Let's Just Call It Even

Marching my platoon was the most fun I had ever had in the Army. It just was. There was something about that day, those moments when something within me came alive and it was birthed right there in my voice and marching. I was me and yet I wasn’t. I can’t explain it. But whatever that was, it felt awesome. I was on fire.

Until the Instructor came running towards me –

Whatever, I thought, so I sang girly lyrics. I certainly put up with way more garbage than that!

“Sergeant! Sergeant! Sergeant Dodge!” He’s coming at me and so I stood there waiting to be humiliated once again.

“Sergeant Dodge! That was THE BEST marching I have EVER seen done by a student. It quite frankly could be the best marching I had ever seen done, period. You had such control and command and *shakes head* wow, after that last mess you called marching I would have never guesses you were capable of anything even close to this just –GREAT JOB! And I will be telling your Instructors about this!”

Then he looks over to address the platoon, “And when your Platoon Sergeant sounds off with cadence, you best better be sounding off too! No one asked you if you liked the words.”

We were all dismissed and went into the Mess Hall. Some of the guys were genuinely upset because of the cadence I sang, some were mildly upset, others were amused. I was very amused. I got some hard-core CAV soldiers singing about wearing a mini skirt because after all, they thought nothing of singing cadence about their male parts so you know . . . .

We all sat down to eat and my cadence was the topic of conversation. One soldier who was particularly upset angrily said to me, “That wasn’t cool. That wasn’t cool at all!”

I looked at him and said, “That was payback for your dingle-dangle dangling in the dirt. So let’s just call it even.”

He was not amused, the others broke into laughter.

Hello, my name is Sergeant Dodge and I will be your Platoon Sergeant!

My Voice!

I wish I could say I left the Sergeant Major's office pumped up and encouraged.  I did not.  I left feeling deflated and weak.  I felt just like everyone else, he just didn't understand my woes, my feelings.  I went to bed and the next morning I had to stand before my Platoon again.  Later that day, after some time to really digest the CSM's words, it was time to march the platoon to chow.

Thinking about what the Sergeant Major told me and getting yelled at in front of my entire platoon for marching poorly, I starred at the guys standing there at the position of Attention and I thought to myself, "Let's go, Melissa --let's march these boys!"  I reached deep within myself --like I took a deep breath that sucked the air from the bottom of my feet all the way up to my neck --I reached down into the gurggliest part of my belly, deep down into the pit --I went way down there and as that air moved up it was gaining momentum and then right there at my chest, I wrapped my heart and soul around it.  I thought about all of the "injustices" that had been done to me, all the unfairness and harassment.  I thought about being a girl and acting like a girl and having to find that balance of soldier and woman.  I took all that frustration and anger and confusion and I put it all into a voice. 

One voice. 

My voice. 

And I sounded off . . . .

With a thrust of confidence . . . .

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT FACE!

FOOORRRRRRRRRRRRWARD!

MARCH!

You're left, your left, your left, right . . . .

And we were moving --they were moving at my command.  One unit --all moving in unison.  We had rhythm and we were moving.  It just felt right, I could feel it and they could feel it.  There was an exchange of energy between us; me and my platoon!  And I kept them marching while I sounded off with cadence---

OH MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE (oh mama mama can't you see)

WHAT THIS ARMY'S DOIN' TO ME (what this Army's don' to me)

OH MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE (oh mama mama can't you see)

WHAT THIS ARMY'S DOIN' TO ME (what this Army's doin' to me)

WHOA--OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa-oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH

And they were sounding off loud and thunderous.  The timing was perfect.  The movement was perfect.  Everything just felt right --and I was having fun, a lot of fun --more fun than I had in a very long time and then *giggles* I got an idea.

Because I thought about the time they sang cadences I didn't like and I thought, "Its about time for a little pay back, don't you think?  I've had just about enough trying to be a girl in a man's army."

So I continued singing and marching . . .

I USED TO WEAR MY FADED JEANS (I used to wear my faded jeans)

NOW I'M WEARING ARMY GREENS (now I'm wearing Army greens)

I USED TO WEAR MY FADED JEANS (I used to wear my faded jeans)

NOW I'M WEARING ARMY GREENS (now I'm wearing Army greens)

They were sounding off loud and we were marching.  THIS is what a platoon is supposed to look like!  This is what a platoon is supposed to sound like!  I was calling cadence and they were singing loud. We were killin' it.

So I continued . . . .

I USED TO HAVE MY HIGH HEELS ON (I used to have my . . . . .)

NOW I'M MARCHING ALL DAY LONG (now I'm marching all day long)

Wait, what's that?  Oh now they aren't sounding off quite as loud.  They were confused.  I was amused.

I USED TO HAVE MY HIGH HEELS ON (I used to have my . . . . .)

NOW I'M MARCHING ALL DAY LONG (now I'm marching all day long)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH
 
I USED TO WEAR A MINI SKIRT (I used . . . . . . . .)

NOW I'M CRAWLING IN THE DIRT (now I'm crawling in the dirt)

I USED TO WEAR A MINI SKIRT (I used to wear. . . .)

WHOA-OH OH OH

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH

I marched them all the way to the Mess Hall and I never missed a beat.  I didn't slow my cadence, I didn't miss a step --I kept going and marching and singing.

We got to the Mess Hall and I could see the instructor, the one that yelled at me, running towards me. 

Oh brother, here we go again.  I'm in trouble again!

The Call Is Yours

I don’t think Sergeant Major was expecting the water works and I think he wasn’t sure exactly how to react but he held his composure, for which I was glad one of us could, and kind of sat there for a moment before he asked, “What’s wrong?”

What’s right is a better question, Sergeant Major.

I didn’t know where to begin. It all just came flooding my mind all at once and quite frankly, I was a little ticked off he had my grades/performance evaluations right there in front of me, he was well aware of other things going on and I’m crying and he asked what’s wrong?

The more I tried to gain control the less of it I had. I was able to say, through sobs and deep breaths, “No one likes me no matter what I do. When I stand up for myself, I get harassed for it but when I back down, people take advantage of me. If I speak up and say something is inappropriate, like the instructors describing their M-16 weapon as if it were a male body part, they get mad at me then treat me like I’m some stupid girl but when I don’t say anything, they go on and on like its okay. It’s not okay. It’s not okay that I had to fight for privacy in the showers and none of the other females wanted to take a stance with me because they didn’t want to be perceived as being weak.. None of the guys in the platoon will even listen to me. I tell them to do something and it doesn’t get done and then I get in trouble for it. I run around each night checking areas and all I find are soldiers lying in bed shooting the breeze. Then in the midst of all of this I’m suppose to study and do well on tests? My roommates hate me and it’s so bad I can’t even be in my room for any length of time. I get yelled at in front of my entire platoon for marching so poorly but it was my first time ever marching and getting yelled at like that further undermined any authority I had with the guys. . . . .”

I went on and on.

And if it sounds like I was level headed and clear and stated my position well, it wasn’t the case at all. I was crying so hard I could barely speak. Sometimes I just stood there sobbing waiting to catch a breath before I spoke again. Sergeant Major finally cut me off.

“No one told you PLDC was going to be easy. No one said for you to come here expecting a cake walk. This is leadership training –we are training you to lead soldiers. It’s an important job but if your command didn’t think you were cut out for it, you wouldn’t be here. You are here because your NCO’s think you will make a good leader in the Army. I know what’s going on with your roommates –one of them came to me trying to turn you in about the bathroom door –do you think I even cared about that? I was more disappointed in her for telling than I was in you –it wasn’t about the door. What had happened earlier is some female soldiers were leaving and “hooking up” with their boyfriends in their car then sneaking back in. This is why we put out the message about the door –and those females that were guilty—they knew exactly what we were referring to. This isn’t about someone running to their car to get something they forgot to bring in. I’m not running some brothel here or sex school so no, my female soldiers are not going to sneak out because they can’t control themselves or their boyfriends. That is all that was about. Your roommate was wasting my time with her tattling, I’m not running a pre-school here. Did you come here to make friends? Did you? No, because if you did I’m here to tell you, you’re here for all the wrong reasons. Why do you care what your roommates think? Who are they? Do they have any rights beyond yours? Is the room any less yours because they said so? No, so why are you standing here telling me who likes you and who doesn’t. This isn’t a popularity contest and being a leader isn’t about making friends either. I don’t really care who likes you or who doesn’t but I do care when your rank or position are not being respected. Now we’re talking Army business. My instructor yelled at you because from what I understand, your platoon was nothing short of a mob. Did he have to yell at you in front of everyone, maybe not but I know one thing, he got his point across, didn’t he? My instructors do what they do –they train soldiers. Did you come here to learn? Then let us teach you and let us determine how to teach you. That’s your problem, Sergeant, you aren’t allowing us to teach you. I can’t work with you if you won’t be teachable. You have to get behind being the platoon sergeant. You’re not running negotiations, you’re making decisions –you make those decision then you stand by them. You’re letting those guys walk all over you and do you know why? Because they can, that’s why.”

By this time I had calmed down enough to speak and I jumped in, “But Sergeant Major, what do you expect me to do? Those are hard-core CAV soldiers out there. These guys do this for a living. I sit behind a desk in a JAG office. What exactly do you expect me to teach them?”

Sergeant Major softened his demeanor and voice a little bit, “Sergeant, it’s not about what you can teach them, this is about what you can learn about yourself. This is about finding that leader within you. It’s about taking those dormant leadership skills and honing them and putting them to work. You don’t have to ask their permission –you just do it.”

“That’s just it Sergeant Major, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Sergeant Major shrugs, “Well, you’re right then. If that’s your attitude then leave now –why go through the rest of the course? Sergeant, if you keep telling yourself you can’t –you won’t. It’s that simple. I can’t do this for you. No one can. Now you either determine to do it yourself or you go back to your unit. Sure it might be tougher for you than other soldiers but right now you’re the only soldier standing here before me and the soldier I see has potential of being a great leader –if you should so choose to be. It’s your choice. Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sergeant. You are spending all of your energy in the wrong places. Get your focus on your work, your tests and getting through the course. Do you think its any easier out there?  If you can't handle being a leader here wtih us helping you, what exactly do you expect in a unit?  You don't think the Army is about distractions?  You think the battle field is easy?  You see, I have to train you to the point the Army has the confidence to put soldier's lives in your hands.  You can have the enemy at your heels and are you going to stand there and worry about who likes you?  This isn't high school, Sergeant.  We aren't here to vote for homecoming queen.  And let me tell you an important element of leadership –delegation. You aren’t expected to do all the work or even know all the answers. You see, part of being a good leader is knowing your people –utilize them, do you understand? Showcase all the strengths of your platoon, not your weaknesses.  Your unit, your platoon --its only as strong as its weakest link.  There's nothing to be afraid of here, no one is here to hurt you and certainly no one wants you to fail --oh maybe your rommates would like to see you fall but who are they?  Who cares?   They are struggling to get through this course just like you are.  You put some bass in that voice and you let them know who’s in charge. You are. I guarantee you if you start acting like a leader they will start treating you like one. The call is yours.”

Stupid Girl!

With all of the military formalities I had failed to render my previous visits, I reported to the CSM’s (Command Sergeant Major) office, as instructed to do so.

[Note: I use the terms interchangeably but Commandant is his position at the school, in charge of the school. CSM is his rank, Command Sergeant Major but when speaking you refer to the rank as Sergeant Major.]

Sergeant Major was a little relaxed, kind of laid back and it almost gave me a sense of relief but I still felt I had more strikes against me than anything going for me.

Sergeant Major started with, “Sergeant Dodge, how’s it going?”

Is he kidding with that? Is he trying to lure me into a false sense of security then drop the ax on me? How’s it going? Exactly what is he getting at? How’s it going?

Unsure of where he was going with all of this I asked, “How’s it going? With? What do you mean?”

He picks up some papers (are they my discharge papers from the school?), starts shuffling through them, glancing over them then says, “Yes, how’s it going? The course? You doing okay? How do you like being Platoon Sergeant? Is everything going okay?”

Is he being sincere or is he fishing? Does he really want the truth or just want me to tell him everything is fine? I don’t know what to say, what do I say? Does he know what a screw up I’ve been?

“Yes, Sergeant Major. Everything is going okay.”

You liar, Melissa!


“Really?”, the CSM says to me and continues, “because I see here your test scores are dropping dangerously low. So far you’ve passed everything but you may not continue to do so if your grades keep going down . . . . and I see your platoon isn’t doing so well with inspections. Do you want to tell me about that?”

No thank you. I do not want to tell you about that. May I please leave now?


“Well, I don’t know what to tell ---I guess the course is just getting harder and I need to study more and I don’t know what to do about the guys. They don’t listen to me.”

Sergeant Major leans forward in his chair and looks me in the eye, “What do you mean they don’t listen to you? Aren’t you the Platoon Sergeant?”

You know exactly what I mean and I hate you for making me stand here and explain it. They see me as weak and without authority and no one listens to me.

“They don’t seem to think so.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re the one that doesn’t seem to think so.”

Oh really? Well that’s such a great observation being you aren’t the one living it and you aren’t the one getting walked in on in the shower and  . . .

I guess I decided to throw myself a little pity-party. Poor Melissa. No one listens to me.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant Major.”

“I mean you’re letting everyone including your roommates walk all over you, aren’t you?”

What does he know about my roommates?

I had had enough of this back and forth and trying to pretend everything was fine when it really wasn’t. I was struggling and Sergeant Major knew that. He clearly could see I was spiraling out of control and then I did the very one thing I did not want to do in PLDC –I could fail or get sent back to my unit, be made fun of, endure sexual harassment –but one thing I didn’t want to do---I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Standing there in front of the Command Sergeant Major.

I cried.

And I cried.

And then I sobbed.

You stupid silly girl, Melissa! STUPID GIRL!

More Platoon Sergeant Woes

After class and dinner I had to meet with my squad leaders to discuss the barracks duties. I think, though my memory is a bit fuzzy, that I was able to appoint my squad leaders myself. I may have done that or they might have already been assigned.

I spent the entire night running around like a chicken with her head cut off. All of my squad leaders were complaining about their assignments and trying to get out of doing work. Then I had soldiers coming up to me asking me to be relieved from duty for one (lame) reason or another. They were breaking the chain of command as they were supposed to go to their squad leader first --but I suspect they thought they could get over on me easier.

And they were right.

I spent the entire night taking this guy off of this task then assigning it to another guy, who would complain he didn't want to do that so I'd go on to the next guy --and so on and so on and so on. The bottom line is, hardly anything got done. Our assigned areas were a mess. I was a mess. The next day we failed inspection and of course I got called on it and got chewed out.

During our class time the Platoon Sergeants would occasionally be called out for meetings, which meant I'd have to try and make-up any classroom time. Any changes or announcements or information that needed to get disseminated the Instructors would tell the First Sergeant who would tell the Platoon Sergeants and down the chain it would go. Only I had idiots for Squad leaders and they may or may not have done what I told them. Our platoon was to PLDC what the Bad News Bears were to Little League Baseball.

Everything that was wrong or missed or not done properly I got in trouble for. I was always being called out for one thing or another. The other Platoon Sergeants would look at me as if to say, "Thank goodness I'm not as sorry as she is!" They were no help to me either.

My Instructor talked to me about the horrible marching job I did --because of course the Instructor that was grading me told. I did have to do some practice out in the court yard marching a small group of soldiers, 4-5 of them. But Drill & Ceremony was part of our training so we all had to do that. We got assigned into small groups and had to take turns marching and giving commands. We even were tested on it. The instructor would tell you what commands to give and you'd have to stand there and march 4-5 people around the courtyard --but I got to do extra marching and practice because I was so bad at it.

So one day during class just after a break my Instructor came up to me with a very serious look on his face and said, "Hey, Sergeant Major wants to see you." I knew it wasn't good. I knew Sergeant Major didn't want to just shoot the breeze with me. I figured I was either going to get relieved of Platoon Sergeant or asked to leave the course all together.

And my classmates all knew I had to go report to the Sergeant Major and they knew it didn't look good either. They tried to give me words of encouragment but we all knew whatever it was, it was going to be bad.

So off I marched my short little legs over to the Sergeant Major's office, the Commandant of the school --only this time I wasn't storming in with dripping wet hair and slamming my hands down on his desk to demand things.  No adrenaline was my driving force now --just fear as I desperately tried not to cry and to maintain composure.

Mockery

That day, my first day as Platoon Sergeant, I had to march my Platoon to the Mess Hall. It wasn’t far away but it wasn’t just across the street either –so we had little ways to march.   Now mind you, we (PLDC) aren’t the only ones on this military installation –there are active duty units and civilians walking/driving all over the place. The Mess Hall serviced all of the soldiers that lived/worked there. So as we marched down the street there were a lot of other people around.

Right Face!
Forward –March!

I tried, I tried so hard to give loud commands and I tried so hard to march these guys. . . . .

But the more we marched the more out of step I felt. It seemed like I had to run to keep up with them. I was supposed to be singing cadence but it was all I could do to keep up with, “1, 2, 3, 4 . . your left, left, left . .right”. Walking next to us was once of the course instructors (not my instructor) and his job was to observe and grade me.

I was on my left foot, the platoon was on their right foot . . . . I was running, they were walking. . . .I was trying to sound off but I could hardly talk. . . .They were anxious and ready to sound-off, I was out of breath . . . I wanted to sing cadence but none came to mind think-- think, Melissa, think! We were not a platoon or any resemblance of any type of military formation –what we were was one giant mess walking down the street. I just felt like if we could all get on the same step I could get more in control ---so I executed a Change Step (basically a skip).

Why oh why did I execute a Change Step?

The instructor comes running up to me SCREAMING all the while we are still marching, “Sergeant!!  What do you think you’re doing? YOU DON’T CHANGE STEP! YOU GET THESE SOLDIERS IN STEP WITH YOU! YOU GET THESE SOLDIERS MARCHING!”

Okay well as much as I would love to be able to do that, if you thought I was horrible at it before, imagine how the more difficult it is WITH YOU SCREAMING AT ME.

I was thinking about that and the fact that I wish I were invisible and I hated PLDC and the Army and I especially hated that instructor, at that particular moment.

It was one giant disaster! I was flustered and so inept at marching troops. The guys were just all over the place, not sure what we were doing . .the instructor was doing his whole Drill Sergeant bit by yelling at me . . . and then the other soldiers and civilians walking around were stopping to stare and gawk and watch the stupid Sergeant (me) get yelled at.

We finally reached the Mess Hall. I stopped the platoon and dismissed them with a “Fall Out!” Command but then Mr. Drill Sergeant Instructor told the platoon they weren’t dismissed yet and he lit into me –he tore me apart—up one side and down the next. So standing there in front of my platoon, with other soldiers walking about, this instructor let me have it!

SERGEANT! YOU NEVER EVER EVER DO A CHANGE STEP WHEN MARCHING TROOPS. THEY NEED TO BE IN STEP WITH YOU, NOT YOU WITH THEM! YOU GIVE A CHANGE STEP COMMAND BUT YOU DO NOT EXECUTE A CHANGE STEP! THAT WAS THE UGLIEST MOB OF SOLDIERS I HAVE EVER SEEN WALK DOWN THE STREET! YOU MADE A MOCKERY OF THEM, YOURSELF AND THE ARMY! I HAD BETTER NEVER SEE SUCH A DISASTER OF MARCHING AGAIN!!! EVER!!!!!! THAT WASN’T EVEN MARCHING! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT DISASTER WAS! I AM GOING TO TELL YOUR INSTRUCTORS ABOUT THIS AND YOU WILL DO EXTRA DUTY OF MARCHING UNTIL YOU CAN GET IT RIGHT. I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO MARCH THROUGH THE ENTIRE NIGHT! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, SERGEANT?

Yes, Sergeant.

He then dismissed us all for lunch and my guys rallied around me again. They said things like, “We were trying so hard to march for you but we just couldn't follow you. . . Oh come on man, it wasn’t that bad. You’ll get it. That guy was just being a jerk, he didn't need to yell and carry-on like that . . it was your first time marching, what did he expect? . . you'll get it, don't worry . .  “ But as they were saying things like that to me I saw them giving each other looks like, “I knew she wasn’t cut out for Platoon Sergeant! This is going to be disastrous!”

The instructor was right. I made a mockery out of my entire platoon, myself and the Army.

Nothing To Be Scared Of

After my very first formation (there were more formalities after “platoon” was called) we had to report to our classrooms. I was a little late getting in as all of the Platoon Sergeants had to meet with the 1SG (is it just me or is the word “platoon” starting to look odd?)

When I got to my classroom our Instructor was not there yet. I thought it was odd when I first walked in that all the guys were standing at their desk at the position of Attention! When I walked in one of the guys yelled in a deep, loud, thunderous voice, “COMPANY!”  And then in unison all of the guys answered in squeaky little mousey, girly, quiet, high-pitched voices, “platoon”. Then they all laughed.

Very funny, guys!

It was all in good fun and I laughed along with them –I knew exactly how I sounded that morning –it was weak. So then one of the guys said to me, in his big brother looking out for me kind of way, “But seriously, you’re gonna have to do better than that! You need to get loud and deep and don’t sound like you’re so scared.” But I was scared, I told him and he said, “Well don’t be. There’s nothing to be scared of –just a bunch of stupid CAV soldiers –nothing to be scared of.”