Twenty-two years ago today, the skinny, scrawny, baby-faced, bobble-headed, scared-shitless, chip-on-my-shoulder, had-something-to-prove, 18-year-old version of me shipped off to Fort McClellan, Alabama, for United States Army basic training. I vividly remember almost every minute of that day (which will serve me well when I finally get around to writing that book I keep telling myself I’m going to write). The older, wiser, slightly more rational, slightly less angry, 40-year-old version of me is impressed that I had the balls to go through with it.
Of course, I also realize that, in addition to balls, my willingness and ability to voluntarily subject myself to such a completely batshit endeavor can also be largely attributed to the folly of youth. Still, I’m glad I did it … and I’m equally glad it’s over.
(BTW: The ID card above shows me at age 20. I’d have dug up a basic-training-era photo for you, but all of that stuff is in storage due to our impending relocation. Just one more thing you can look forward to once we get unpacked.)