifice for them.”
“I can see that, Dad. But I’ve got a new perspective on that.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. At least I think so. Of course, I might be full of shit. It might just be that’s it all new—”
“Well, you could be right, Bob, but I’d advise you to try to hold on to that feeling. Try it out for a while. Then, if you aren’t sure, you can think about doing something else with your life. You’re young and free. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
“Shit, Dad, that’s the most serious advice you’ve ever given me.”
He chuckled, “You weren’t ready for it before. You’re more receptive now.”
I snickered, “I guess you’re right, Dad. Or should I start calling you ‘Sir’ now that you outrank me?”
“You can call me The Old Fart if it makes you happy, Bob! That’s what my men call me behind my back.”
“Ha, ha. I’d never get away with that!”
Dad hesitated before saying, “Bob—”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Angie asked Teddy how you were doing.”
I didn’t answer.
“Son, you want to tell me what happened between the two of you?”
“Not really, Dad. It’s kinda personal.”
“I respect that, Bob, but I can’t help noticing the effect it’s had on you.”
“Shit, Dad, couples break up all the time.”
“I know. And I’m sure you both had your reasons, but—”
“Dad, I really don’t fucking want to talk about it.”
“Fine, but what should Teddy say if she asks again?”
“Tell her I’m doing well and loving the Air Force. Oh, and wish her success in college. I think she leaves in a couple of weeks.”
“Will do.”
“And tell Teddy to keep his goddamn mouth shut about me. If Angie’s really interested, she knows how to get in touch with me.”
Dad laughed, “I can assure you he doesn’t want to be the middle man.”
“Good.”
“Listen, Son, it’s really good to hear your voice. I’d be lying if I didn’t say Teddy and I miss you. It’s a major change in all our lives.”
“The same for me, Dad, but we all knew it was coming. I guess it’s gonna get worse for you next year when Teddy leaves for college.”
“Hell, I don’t like to think about it.”
“You know, Dad, there’s nothing stopping you from finding a nice lady your age—”
“That’s enough, Bobby. Save the bullshit for your bunkmates. I’m not interested.”
“Well, I just wanted to plant the idea. I’ll say no more.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess I better go now, Dad, there’s a whole fucking line of guys behind me waiting to call home.”
“OK, Son. Good talking with you.”
“Good talking with you, too, Dad. Tell Teddy I’ll call him next week.”
“Assuming you earn the right.”
“You won’t have to worry about that, Dad.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Bye, Son.”
“Bye, Dad.” I hung up, just as the TI was about to order me to.
I left the room in a hurry, afraid that I might show some tears. Outside, I lit up again and walked around smoking for a while outside my dorm. I never expected I would miss my home and family so much.
It was going to be a long fucking seven weeks.
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12
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14
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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