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MY LIFE...So far
This was a first person narrative that I had started and then stopped, kind of a love hate relationship, of what transpired in my life up to present day and what made the kind of person I am.
THE BEGINNING
Here I was on a rooftop in Somalia, perched behind a Barrett .50 caliber rifle and watching Army Rangers conduct patrols. How did this happen you might ask?
It all started in the average size town of Auburn. I was born on a spring day in the morning. My parents were normal, middle class people. My father was career Army and my mother had started out as an executive secretary for Aerojet General in California where they met and married. I remember my father in his old style olive drab 'fatigues', his class A dress uniform, and the newer style battle dress utilities. He kept his hair short and wanting to emulate him, so did I. One day, when he was home for a change and not deployed, he and I sat down and discussed what my future was going to be. I was about seven years old.
From the time I had learned to walk, it was ramrod straight and I often stood at attention without knowledge of it. We lived on an Army post in the cookie cutter housing that often permeates such installations. After a nice game of catch, we sat on the back steps and had that father son talk. He asked me what I wanted most out of life and what my goals were. Of course having been around him and put on his helmet numerous times, his boots and his field gear, my answer was I wanted to be like him. For the first time in my young life, I saw his eyes get watery.
He reached out and hugged me tight and we went inside to dinner. I can't remember what we talked about over dinner; I was too full of pride. At the end of summer, my dad and I had grown close and mom was really happy that he had been able to spend more time with us. About two weeks before school started, dad came to me in his uniform, beret in hand, and showed me some paperwork. It was enrollment forms to the Randolph Macon Academy in Front Royal Virginia. He sat me down and explained to me that I going to attend this academy because he had taken what the army likes to call a 'hardship tour' and he wouldn't be home for over a year. Mom was going to go to Washington and stay with her parents, my grandparents. He explained to me how it would work and that I could come home for the Christmas holidays. I jumped at the chance to do this.
Through the scope, I watched the crowds as the Rangers made their way around the supposed neutral areas surrounding the airfield. My spotter, Clint, sat a few feet away from me, his eye glued to the spotting scope. We were dressed in what he would call ?combat casual?, UDT shorts, desert combat boots, boonie hats, and body armor. This rooftop perch was the only tall building left with exception to a mosque about a half-mile away. We were sitting in deck chairs, a dark color beach umbrella overhead draped in camo netting, and a cheap foam cooler full of Gatorade and soda between us. Around the edge of the roof and stacked below the appropriate weapon systems, were crates, cans, links, and small pallets of grenades, ammo, mortar shells, flares, you name it, we had it.
With the help of some FAST Marines that we had assisted at the now closed American Embassy, we had fortified this building and made it a strong point just outside the perimeter of the secured airfield.
My first year at Randolph Macon, was incredible. I took it like a fish to water. Formations, marching, everything that goes along with that made me feel like I had finally found my place in the great scheme of things.
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