Just A Guy Thing

As a final post for 2008, JAGT is very pleased to present an article by guest author Mack Dreyfuss. This talks about some important life lessons we can all keep in mind for the new year.

photo via Army.mil

I got a text message calling me a f**ker ten different ways. That could only mean one thing – Mike was back from Iraq. I called him. We cursed each other out, and then we made plans to drink. ?Freedom isn?t free, mother f**ker,? he said. ?So buy me beer.? It was the least I could do. He?d just spent 18 months in the sandbox, and I was dying to hear about his experiences, particularly because I was getting ready to go to the sandbox.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mike at Basic Training. We, uh, enjoyed the rustic stay at Fort Benning. One of the many highlights was a deranged Drill Sergeant who liked to force us to wear full rain gear on top of our uniforms then PT (exercise) us to death. He would always say, ?We gonna make it rain up in this b*tch.?

It would rain too. As we lodged our ankles in the bunk bed frames and did decline push-ups and flutter kicks and crunches and side straddle hops, the sweat would drip off the rain hood that wagged over your head and pool on the floor beneath your face. And that was only a half hour into our day at 3:30am.

via Army.mil

Mike and I bonded for two reasons. The first was that our last names started with the same letter which meant we were always standing in line somewhere near each other. You memorize the moles, birthmarks, and skull structure of the man who is directly ahead of you alphabetically because you stare at the back of his head at least an hour every day while you stand in line for something at the position of parade rest. That means all you can do is maintain your position, blink, breathe, and stare at the noggin directly in front of your nose.

The second reason we bonded was because we always used to sigh at the same time, when some senseless eighteen-year-old decided to be a tough guy at the wrong time and we all had to suffer the consequences. We later found out, after earning the privilege of human speech, that we had a similar history which led up to our enlistment in the United States Army. We also had a similar future: if we made it out of Basic Training then we?d be heading to Combat Medic School in Texas. We were both in our mid-20?s and wanted to get in on the fight against the Taliban after 9/11.

When I got to the bar, Mike was sitting solo, halfway through his first beer with a reserve at the side. He looked lean. I?m sure everyone in the bar was both strangely comforting as well as filling him with disgust (undisciplined civilians). I sat down next to him without saying a word, took a slug off his reserve beer, and dropped a pair of twenty dollar bills on the bar. The bartender looked at me. I glared back at him, motioned at the beers and our general direction and said: ?More.? He went to work.

?I get back from 18 months overseas and you help yourself to my beer.?

?When did you start wearing panties and whining? You?re evidently transitioning back into civilized society real well. You?ll get all the beer you want tonight, a**hole.?

He grinned. I grinned. It was going to be a great night.

via Army.mil

Years have gone by since then, and Mike is currently headed to what he designates as ?Afcrapistan? with a Special Forces Group for the latest surge in the global war on terror. In a million quiet moments I have thought of Mike and what he has seen and will face, in addition to the myriad of young men and women who have volunteered to serve in the United States Armed Forces at this point in history.