Wake Up!
One week until graduation. One more week and I
would finally be a United States Marine. Three months of sweat, pain
and hard work were about to make a lifelong dream come true. I had
made it - finally.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day aboard Marine Corps Recruit Depot,
San Diego, California. If you ever have to endure Marine Corps Boot
Camp, do it in San Diego in the early spring months. Gorgeous. I was
admiring the city's skyline, the houses on the cliffs, the crisp clean
air, and dreaming of home. Life was great. I was going home in a week!
I was doing all of this 'sight-seeing' while my platoon was on the
gigantic parade deck, practicing for Final Drill competition. The
shouts of our Marine Drill Instructors echoing across the wide expanse
of asphalt - "Co-lumn Left, Haaaarch!", "Ex-teeeend, Haaaarch!",
"Close, Haaaarch!", "Port, Arms!" Only Marine DIs can march a platoon
with such command, such precision. A demand for excellence emanated
from them constantly. From their razor-sharp uniforms to their stone
cold, piercing eyes, dedication and honor oozed from their pores,
and we recruits couldn't get enough.
"Pla-toon, Halt!" Snap! After twelve weeks of Marine Corps training,
Platoon 3065 was good, and we knew it. Perfect execution of our drill
sequence was what we lived for at this point. We had our sights on
being the best in Final Drill - and our DIs would accept nothing less.
"Column of files, from the right! Haaaarrch!" Fourth Squad stepped
off, then Third. I was in Second Squad, third rank. Third Squad
Leader stepped off behind the last recruit in the Second, then the
2nd rank. My turn to step off...
Ahhh...I can't wait to get home. Brand new pickup truck waiting for
me. Strutting around town in my Marine uniform. The respect I will
receive. The girls I will meet. Home. I have arrived. I have made it.
Rest up now, recruit. Kick back and let that mind of yours wander.
Take in the sights. You have made it! So busy daydreaming, I had
little time for bothersome things like stepping off when it came my turn.
Reality hits. I come to my senses, but it's too late. I just messed
up the entire platoon's movement! Fear. Panic. A lump in my throat.
Beads of sweat form on my brow. Oh, dear God! Please tell me this
isn't happening! I screwed us up! Please let me recover in time to
not be noticed. Please! I am in Third Phase! Third Phase recruits
don't do this! Stop this nightmare!
Footsteps coming closer and closer. Heart pounding. I am frozen solid
at the position of attention. Here it comes. My due punishment has
arrived. Bracing myself. Footsteps...
"BAM!"
Drill Instructor Sergeant Wilson's campaign cover, the famous "Smokey
Bear" that all Marine Drill Instructors wear, slams into my forehead.
Then his eyeballs. Oh, there's nothing like a Marine Drill Instructor's
eyeballs. We're toe to toe. Man to man. DI to recruit. Fear. There are
only two people on the earth at this moment - him and me. The hunter
and the hunted. Fear. Fear. Fear.
"Wake Up, Fischelli!"
It stung. Those words cut deep as they came from the man that had
dominated my life for twelve long weeks of training. The man that
had taught me so much. The man that embodied everything I ever
imagined a Marine to be. He showed me what a Marine was. He was
Marine, and I had let him down. His passion was a well-disciplined
platoon. His life was teaching his recruits the art of Close Order
Drill - the Marine Corps way.
More than anything, I wanted to beg for forgiveness. From Sergeant
Wilson, for failing him. From my platoon, for halting their training.
For being the only one responsible for this lack of concentration.
But the Marine Corps doesn't want excuses or apologies, and neither
does your platoon. They want, and deserve, results.
There's a saying in the Marine Corps: "There's always one." There
will always be one who doesn't want to follow the rules. There will
always be one who wants to screw everything up for the rest of the
unit. There will always be one who gets others killed in battle.
For this moment in time, I was that ONE, and it felt terrible.
Luckily, I can say that I was not "the one" in my platoon very often.
I was a squared-away recruit, and I desperately wanted to be a Marine.
Maybe that's what hurt so bad from those three words, "Wake Up,
Fischelli!" I knew better. I knew the drill movements and when it
was time for me to do my part for the platoon, yet I didn't do it
that time.
At the time, I probably wished the entire incident would be removed
from my memory and that I would never have to dwell on the hard lesson
learned that day. Now, though, I am glad it's still very fresh in my
mind. Whether you're marching in a platoon, storming a beach, going to
college, playing civilian, or wherever you are in life - learn from my
mistake and the lesson given to me by one highly dedicated Marine Drill Instructor...
"Wake Up!"
Just as a Marine Drill Instructor has a special way of getting your
attention, so does life. Live it the way it was intended to be lived.
Live it with honor and dignity. Play by the rules. Pay attention. Live
your life out of care for those around you - whether it be your platoon,
your wife, your children, your country....
Semper Fi.
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