Happy Veterans Day!

For our freedoms, let us not take them for granted. Dear blood bought these rights that are so often touted as an entitlement. 






I was so young, but I was a husband and I was a father. New to both and particularly new to this military life which had been thrust upon me. I noted in an earlier blog that I was one of those...the last group, I believe, to receive that 'infamous letter' in which the first line said ''Greetings". Now, in the words of the song, "it wasn't me that started that ole crazy Asian war, but I was proud to go and do my patriotic chore." Proud, well that would be a stretch at the time. Scared sh!@less would have been more accurate. Nevertheless, I did it and looking back I wouldn't have missed it and I am proud.

I did my service in the Military District of Washington. Just imagine! But, that is another story.

Fort Ord, California is where I did my basic training. And the day had arrived. We were going to throw our two live grenades.

Wow, what boy in his childhood had not played army and hadn't thrown some make believe grenade.

Okay, I admit, really tossing one of those bad boys is a little intimidating.

The range had a concrete wall from which we would toss our implements of destruction. We were given detailed instructions which I paid close attention to, particularly the part about not releasing the clip once you pull the pin. No second chances here. We were told the unfortunate incident, where a trainee pulled the pin and released the clip...thought oops, I guess, and pressed it back, then taking a throwing stance with the grenade in is hand, next to his ear, and well, you know the rest of the story.

So, there I was, grenade in hand, ready to send it spiraling like Staubach zipped a football. 

Textbook I thought, as I stooped below the wall. (I mentioned the training, did I mention we were suppose to assume a prone position following the toss?) We were and the drill instructor emphasized this forgotten detail with a blow, from his massive forearm to the back of my neck.

I, of course was read the riot act. I wanted to say...hell, the wall is four feet high. Why go all the way to the ground. The thought that on the field of battle, there might not be a four feet concrete wall didn't occur to me at the time. What I did say was "Yes, Drill Instructor!"

Second Grenade, same as the first, and I proudly went to the ground, full prone, snappy, like I meant it.

In the drill instructor's way.

He was yelling at me the whole time, as I ran around the viewing bunker. Once there, one of my comrades said, "Hey Sweet (for those of you who don't know, Drew Adams is my pen name. My given name is Andy Sweet) come check this out. 

They had periscopes back there. I peeked in one. The drill Sgt. was still jumping up and down, filling the air with expletives.

I want to thank this man, whoever he is, or was. At this age I can appreciate the job he did and the real danger he faced daily, trying to teach knuckleheads like me.

Also I'd like the thank all the instructors who teach and train our soldiers. They are most often the reason our loved ones return to us.

Happy Veterans day.