Continued from here!
Within the first week, I was seriously regretting my decision to join the Air Force, reserves or not. The waking up at 4 am wasn't difficult. It wasn't hard to shove food down my throat and avoid eye contact, and try to remain invisible. It wasn't hard to memorize the shapes of the aircraft, or the ranks, or to learn how to salute.
The exercise was AWFUL, though. I hated every minute of it. If push-ups and sit-ups were excruciating pain, RUNNING was hell. I had to run two miles in under twenty-two minutes and every single second of that time, I hated my life.
When we were gathered to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases, or to get some sort of air injection, or possibly just to watch a propaganda film about how amazing the Armed Forces are one afternoon, standing outside of a building waiting to go in, I overheard someone talking to the flight next to us. That person was the Air Force Band Director.
I heard him mention something about avoiding kitchen duties, and less time in physical training, and I was IN. I hoped and prayed he would come talk to our flight, and over he came a few minutes later. He asked our group if any of us had any experience in band. I had learned in my first twenty four hours in Air Force Basic Training NEVER to volunteer for anything, so what I did next surprised even me.
My hand shot up and I begged to be part of the Air Force Band, citing “life-long dream” and “long family history of musical talent” which wasn't entirely untrue. Truth be told, I had played clarinet in the marching band in high school. I had also tried playing trumpet a few times and had managed to squeak out a note or two. I had also played classical piano for about ten years. He asked what instruments I played, and my mouth started moving: “Percussion (where did THAT come from?), piano, organ, trumpet, clarinet, saxophone, bagpipes, pretty much any wind instrument, and guitar.”
I was a veritable musical prodigy! He had heard of kids like me, I bet I looked like a genius that day. I had at least SEEN these instruments being played, and touched them (with the exception of bagpipes). I was told to pack my bags and move my shit to the Band Squadron, and THAT, my friends, is how I escaped not only all kitchen duty, but also the majority of physical training.
I was given the xylophone to play (I know, the one instrument I hadn’t mentioned being an expert at), and I wasn't terrible. The rest of the six weeks flew by. One girl got kicked out of our squadron for being completely crazy. Another for smoking weed on the landing outside our window, but for the most part, we all barely passed our physicals, and played in the band as much as possible. We even marched in a parade – a FIELD TRIP, which included lunch off base and a bus ride with the Band Director, who wasn't much of a yeller.
I had strategically timed my entrance into the Air Force so that that first six weeks would include two holidays – Christmas AND Thanksgiving. They couldn't be too hard on us during the holidays, and I might get to see my family. Smart thinking, because indeed that was true! I had my first Air Force Thanksgiving at Denny’s with my mom and my boyfriend.
During basic training, I got a letter in my fifth week from my mom. Apparently my parents were splitting up, and I was devastated. I went to my Staff Sergeant, SSgt. Brothers, and explained in tears that I didn’t think I could go on.
“Well, Martin,” he said. “You can choose to let this mess up your life, or you can go on despite this upset. The truth is, shit happens, and you do what you gotta do and make the best out of it and move on. Do you want this to ruin your life, Martin?”
Me, quavering: “Noooo…..”
He nodded. “Good then, we’re on the same page. Now get out there and show them how you can go on in spite of what they did.”
I did, for six more wake-ups, until graduation day.
Within the first week, I was seriously regretting my decision to join the Air Force, reserves or not. The waking up at 4 am wasn't difficult. It wasn't hard to shove food down my throat and avoid eye contact, and try to remain invisible. It wasn't hard to memorize the shapes of the aircraft, or the ranks, or to learn how to salute.
The exercise was AWFUL, though. I hated every minute of it. If push-ups and sit-ups were excruciating pain, RUNNING was hell. I had to run two miles in under twenty-two minutes and every single second of that time, I hated my life.
When we were gathered to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases, or to get some sort of air injection, or possibly just to watch a propaganda film about how amazing the Armed Forces are one afternoon, standing outside of a building waiting to go in, I overheard someone talking to the flight next to us. That person was the Air Force Band Director.
I heard him mention something about avoiding kitchen duties, and less time in physical training, and I was IN. I hoped and prayed he would come talk to our flight, and over he came a few minutes later. He asked our group if any of us had any experience in band. I had learned in my first twenty four hours in Air Force Basic Training NEVER to volunteer for anything, so what I did next surprised even me.
My hand shot up and I begged to be part of the Air Force Band, citing “life-long dream” and “long family history of musical talent” which wasn't entirely untrue. Truth be told, I had played clarinet in the marching band in high school. I had also tried playing trumpet a few times and had managed to squeak out a note or two. I had also played classical piano for about ten years. He asked what instruments I played, and my mouth started moving: “Percussion (where did THAT come from?), piano, organ, trumpet, clarinet, saxophone, bagpipes, pretty much any wind instrument, and guitar.”
I was a veritable musical prodigy! He had heard of kids like me, I bet I looked like a genius that day. I had at least SEEN these instruments being played, and touched them (with the exception of bagpipes). I was told to pack my bags and move my shit to the Band Squadron, and THAT, my friends, is how I escaped not only all kitchen duty, but also the majority of physical training.
I was given the xylophone to play (I know, the one instrument I hadn’t mentioned being an expert at), and I wasn't terrible. The rest of the six weeks flew by. One girl got kicked out of our squadron for being completely crazy. Another for smoking weed on the landing outside our window, but for the most part, we all barely passed our physicals, and played in the band as much as possible. We even marched in a parade – a FIELD TRIP, which included lunch off base and a bus ride with the Band Director, who wasn't much of a yeller.
I had strategically timed my entrance into the Air Force so that that first six weeks would include two holidays – Christmas AND Thanksgiving. They couldn't be too hard on us during the holidays, and I might get to see my family. Smart thinking, because indeed that was true! I had my first Air Force Thanksgiving at Denny’s with my mom and my boyfriend.
During basic training, I got a letter in my fifth week from my mom. Apparently my parents were splitting up, and I was devastated. I went to my Staff Sergeant, SSgt. Brothers, and explained in tears that I didn’t think I could go on.
“Well, Martin,” he said. “You can choose to let this mess up your life, or you can go on despite this upset. The truth is, shit happens, and you do what you gotta do and make the best out of it and move on. Do you want this to ruin your life, Martin?”
Me, quavering: “Noooo…..”
He nodded. “Good then, we’re on the same page. Now get out there and show them how you can go on in spite of what they did.”
I did, for six more wake-ups, until graduation day.
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| My Basic Training Squadron, Circa 1997 (I'm the one with the mask on) |
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