Hell hath no fury . . . . .

So I'm standing in the doorway to Crim Law staring at Mrs. W and she turns and gives me a, "What's YOUR problem" kind of look. At the time SSG W was not in the office, he was out in the hallway getting congratulations and hand shakes, etc. There was one other female in the office, another male Sergeant and our Crim Law NCOIC, SFC B. I was hoping one of them would speak up on my behalf but you know, I think they wanted to see how this was going to play out.

I slowly approached my desk and said, "This is my desk and that's my mail." I could tell it infuriated Mrs. W and mostly because I think she was just embarrassed but she was too proud to admit that. Her face turned as red as every accessory on her body and she slammed the letter down on the desk and angrily said, "Then where does my husband sit?"

Now listen, you don't approach an angry lion, do you?  Do you snatch a bone away from a big yard dog?  No, no you do not and see this is why I was smart enough to approach with caution and not snatch my private personal mail out of her hand.  I was in no way demanding, rude or mean --I knew better.

But apparently, other Sergeants in our office had no such common sense and this one in particular wanted to you know --might light of the situation, be funny, get a rise out of the obviously upset Mrs. W.  So I was getting ready to direct Mrs. W to her husband's new desk after she inquired, "Then where does my husband sit?" and before I could say anything one of the Sergeants blurted out, "Oh, he just sits on Private Dodge's lap."

Hell hath no fury . . . . .

You could both feel and hear everyone in the room trying to contain their laughter.  I was shocked.  I just looked over at the Sergeant like, "I can't believe you just said that!!!"  I knew this was going to be ugly and I knew that despite the fact I did nothing wrong and I wasn't the one that made the comment, I was going to be on the receiving end of Mrs. W's wrath!  So I walked up to my desk and said, "I"m sorry, Mrs. W, when SSG W moved over to post-trial he moved over to that desk *points across the room*.  This is now my desk."  I wasn't being snotty at all I mean, if the Sergeant had not made that comment perhaps I would have been more inclined to be but Mrs. W was in no playing mood.  I was trying to eliviate the tension by being super duper polite and respectful and on the other hand, I really thought she was going to haul off and hit me across the face --so I was doing all that I could to defuse the situation.

Mrs. W stands up, trying to maintain any level of dignity she may (or may not) have had and picks up my stack of mail.  She goes to walk over to her husband's desk and the Sergeant that made that comment says, "And that's Private Dodge's mail too."  So she drops the mail on my desk, giving the Sergeant a look of death and slowly walks over to her husband's desk while saying, "Well, I thought this was my husband's desk and that it was his mail."  She went over to SSG W's desk and shuffled some papers around as if she had a right or reason to do so and then she walked out of the office.

As soon as she was out of earshot, everyone except me, bursted into laughter.  I just looked over at the Sergeant and asked him why he said that!  Everyone was still getting a good laugh at Mrs. W's expense when the Sergeant said to me, "Oh please!  She deserved it!  I understand she thought that was her husband's desk but she knew well and good that wasn't his mail but she proceeded to keep reading it anyway.  Before you came in I sat here watching her go through all of that mail and I just wanted to see how far she was going to go.  Even if she made a mistake in opening, as soon as she saw who it was addressed to she should have stopped reading but no --she read that entire letter front to back."

And thus began my relationship with the ever lovely Mrs. W.

That’s personal, that’s private and THAT’S MINE!

There’s something that just gets under my skin like you wouldn’t believe.

Well, there’s probably more than one thing but I’m thinking of something in particular right now -- the abuse of power or a position.

Yes it happens in the Army like any other place but I’ll be honest with you and say that in my experience it wasn’t very often. Sure you’d find a brand spanking new Sergeant E5 that got a little besides himself and wanted to strut his (or her) newly pinned on stripes but for the most part, Sergeants knew how to be Sergeants and Officers knew how to be Gentlemen. You know, like the movie. Not to say Sergeants can’t be gentlemen –I just wanted to play on that movie title, you see.

Enter Sergeant W and his wife, Mrs. W.

It’s important you know about my first encounter with Mrs. W. I had not been in Germany too long –I’d say 6 months or less. I was working in the Criminal Law Division in pre-trail and SGT W was also a Crim Law clerk working in post-trial. Previously, just before I got moved from Admin Law to Crim Law, SGT W worked in pre-trial but when I got moved over, he moved to post-trial and thus, he moved to a new desk and I took over his old desk.

Whenever a soldier gets promoted it is not unusual for the spouse/family to come to the pinning on ceremony. I myself had the privilege of pinning rank on Newsome---wait a second. That’s a spoiler for sure. Never mind that!

SGT W was getting promoted from Sergeant E5 to Staff Sergeant E6 and the ever lovely Mrs. W was invited to the ceremony. Ever lovely.

How lovely was she?

This was my first encounter meeting her.

Mrs. W was a tall black woman. She wasn’t fat and yet, she was not a thin lady by any means. She had bright brassy orange hair and I don’t mean orange in the sense of a natural hair color but orange in the sense of an orange crayon in a box –flaming orange. This particular autumn day she was wearing a white sleeveless summery dress that had big bold red flowers on it –actually, I think it had a variety of bold colors but red was the dominating color. To that end, Mrs. W paired her dress with bright red strappy sandals that she wore with black reinforced toed nylons and bold plastic red jewelry, like a chunky bead necklace and huge wide hooped plastic earrings. Keeping with the red theme, her thick full lips were audaciously painted dark red and she had streaks of deep dark pink across her checks, I guess serving the purpose of blush. Her eye lids were not left naked and had a splash of color as well, though the exact color escapes my memory. I do remember looking at her face and thinking how all those bright colors seemed to be competing against each other for attention and how harsh the colors looked against her warm brown skin. When she smiled, her bright white teeth were exposed and she had a shiny gold tooth, which seemed to reflect the red on her lips making them appear bigger and brighter. And let’s not forget the long pointy nails that were also painted bright red. You know, to match the bright red chunky beads bracelet.

[Yes Andy, I really do remember all of that detail.]

Mrs. W commanded any room she was in and not because there was some charismatic characteristic of her personality that people were drawn to but mostly out of a sense of –fear. She walked around with a chip on her shoulder so large it was almost visible to the naked eye. Her face and demeanor seemed to have a constant expression of, “What are YOU looking at?” Her attitude was apparent in her constant head bopping that tossed her plastic red hoop earrings across her face but not in any particular rhythmic musical manner.  Confidence surged out of her like the turbulent crashing waves of Niagara Falls apparent in her erect stance and the very deliberate and demanding way in which she took her steps.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Mrs. W but I didn’t understand her. She seemed like a character that just walked right off the pages of a book and into our JAG office. I wasn’t sure how to approach her or how to have a conversation with her. She was like that, very unapproachable. It seemed like if you tried to talk to her she’d bite your head off.

Yet there was something about Mrs. W that I very much admired. When SSG W was getting promoted, Mrs. W stood there next to her husband with pride just beaming from her eyes and smile. Even the glare from the gold tooth could not conceal her pride. She stood up there like, “This is MY man and this is OUR promotion.” Yes, she owned that promotion just as much as her husband did. It was a joint effort and one she took immeasurable delight in.  But I liked the way she seemed to take immeasurable delight in her husband as well.

In JAG the promotion ceremonies took place in the Lieutenant Colonel’s office because he had these long gold drapes that made the perfect backdrop for a photo opt. They would flank the sides with the US Flag and Army flag and it made such a pretty patriotic picture. The LTC’s office was right next to the Crim Law division. Out side of the office was a wide hallway with offices on three sides and on one wall double doors that lead to a grand old staircase that went downstairs. We were on the second floor. In that hallway was a table with some refreshments; German pastries, a meat and cheese tray and some fresh breads and rolls from the German bakery. After the pinning on ceremony, everyone mingled about the hallway eating, chatting –glad to be away from work for a bit.

After getting my fill of freshly baked pastries and delicious smooth soft European cheese, I walked back into the Crim Law office to go to my desk. As soon as I walked in I stepped dead in my tracks. Sitting there at my desk was Mrs. W. She wasn’t just casually sitting there as if she just needed a place to rest her tired feet from her red strappy sandals. She was sitting at my desk as if it were her own, that commanding presence she had about her. I stood there in disbelief and unsure of what to do next. I mean, yes she was sitting at my desk but that wasn’t the problem.

You see, just before the promotion ceremony the JAG clerk had delivered our mail and set mine on my desk. Since it was time to go into the LTC’s office I did not have time to open it so I just laid it aside. I had a few letters from home and a post card I was anxious to read (I read my mail from home over and over and over and over –practically until I had it memorized word for word). Much to my disbelief, Mrs. W was sitting there at my desk, had opened my mail and was sitting there reading my letter from home!

Oh see now we moved into a whole new arena. Oh sure, maybe she was this big intimidating woman and maybe I was this 5 foot 90 pound weakling that didn’t stand a chance against her but here’s the deal . . . .

Don’t mess with my mail from home! That’s personal, that’s private and THAT’S MINE!

New Post

MMM will post at 10am today.

Please come back.

M

Now You're Dead, II

I forgot to tell you what happened when I left my weapon in the field (Now You're Dead).  I actually was in a lot of trouble.  Usual, huh?

The instructors that found my weapon wanted to impose some type of punishment on me right then and there, including or up to an Article 15 --nonjudicial military punishment.  But luckily for me, since they were not all in agreement as what to do, they said they'd deal with me later.  That was almost worse --like when you're Mom would tell you, "Wait until your father gets home" and the anticipation of the punishment to come was almost worse than the punishment itself.

There was a lot going on with the field exercise, graduation preparation, etc so my instructor forgot about the incident.  I dindn't but you know, who was I to remind him?  Was that my job?  No, it was not.

But a little while after we got back in from the FTX (Field Exercise) we were in the classroom one day and my instructor had an "Ah" moment and he looked at me and said, "That's right!  Don't you owe me something?"  Then he went on to explain he couldn't let me off the hook about the weapon but he wasn't going to impose a harsh punishement ---what to do, what to do????

My instructor put me in the Front Leaning Rest (push up position) in front of the class and made me do push-ups and every time pushed up or down I had to say, "I will not forget my weapon", one word per each movement up or down.  He said I had to keep going until he got tired but you know, I think the max I could do was 23 so it wasn't like I was going to push out a 100 or anything--but after I couldn't do anymore he made me just hold my position --not push up or dow --just hold.  He kept me there what seemed like an eternity.  I even had to stay down in the FLR during a break.  It got to the point my arm muscles were broken down, like all quivery and weak.  Like --have you ever lifted weights and that last repetition you just can't hardly get that last one in?  It felt like that only 10 times worse.  My arms are starting to ache just thinking about it.

I really did get off pretty light.  It could have been much worse.  Before my instructor let me "recover" (get up) he asked me if I learned my lesson.  I guess I did --I never ever ever left my weapon again and I never forgot the punishment.  I was memorable enough to blog about so . . . it made an impact. 

And in a strange sort of way I miss having an M-16 weapon.  I don't know, maybe I just miss being a soldier.

Graduation Day!

Yes!   I made it!  I was going to graduate from PLDC!

Military graduations are usually well attended by the higher ranking officials.  They like all the pomp and circumstance.  I knew this. Our instructors told us the "big wigs" that were coming to see us graduate.

That just made me nervous.  I was so very very intimidated by high rank.  I think it started in Kindergarten when I was terrified of the 5th and 6th graders.

Our graduation was in a theater and we practiced this.  It was easy.  We walked up the stage on the right side, walked across the stage, walked down the left side, walk all the way down the right isle then back to our seats.
 
That's how is was supposed to go.  Well, that's how it did  . . . until it was my turn.

Sitting right there in the front row were all those military guys --chests full of awards and medals.  They frightened me.  And when I get scared I'm nervous and I can't think straight and I'm a mess.

Like the one time in Basic Training we had a barracks inspection and a Colonel stopped by and asked me where I was from and I told him I didn't know.  Then he asked me to do an About- Face and I just simply turned around.  I did more of a ballet spin than a military move.  And my Drill Sergeant was really really mad at me.

But back to PLDC.

I got most of it right but as I was walking across the stage I was blinded from all that brass that was sitting in the front row.  And as I descended the stairs going down the left I had a moment of panic, "What do I do now?"  So instead of going straight I turned left --and I walked right in front of all those important people.  One particular important person gave a look of confusion like, "Hey, what's she doing?"

But then the people behind me figured there had been a change they were not aware of so everyone that was exiting the stage started to follow me.  I made such a mess of things.  Then since I had gone the wrong way, we were all trying to go back up the isle where soldiers were walking down towards the stage.  Finally one of the instructors got up and started redirecting traffic the right way.

When we all got back to our seats everyone was mad at me, "What were you doing? . . . Why did you change like that?"

I dunno --I was just nervous.

But more importantly

I GRADUATED FROM PLDC!

The End!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Fall

Oh Say Can You See

Just before the Dining In was to begin my fellow singers and I assembled to a backstage area. I was too stubborn to admit it but my high heels were killing my feet. More accustomed to wearing combat boots, my ankles were weak and I felt wobbly.

We had practiced the Star Spangled Banner for weeks now and we knew we were good. We were so good soldiers used to come just to hear us practice. But maybe we knew too much or maybe we didn’t know enough because now stage fright was beginning to set in. Everyone was getting nervous and that was making me nervous and nerves didn’t settle well on wobbly legs.

We were singing our rendition acapella and our leader was to give us our starting note. It worked beautifully the previous 2,589 times in practice –which is why I had been so confident to tell everyone how good we were.

Because you know, I was just that confident.

The longer we stood backstage the more nervous the group become and the more nervous the group became, the less confident they were. With that lack of confidence and bundle nerves, we took the stage. We lined up. We readied ourselves and our leader gave us a note.

A bad note.

And then we all jumped off on that note. A note much too high to begin the Star Spangled Banner on. Much too high. But we just kept singing because no one really knew what to do and our leader wasn’t much of a leader. In fact, he just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights.

I sang as best I could but I could tell voices were dropping off one by one until we got to the, “and the rockets red glare” and no one was singing. Well, no one but me that is because everyone had stopped singing and you know, the show must go on. In my mind I was begging and pleading for everyone to start singing with me but they just stood there and I kept singing.

And it was awful –horrible!! It was much too high so my voice was squeaky and sounded basically like nails on a chalk board. Making matters only worse, I caught that nervous energy from the group so my heart was pounding and realizing I was basically singing a solo with a quivering voice, I was all the more nervous and to make matters even worse –I could see the looks on the faces in the crowd! I was already unstable on my heels and my knees were shaking so badly my skirt looked like I was trying to do a Hawaiian Hula version of our beloved Nation Anthem! My face was as bright red as the strips on Old Glory herself. It was a mess –one giant hot mess.

Afterwards we all gathered backstage and everyone knew how bad it was but at least they had the smarts to stop embarrassing themselves. Me? Oh no –I just kept barreling through it, awful as it was.

When we made our way back to our tables we got the strangest looks. My Instructor flat out told me, “That was THE WORST rendition of the National Anthem I ever heard! And you can’t sing!!!”

And I heard many other similar comments and there was really nothing I could say because they were right.

It was just that bad.

But I learned a few lessons that night --the biggest lesson was in humility.

The Dining In

The night of the Dining In all those that had some role had to be at the hall early. I can't tell you how happy I was to be in a skirt --all cleaned up and girly. I just felt good about myself for a change.

By the time everyone else got there, I was in the reception area which was fairly large. I have a very vague recollection of the place but I do remember it was a very old building --kind of dilapidated but also kind of old school Hollywood. There was a huge chandelier in the reception area and the carpet was green. I was standing around in that reception area when all the soldiers started coming in. As I recall, I think they were bussed over but we were still on a military installation, probably the same one. Details are sketchy.

Soon I saw the familiar faces of my platoon so I started walking towards them; I liked hanging out with them. Then I started to feel weird because they were all looking at me sort of strange, like starring. It was that feeling like everyone in the room knows something about you but you. I had this rush of insecurity come upon me so then I started to walk the opposite direction, pretending I had planned that all along. As I was walking away one of the guys called out to me so I turned around and they were walking towards me and one asked, “Hey, where are you going?” I told him I think I had to get ready to go in and he pointed to the others that were singing with me and said, “No you don’t, they aren’t going in yet.” So I stood there with my guys and for me it was a very awkward silence so finally I said, “What? What’s wrong?” One of the guys said, “We’ve just never seen you like this.” Like what??? One guy looks at my shoes, my skirt, at me and says, “Like THIS!” I laughed and said, “Oh, like a girl?” One guy said, “No, like a lady.”

And that was so refreshing for me. I can still see me standing there in that room. I can still hear their voices and see their faces looking at me. More importantly, I remember how I felt. I felt like a pretty girl. It was memorable indeed.

It wasn’t just the compliment –it was a relief from weeks of having to pretend I wasn’t a girl. It was finally me being me. During PLDC I struggled with the sexual harassment, unfair treatment because I was a female and having to keep up with men, big strong men. When I acted like and felt like a girl, I fell behind or got into trouble or wasn’t good enough. So there was this constant battle within me –tugging on my emotions, tugging on the core of who I was. I didn’t realize how tense it made me until that very moment I was standing in that reception area; I physically felt a sense of release and relief. It was as if I let out a big sigh because I didn't have to put up a wall of protection or trying to arm myself for a battle of the sexes. A huge weight lifted from me.

We chatted a bit before it was time for me to go in. As I walked away one of the guys in my platoon walked up to me and said, “You look very nice tonight.” I thanked him for the compliment and he said, “I don’t even know your name.” I laughed and reminded him he did indeed know my name –Dodge, Sergeant Dodge. He said, “No, I mean your first name.” Oh! That! Yeah you know, you can know someone in the Army forever and ever and never know their first name. I even called Sergeant Newsome well –Sergeant Newsome while we dated. It took a very long time for me to call him Jerry, even off duty. I told the Sergeant my name was Melissa and he held out his hand to shake mine and said, “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Melissa.”

Newsome News

Sorry, its my birthday so I'm giving myself a blogging break.

But you can check out this one, if you want to.

Then again, that blog spoils the ending of this blog because after all, it is called Newsome News.

Newsome News

This is what I decided to do

I had two worlds. My home world. My Army world. I wasn't sure how to reconcile them to one another. I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

I just wasn't sure.

Do you remember Connie's Lipstick? That is what it was like with me and SSG Newsome, I was color blind. He wasn't a black man, he wasn't the black Sergeant --he was just him. That's all. I wasn't aware of his skin color because I knew him as a person, a man.

But you see, that was the problem. Back home they weren't so color blind and back home that was --that world and I was in this world. It wasn't that I was two different people but I had changed. The Army changed me. Germany changed me. Newsome changed me. I was different but home was the same. They were the same.

So soon after Newsome came to visit me, I had a panic moment. I was weak and I was afraid but mostly, I was confused. I wasn't sure if my Army world and my Chicago world could coexist. But to be quite honest with you, I wasn’t sure I wanted them to coexist. I didn’t want to shake the up trees, upset the status quo. I didn’t have that kind of courage.

Remember, I signed the statement.  I hadn't been to OZ, I had no courage.

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced marrying Staff Sergeant Newsome wasn’t going to be an option. It felt like other people or circumstances had already made that decision for me. I could fight it. I could swim up stream but that seemed over whelming to me -- very much so. There was also the fact that he was a career soldier and I was going to live the rest of my life in Chicago.


Because we technically weren’t even exclusively dating; sure we dated and spent a lot of time together but as far as a commitment made between us, that had not been done. And we had not know each other that long . . . and Newsome had other things he was dealing with, personal things that seemed too big and too grown up for me. It made me cautious and careful and –scared.


This is what I decided. After PLDC I’d tell Newsome how I felt.

Skirts and Heels

Prior to the Dining In our Instructors told the females to get together on what uniform we’d be wearing. We were told it didn’t matter; skirts, pants, heels, low-quarters but we all had to wear the same thing. We had a little meeting and decided a majority rule vote would determine the uniform. Skirts were easily agreed upon but the shoes were a different matter. Well, I say skirts were easily agreed upon which isn’t exactly accurate. Skirts were easily voted on –there were some opposers but hey, we protect and defend a democratic society so –skirts it was. And I wasn’t about to back down and do you know why? Because I had my fill of roommate drama and everyone kind of “forgetting” a female was present. I mean, I told you the major things that happened but it really was a daily moment by moment battle for equality and fairness and a lack of sexual harassment in the environment (Army wide true but especially my PLDC experience). And I was tired of looking like a “Shoeshine Boy” and I was you know –I was just kind of fed up. And that’s the attitude I took on when we moved onto the shoe discussion.

It was pretty evenly divided between the high heels and low-quarters but like I’ve mentioned before, low-quarters and skirts = gross. I wasn’t going there. A nice pencil skirt deserves a cute pair of heels. Listen, I’m no fashion forward expert but I know what I know and I know that it had to be heels. I was persistent and I won the battle. There was this one female soldier that wasn’t exactly feminine. Skirts just weren’t her thing and she left our little meeting very unhappy. She begged and pleaded with us but you know, she was one of my roommates that tried to rally against me so I wasn’t feeling the love. Revenge? I don’t know, maybe. I never said I was perfect. But if you will forgive me this time, I promise I make it up later. Stay tuned.

I wasn’t exactly used to these girly things –skirts, heels, make-up, and jewelry. During PLDC I never wore make-up and I can’t remember if it was just because I had to be up at the crack of dawn and running 2 miles by 6am, had very little “personal hygiene” time or if because it wasn’t allowed –at any rate, every day I’d throw my wet freshly showered hair into a clip, don my BDU”s (Battle Dress Uniform, like “Dressed for Battle” –need I say more?) and combat boots. What is cute about “battle” and “combat”? Exactly.

Sidebar: My duration in the Army the top of my feet and my ankles were bruised from wearing combat boots. Since they never ever went away, I thought it was permanent but they did eventually fade after I stopped wearing boots but it took a good year or so. It used to bother me a lot!!! It was probably partly because I laced them up too tightly but I was very particular about my uniform and my “military appearance”. BDU’s were easier than Class A’s because on BDU’s everything was sewn on so there was no guess work or having to pin things on. As much as I hated wearing them, they really were a “no brainer” type of uniform to wear. I wore my pants tucked into my boots and since I hated when they’d rise up and slip out, I used duck tape to secure my pants around my ankles before putting my boots on!

So with the skirt and heels uniform decided upon, I was very excited to get ready for the Dining In and sing! Sing I would!!!!!!

So long my Platoon . . .

The last day of PLDC was the graduation practice, the 5-mile run and the Dining In. My guys kept asking me how I was going to lead the run. I kept telling them I had no idea. It did worry me, terrified me, actually but I had to do what I had to do. I knew it was going to be a huge embarrassment. I knew I would be humiliated but you know --I was kind of used to those things by now.

The Graduation ceremony would take place in a movie theater that was on base. It was an old building, as they all were. There was a stage with a small set of stairs that flanked the sides. The graduates were to walk up the right side of the stage, walk across the stage, walk down the left side of the stage then execute an immediate, sharp and precise left face then walk in front of the stage and back up the isle to our seats. Pretty simple huh? I mean, can you imagine anyone messing that up? Can you? Can you think of one person that might get something so elementary all screwed up? I mean –we even practiced it –walking up the stairs, walking across the stage . . . . well, tune in for graduation day and hear the tale.

After our practice session we were dismissed for a little (very little) bit of free time and to change and get ready for the run.

The run.

The 5-mile run.

The 5-mile run I was to lead. And sing cadence. Run at the guy’s pace.

That run.

I changed into my PT clothes and went downstairs just kind of waiting and hanging out --most of my platoon was there too and I could tell they all felt sorry for me. I mean come on; we all knew I was going to fail miserably. They knew that. I knew that. I couldn’t even keep up with them on our daily 2 mile runs, which were lead by the instructors. How in the world was I going to keep up on a 5 mile run WHILE leading?

We were getting ready to get into formation when one of the other instructors came up to me and said, “Hey! Aren’t you singing the National Anthem tonight?” I told him I was (like duh, didn’t everyone know that? Had I not been telling everyone how good we were going to be?). Then he said to me, “Well then what are you doing here?” I asked him what he meant and he said, “Everyone involved with the Dining In has practice right now, you can’t go on this run.”

Sing it with me ---Hallelujah!!!!!

And then I had the absolute nerve to pretend I was upset and that I wanted to go on the run. My platoon was all standing around rolling their eyes at me . . . .

“Are you serious? But---but –I’m the platoon Sergeant, I have to lead my guys!”

“Well, you’re not leading them on this run! You can appoint someone to lead for you and then you need to report to practice for tonight.”

Seriously, I was acting like I was so mad and disappointed but as soon as the instructor walked away I grinned at my platoon and they just shook their head at me.

First Sergeant called us all to Attention!

Company!

And then of course I yelled out . .

Platoon!

They snapped to attention, we got some announcements then we were ready to run; so I executed an About Face so I’d be facing my platoon and yelled . . .

Sergeant So-in-So (remember, I’ve forgotten his name but he was the one that put me “On Point”) FRONT AND CENTER!

Listen to me giving commands *snickers*

Sergeant left the formation and reported to me. I told him to take charge of the platoon. It was beautiful –absolutely beautiful. As I walked away to go back into the building I heard Sergeant say, “Forward-----MARCH!”

So long my Platoon! I will miss you! Have fun! Run well! Make me proud! Good-bye!!!!!

Uniform Inspection

I didn’t like uniform inspections at all. First of all, I was pretty inept with putting mine together; I could never get my ribbons and badges straight. I didn’t feel comfortable in my Class A’s –they were always too big on me no matter how many times I’d get them altered. My pants and skirt always slid around my waist and my jacket would balloon up whenever I sat down. I just didn’t like it. I also hated my ugly low-quarters –an orthopedic looking shoe. They were tolerable with pants but with a skirt? Gag!

I also didn’t inspections it because 9 times out of 10 a male was conducting the inspection and since all of your ribbons and badges are right there on your chest –they just stand right in front of you staring at your chest. I hated it. It felt creepy. I also didn’t particularly like standing at the position of Attention, which was required during an inspection. There were just so many things for me to dislike.

Uniform inspection was required as part of our training –both to ensure we knew how to properly wear the uniform but also so we could learn how to one day do an inspection of our own. I never did get to do one.

So we all had to get our uniforms in order; pressed, shined brass, shined shoes and the day of inspection, we had to line up against the wall outside of our rooms. With our room, being at the end of the hall because we were the only females on the floor, we were of course the last to get inspected which meant, as the instructors were making their way down the hall inspecting uniforms, we had to be standing at the position of attention the entire time.

It’s just so hard standing still for that long. Standing still and not talking. Standing still and not talking and then you have an itch –I always got an itch . . . or a bee buzzing around my ears. Oh wait, that was Basic Training. This is PLDC. Okay so maybe one day I’ll tell you the bee story.

I digress.

For everything that was wrong on your uniform you’d get a gig. Each gig counted as points against you and your total points went towards graduation and weekend passes, privileges, etc. If you got a certain number of gigs, you failed inspection all together and would have to make corrections then stand in for inspection again –like on a Saturday or something. The instructors didn’t tell us there on the spot –they just checked us over, took notes then posted our scores –much like they did our written tests.

When our scores were posted I had a gig. It said, “Missing hash mark”.

MISSING HASH MARK?

Oh how dare he!!!! I was missing no such thing –and I marched myself right over to his office to tell him so, “Excuse me, Sergeant, why did I get a gig for a missing hash mark?” He looks down at his papers then said, “Because you didn’t have one.”

You see, a hash mark is a well –it’s a hash mark, a short stripe that is sewn onto the bottom of your left sleeve on your Class A jacket. Each hash mark represents 3 years of service –I had none.

I told my instructor, “That’s because I don’t yet have 3 years of service.” He looks up at me and asks how long I’ve been in service. I told him just over 2 years. He stares at me and said, “Are you kidding me?” I assured him I was not. He kind of gives a look like everything is starting to make sense –everything about me. You know like, well no wonder she doesn’t hardly know anything –she’s barely been in the Army long enough to know anything! He asked me how I made rank so fast, Sergeant E5 in less than 3 years. I don’t know –I just did but when I got promoted to E5, I was promoted along with other JAG soldiers that had been in the Army 4 years and 10 years!!! Many of the soldiers I was in PLDC with had been in the Army much longer than I had been. So my instructor said, “Well then, Sergeant”, I’m sorry. I’ll change your score for you.”

The same thing happened when we went to the Dining In. We were all in our Class A uniforms and everyone kept asking me where my hash mark was –when I’d tell them I didn’t have 3 years in service yet they’d say, “Then how did you get to PLDC so fast? And make E5 so fast?”

I always tell you when I mess up and get in trouble and all the things I couldn’t do so allow me to tell you what I did do right. As much of a goof ball as I could be about military things, I was pretty straight in JAG. I knew military law. I studied it. I knew my job, I did my job well. I stayed out of trouble (you know like real trouble). My uniform was always pristine; pressed, starched, shined –“squared away”. I made rank so quickly because I got recognition for those things that I did do right.  As I've stated before, I also had excellent NCO's that mentored me and took care of me.  I thought that was just the Army way, which really it is but what I mean is, I thought that was the way all NCO's were but later, when I moved to a new unit, I realized that wasn't always the case.  It wasn't until I saw the contrast, the good ones and the not-so-good ones, that I understood how fortunate I had been at the 1st AD in Ansbach, Germany. 

Fortunate indeed.

Cloud Nine Moment

After I left Newsome and was on my way back to my classroom I was literally walking on cloud nine.  I know where that expression comes from because I felt it.  My feet were light and I felt like I was gliding along.  Remember, we were not allowed to talk while walking in the hallways, we had to "march" but I wasn't marching --I was floating.  My chest felt like it was going to explode, it was so full.

Another female student was walking in the hallway towards me and she was giving me the strangest look.  It took me out of my cloud nine moment and I had a sort of snap out of it moment and I realized I had been singing.  I don't even know what song (wish I remembered) but I was just happily strolling down the hallway singing and humming like I was going to a garden party or something.

When I got back to my classroom I couldn't help the fact that I was grinning from ear to ear.  By now, everyone was pretty used to me having to go see Sergeant Major and sometimes even joked, "If I didn't know better I'd think you and Sergeant Major had something going on."

*smiles*  We did.  He was friends with this guy I was madly falling for (or had fallen for) and against the rules he let me have a visitor.

Looking back, I wonder if Sergeant Major really just did finally give into Newsome or maybe in a way he knew he had done me wrong with the whole statement thing and perhaps he was trying to make up for that --or favor me --or set me up so he had something on me as much as I had something on him.  Whatever it was, I was happy about the visitor.

I was very happy until I realized . . . . .

I can't marry Staff Sergeant Newsome and how am I ever going to tell him that?

My Visitor

I walked into the classroom and there standing across the room was Staff Sergeant Newsome.  I was confused and worried.  I had split second thoughts of me being in trouble or there being some sort of emergency . . but why him?  Why is he here?  I could tell he was nervous.  He stood fidgeting with his hat, kind of twirling it around his fingers.  I wasn't happy to see him because I was too afraid of what news he had come to bear.  Was he leaving Germany and came to say good-bye?  Is he dying of some horrible disease?  Is my family okay?  Have I been kicked out of school? 

WHAT????? PLEASE TELL ME!!!

We were standing a good distance apart --him on the farther end of the classroom, me just inside the door, which was closed.  There were all of these empty desks between us.  The room sort of dark, the lights were not turned on so only the daylight that was shining through the windows lit the room, but it was pretty minimal light.  What seemed like an eternity that we both just stood there looking at each other was probably only a few seconds.  My heart was racing.  I didn't know how to prepare myself for whatever news he came to share.  It was obvious from his demeanor this wasn't just a friendly visit like, hey, how's it going?  I knew there was intent, specific intent.  I was too afraid to even ask because I was afraid what the answer might be but then I just couldn't stand it any longer . . .

"So what are you doing here?" I asked.

He paused which scared me all the more because I thought he was trying to steel himself up to deliver the bad news.  He needed courage for this moment, I could tell and that terrified me all the more.

Please God, don't let it be my family!  Please!

Finally he mustered up enough courage to speak.  His voice was quiet and low, maybe even a little bit crackly.  The expression on his face was serious.  I could tell there was a lot of thought behind his eyes.

He said . . .

"Please just listen to what I have to say.  I have to get this out.  I've been doing a lot of thinking ever since you been gone here at school and well, its been driving me crazy.  I've been here just about every day begging Sergeant Major to let me see you.  I just had to see you.  He's a friend of mine, Sergeant Major and I go way back so anyway, I finally broke him down.  I can't stay long because I don't want to get him in trouble or you but you know---I just had to see you because I have to tell you that -- I want you to be my wife.  I want you to marry me.  I know, I know --this isn't the time or place and this isn't right like this, I promise that I'll do it right but --I couldn't wait to tell you and see you and I'm not asking you now, not like this it just that--I wanted to let you know how I feel and that I see my whole future with you and I hope you see your future with me too.  Its just been driving me crazy with you gone and all the things that have happened to you here and I haven't been able to protect you.  And I know you're here with all these male soldiers and I don't want you to find someone else.  I want them to know that you belong to someone, to me.  I know you're free to be with whoever you want to be with and if you met someone else, just tell me.  I just keep thinking you're going to meet someone else because I haven't told you how I feel --that you just don't know.  So please don't say anything now.  Don't say yes or don't say no.  Just tell me--will you wait for me?  You know, until the time is right --I mean--I just wanted to tell you that.  That's all.......  Well, you better get back to class now.  I don't want to get you in trouble."

I just stood there kind of shocked.  I wasn't exactly sure what just happened.  I kind of thought that maybe I should go over and hug him or something but you know, we were both in uniform, I was a student in PLDC, he was an illegal visitor to the school --what if someone walked in?  It wouldn't look exactly right.  Inside I was happy, I was pretty excited but kind of confused to.  I told Newsome I better get back to class then went to leave.  Just as I got to the door he said ---

"So if I was to ask you to marry me -- when the time is right, when the place is right --when it's the right time and place--if I asked you, what do you think you might say?"

My voice spoke before my mind even understood the question.  Or maybe --maybe my heart spoke before my mind understood the question.  I said --

"I think I might say yes.  I have to get back to class now."

And I left.

Going Back In

(There's an extra post today --just below this one)

That was about all I remember from the field exercise.  Even to this day when I get really tired or physically exhausted I think to myself, "Yeah but this is nothing like that time in PLDC."  Yeah, totally unmatched.

Going back in from the field was more work --a lot more work than being in the field.  We had to clean all of the equipment and remember, it rained so everything was muddy and messy.  We had to take down our weapons and clean them.  It was really just a full day's work --lots of dirty busy work, the kind I didn't much care for.

But the good thing was once you got your assigned equipment cleaned and pass inspection, you were mostly free for the day.   I mean, mostly because we did have to stay in uniform and on school grounds and not go back to our rooms but you know, at least we clean and dry.  Oh clean!  That's right!  We weren't allowed to shower until that night.  I was miserably dirty.  Yuck.

So now all that was left was the 5 mile run.  Barring any discipline action, everyone that made it this far was going to graduate.  That certainly took some of the pressure off.  So I thought I was on easy street--that I would just glide my way onto that graduation stage and get another pretty little colorful ribbon to wear on my uniform.

Then one day after the filed exercise we were in the classroom I was called down to the Sergeant Major's office -- again.  But this time I had no idea what this was about.  None.

So I went down to see CSM and I forget exactly what he said to me but then he told me I had a visitor.  He said, "There's someone in the empty room over there waiting to see you.  Go head, don't take too long then get back to class."

I was so scared.  First of all, we weren't allowed visitors so I thought I was being set up.  Secondly, I had absolutely no one that would come visit me.  Anyone in the military would know not to even attempt a visit.  The only civilians I knew were my family and even in the bizarre off chance they actually were in Germany, they wouldn't just show up to PLDC for a chat.  No, they'd go to my unit and then the unit would call the school . . . and if it were some type of emergency Red Cross would call.  Red Cross doesn't make personal appearances, do they?  I was baffled.  I was afraid and I was confused.  The only thing that I could come up with that might happen was maybe a very HUGE maybe ---there was a particular detail about a case I had been working on and it was ready to go to trial but some evidence or paper or something was missing and no one could find it and in order to go to trial, it had to be found.  I mean even that scenario was far fetching but honestly, I could think of no person and no circumstance in which a visit would be warranted.

None.

So, I walked out of Sergeant Major's office, into the hallway and into the empty classroom.  I very cautiously stepped inside and much to my surprise --no, much to my shock there standing before me was . . . .

Just a little something extra

I constantly have Melissa’s Military Moments running through my head because unlike you, I know the whole story! I have to decide what I want to tell, what’s too personal to share, what might be too boring or perhaps an incident that I’d like to tell but the details are just too sketchy to me to make a story out of it. After all, it has been over 20 years –well over 20 years ago . . .

And sometimes I’m so bored with MMM because well, I know the whole story! Like right now, I’m so tired of PLDC –so very tired of it. But so much happened then –and much of that, as you will soon find out, all led up to some other significant thing. You might be surprised to know PLDC was only 6 weeks, so much happened to me in that short amount of time, didn’t it?

I know I say it over and over but you really need to read these stories in the context of which they took place –back in the 80’s when technology was at its infancy. It’s significant to the story to understand how secluded I was from my family, my country –from just about everything. We had very little live coverage news and even “daily” newspapers were received a few days late (or weeks). Recently a friend mentioned a song to me from the 80’s and I told her I didn’t recall it being that popular and she was astounded. There was a lapse in the 80’s for me where I lost some pop culture. I was behind when I was in Germany but when I got back to the states I was in “real time” and lost whatever had not yet caught up to Germany. As we often stated while we were there, being in Germany felt a lot like stepping back in time or standing still in time.

I’m vague about specific dates for a reason –a certain story in the future hinges on a certain time frame and I’m waiting to get to that story until I give exact details. When I give you a whole story about me or my past that is seemingly unrelated to the military, it sets the ground work for something to come that is related to the military.

Sometimes I can’t wait to get ahead because there’s a particular story I want to tell. Sometimes I want to go back because as far as funny stories, nothing can possibly top my Basic Training experiences.

I soon will be posting more pictures since my scanner is back up and running.  I had intended to post more as I went along but I always have issues with scanners and printers.

I don’t know how/when I will end MMM. I mean, the obvious being when I was no longer in the military but then I transitioned into military life as a soldier’s wife –though those stories are pretty mundane and ordinary, if you ask me. So maybe MMM will end the day I stepped out of my uniform and returned to civilian life.

I LOVE everyone’s comments whether they are in the comment section on my blog, to me personally, in an email or whatever means it reaches me. I LOVE to end a post with suspense because its more fun that way but also, it helps me to remember where I left off.

The greatest compliment that could be paid to me is to know that perhaps one day a future generation; my grandchildren or great-grandchildren, will sit down to read these stories and whether they personally knew me or not, they will have a deeper insight to their heritage. I think about that and I get chills. I wonder right now, 4:01pm March 31, 2010 if I will know the hearts, souls and minds of those generations to come.

When I meet people they are often surprised I was in the Army. Even to me it seems odd now. I write these stories and recall those memories and wonder how I got through it all. These hands have gently wiped the dirty faces of my small children for many years but before that, I threw a live grenade and fired an M-60 machine gun. A MACHINE GUN! That’s crazy to me. I could take down an M-16 rifle with precision and speed. My Drill Sergeant even entered me in a contest once for . . . well, maybe that will be another day’s post. Now I struggle to carry a basket of laundry up the stairs but there was a day when I’d throw a ruck-sack on my back and hoof a 15-mile road march. Yeah, I did that. I earned an expert badge both for my M-16 rifle and grenade launch. I did that. How did I do those things? That Melissa is so far from who I am today. I always envisioned my life in Chicago forever and ever and ever –that is where Prince Charming and I would meet and live and raise our perfect 2.5 children –we’d be just that average. And Jerry? He always envisioned his life in Georgia forever and ever and ever and then somehow, from Georgia to Germany and from Illinois to Germany by way of Hawaii, we ended up here in Ohio –raising .5 children more than I thought I’d have.

But God has a way of doing that, you know –taking you off a path or maybe redirecting you to the path that was chosen for you. He has a way of changing circumstances.

And hearts.

And people.

I’m getting way ahead of the story.