“What is it with you?” Adam asked me as we were leaving the Burger King a few weeks ago.
“Explain,” I ordered.
“That little girl came right up to you, out of all of us.”
“I have a way with kids?”
He countered, “You look like a psycho. Seriously. Pathological killer with that look on your face.”
We were stopped off for a moment’s joy and food resupply at a restaurant somewhere in either Georgia or Alabama. I’m not sure which. Because of the failed planning of the TAC (training officer) assigned to our bus, our platoon was the last to get fed, this after the (college graduate) TAC thought he would force our corporal/drive to take the bus through the drive-through. It didn’t work.
The Major in charge of our training and the hell we were going through had told me several times I scared him. I figured it was the glasses… those fine, Army-issue “BCG” glasses… but apparently somewhere around the second week, I just turned on my war face and looked perpetually on the edge of violence. I’m still having to be reminded to get the “look” out of my eyes. I haven’t even really been anywhere yet, so there is no need to appear so hardened.
As we stood in line, over a hundred soldiers in uniform, a girl of about 10 years broke away from the care of her mother and walked straight over to me, looking up at me. I knelt down towards her.
“Ain’t you scared?” she asked, revealing movements indicating likely learning disabilities.
“Scared of what?” I asked.
“Fightin’,” she plainly stated.
“Not really. I’m scared of other things.”
“Like what?”
“My soldiers having to fight.”
She looked confused for a moment. “Are those your little brothers over there?” I indicated.
“Mostly. One is my cousin.” The girl’s mother kept her eye on us as the rest of my platoon finished getting their fast-food bliss.
“You ever scared of what might happen to them if they get in a fight?”
“Yeah, but nobody better hurt ‘em,” she said, her eyes taking on the hard edge I had not yet been able to force from my own.
“Well, I’m going to have a bunch of soldiers and to them I’m going to be like the big brother, watching after them, keeping them in order and stuff. Even though I haven’t met them all yet, it scares me more to know they will be fighting. I’ll just want to keep them safe. But I can’t, because I can’t be with them all the time.”
She seemed satisfied with this answer. “You in charge of all them?” she asked, pointing to some of my other platoon members.
“Only sometimes,” I smiled.
She turned and walked back to her mom. Pointing towards me she gave me one of the best compliments I can receive as she explained to her mother:
“That is a soldier.”
This was fabulous. It made me tear up and not just because I’m a big gooey girl.
that is beautiful.
Kids and dogs – they know how to pick ‘em. That is a great story.
She did indeed give you high praise. And as you grow older and hopefully wiser, you’ll come to appreciate it even more.
I appreciate you. God Bless and keep you safe.
{Hand Salute!} {Salute!}
You are a soldier — and I’m so proud of you.
What a fabulous story!!!
Innocence knows.
Now I need a tissue.
Goosebumps.
And we love you and salute you!
Ditto what Oddy said.