Nothing can stop the U.S. Air Force…recruiters

As I write this, the long weekend commemorating our nation’s birth is just behind us. Like most folks, I honored the noble deeds of our forefathers by grilling chicken, watching fireworks and flying the flag.

Independence Day is among my favorite annual events, in part because I’m unabashedly patriotic. My great-grandfather, grandfather and father all served in the military during wartime and I’m glad there’s a day set aside to commemorate the ideals they fought for.

My own military career was somewhat less auspicious. Let’s just say I didn’t always comport myself with proper military bearing and leave it at that.

But I’m thinking today of the way in which I joined up in the first place. It was the summer of ’81. My brother William and I, both recently canned from our respective places of employment, spent our days hanging out together at the home I shared with my wife and new-born daughter.

I remember it clearly, sitting there in the shade of the big front porch, swatting the occasional mosquito, wondering what we were going to do with our lives. I’m not sure which of us said, “Hey, we should join the Army or something,” but once the words were out there, it seemed the most natural idea in the world.

My wife came from a military family and when I ran the idea by her, she was all for it. (In truth, I think she would have been all for us joining the circus if it meant getting us out of the house.)

Thirty minutes later we were at the recruitment office, a building shared by four branches of the military. Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines; they each had an office there.

For no particular reason, we chose the Army. The recruiter spelled out the wonderful life that would be ours as members of the United States Army. The guy was good at his job and five minutes into his spiel and we were ready to sign on the dotted line. The recruiter left the room to grab the necessary forms.

That’s when the Marine recruiter stuck his head in the doorway and said, “You guys aren’t really joining the Army, are you? The Marines are the way to go, man. We’re the best.”

I had to admit, the Marine uniform was way cooler than the Army’s. By the time the Army recruiter returned with the forms, we were in the Marine office getting ready to sign on their dotted line instead.

The two recruiters joined in a somewhat heated discussion about “stealing” potential recruits. My brother and I waited in the main lobby while this was going on. That’s where the recruiter from the Navy found us.

“Hey,” said the Navy recruiter. “If you join the Navy, you get to keep your beard.”

This was something I hadn’t considered. I’d had a small beard since my 16^th birthday and had grown quite attached to it.

Our course seemed obvious; we would be Navy men. A glorious, manly life on the high seas, fighting pirates or Commies—didn’t matter to me. I called my wife to tell her the good news.

“Are you crazy?” she said. “You’ll be away from home for months at a time serving on some ship in the middle of the Atlantic.”

The recruiter assured her this wasn’t necessarily so and went to call his wife to talk to my wife to prove it.

While he was out of the room, the Air Force recruiter walked past and saw us sitting there alone.

A month later I was in Detroit taking my oath of allegiance prior to shipping out to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio where I would complete my basic training.

I loved my time in the Air Force, I really did. But sometimes, I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if the Coast Guard had also shared an office in that building. Or the Girl Scouts, Hare Krishna’s, or Scientologists.

More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.