If I were my saying goodbye to my grandson, as he left for school, I would feel differently, because today’s university does not take kindly to assuming the role of parents. Instead I would be saying goodby, with in loco parentis delight, as Garrett enters the United States Marines. He would not encouraged into weenie-hood at Parris Island, but would be taught physical, mental, and spiritual toughness, and to have Honor Courage and Commitment impressed on his heart as indelibly as the Marines’ Creed.

While we were waiting for Garrett to be sworn in, at the Military Entrance Processing Station in Charlotte, I walked down a hall to read the Creeds of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force printed on large posters, hanging on the walls. Here is an excerpt from the Creed of the Army:

“I am an American Soldier. I am a Warrior and a member of a team.

“I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.”

Next I read the Creed of the Navy, which is excerpted here:

“I represent the fighting spirit of the Navy and those who have gone before me to defend freedom and democracy around the world.”

Finally I came to the poster for the Air Force, part of which reads:

“I am an American Airman. Guardian of Freedom and Justice, My Nation’s Sword and Shield, Its Sentry and Avenger. I defend my Country with my Life.”

These words made me pull myself up straight and proud, almost hearing the strains of Over hill over dale we will hit the dusty trail … Anchors aweigh, my boys anchors away … and Off we go into the wild blue yonder … playing in my mind.

I couldn’t wait to read the Marines Creed, but when I found it, the high emotion drained away. Here is a portion of what I read:

“This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

“My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as

“I must master my life.”

“Is this the right poster?” I asked myself. I tried to find some other poster with more lofty diction … but I could not.

Garrett signed up for the Marines without telling his parents, then met a Recruiter who stressed “Honor, Courage, and Commitment,“ and taught Garrett Semper Fi , to be always faithful to his ROTC brothers..

“We have to stow our junk, get along,” Garrett said, “and be a team.”

But toward the end of school this year, he and his best friend from high school un-stowed a good bit of Junk, for no observable reason, first badmouthing each other, then doing “yo’ mama’s,” and perhaps even coming to blows.

After breaking off his friendship with Ricky, Garrett chose Geraldo as his best buddy. But, alas, he and Geraldo got crosswise over a dispute over money, and they angrily parted ways two weeks before the two of them shipped out to Parris Island.

Thursday before Garrett shipped out, we got supper at a local restaurant.

“I got things straight with Ricky,” Garrett said. Not long after that, his erstwhile enemy came toward us. He put his food down at another table, then came up to shake hands with Garrett.

“Eat with us, man,” Garrett said. And Ricky did.

At the Recruiting Station in Monroe, the day before they shipped out, Garrett and Geraldo pointedly ignored each other, as they waited for their Recruiter to drive them to a motel in Charlotte, to spend the night.

Standing in the Recruiting Station, Garrett and his mom did not talk either, having been deep into their Junk for several weeks. She and I left the recruiting station with the matter unresolved.

But the next morning, at MEPS, Garrett’s mom saw her son sitting side by side with Geraldo, amongst perhaps seventy five recruits, laughing and talking as if there had never been any riff at all.

She walked over to talk with her son, seated in a plastic chair, but the talk was miniscule. When Garrett’s girlfriend, came, along with her two younger sisters, Garrett spent the rest of his time with them. Ricky stayed outside, having been denied entrance inside the secure facility because he forgot his identification.

After the swearing in ceremony, the Recruits were marched out to their last civilian meal before shipping out. Garrett’s mom and I found an O’ Charlies to get lunch .

“I wish we could get it worked out before Garrett leaves,” she said.

“You’re both being hard-headed,” I ventured.

After our food came, I blessed it, then added, “O Lord take care of this mom…and please, please watch out for Garrett.”

Back at MEPS, the full entourage waited for about a half an hour on the un-secured first floor of the building, for the Recruits to march out of a side hallway, then outside toward waiting buses, which would take Garrett to Parris Island.

His mom ran in front of the recruits, her phone held high, so she could take one last picture of her son.

“Bye, Garrett,” she said, as she pressed the button.

Garrett stopped, looked at her for a moment, then smiled, and said “I love you Mom.”

Then he turned toward the door of the van, stopped to throw a kiss to his girlfriend and climbed in.

His mom cried.

We watched as the van pulled off, turned left, then out on the highway, and out of sight.

I wiped some tears too, perhaps because Garrett got all his junk stowed, in the spirit of Honor, Character, and Commitment, using precepts he will stow in his heart for the next three months, as he practices the Rifleman’s Creed.

That same day, I bought a book, which said that Marines are expected to be able to cradle an infant, stop a fist fight among two locals, then shoot and kill an insurgent bent on killing them—on alien soil, within a span of 15 minutes.

That’s why Marine recruits submit to in loco parentis, absorb eternal values, learn their Creed, and stow their junk.

Leon Smith is a regular contributor to The Anson Record. He can be reached at leonsmithstories@gmail.com.

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