Stories: Part 13

  • I am a Mother. I am a Marine.

I have always wondered what my children thought of their mom being a Marine, or if they even knew what being a Marine meant to me. When my eldest was in kindergarten, I remember a project she did. Laying down on the floor, tracing around their body, and cutting out the figure. They were asked to draw their mom or dad. My daughter brought me this camouflaged figure, accurate right down to the combat boots, dog tags and cover. I remember years later, sending her a picture from The Basic School. My roommate and I, sticks and grass in out helmets, machine guns, and Squad Automatic Weapon in our hands, “birth control glasses,” and our faces covered with green, black, and brown. She carried that picture everywhere for 12 weeks, telling everyone her mom was a Marine. Now as a teenager, she teases me when I ask her to do something, with “Aye, Aye, Cap-a-tain!” Until recently, I had no idea my oldest understood that being a Marine was more than just serving our country. It was a feeling that is often hard to describe. Patriotism, I think most of us call it. How do I know she understood and felt the same thing as you and I, and others who have served their country? She asked me to read something she wrote for school. It is about pain and suffering. It is about hurt and sorrow. It is about blood and tears. But is is really about Patriotism:

 

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