Personal Narrative: My First Day In The Colonial Army

This is a fun, exciting, and cheerful game. It has bunches of people watching others.It makes me feel good when I walk up to the plate.I always feel like I’m at home when I step onto the field. I play my position and have fun doing it. I catch the ball sometimes pop flies or ground balls.I field the ball then either throw it to 1st or 2nd(Most of the time). We get three out then we go in the dugout to bat.

I thought I was well prepared for the continuous chaos and commotion of cadet life. Though neither of my parents had any military background, I was one of ten children – yes, ten children. I grew up in Beaver, Pennsylvania – a beautiful, small town in the outskirts of Pittsburgh and situated on the banks of the Beaver and Ohio rivers. It was a very practical location for my parents to raise such a large family. There was ample space for housing and property in a location well removed from the overwhelming turbulence of the city life. However, the city was always within reach. Therefore, my siblings and I were afforded the best of both worlds or rather a healthy mix of rural, suburban, and city life. I was the sixth of

Loud noises seemed to scare me, I have no idea why but screeching tires, Revving engines, screaming children, and even the occasional barking dog will get me on edge and paranoid.

I’m running out of my house, slamming the door behind me and shouting, “I’m free!” at the top of my air-filled pink lungs. I get a few weird looks from the neighbors that are outside and a few from even the one’s inside but they’re used to my usual crazy outbursts. I don’t know if I should be worried by that or not. Into my little gray car I go and then it happens. I am speed. Down the winding and twisting roads to Preston, Iowa where I love to go hiking in my grandparents timbers. While I’m driving possibly a ton over the speed limit I scream-sing Pink Floyd on the little cars full volume. There’s no stopping me now, brothers.

I do not budge. 10 minutes pass. 15 minutes pass. 30 minutes pass. 45 minutes pass. I am lying in the fetal position on the floor of my bedroom. I am gripping at my lower abdomen. My pelvis pulsates. I imagine someone ringing a rag within me.

A flash of light shines in through my eyelids and burns my cornea. Muffled barrages and blasts sound through the silent ringing that overwhelms my eardrums. My eyes peel open and I turn my sore neck from side to side, as the blinding whiteness of everything presents me with the world in three. As the contrast in my pupils returns and the pestilence in my ears subsides, the Earth shaking sounds of bombs and bullets parade through my chest. The tremors not only quake in my nervous being, as even the pebbles beneath my feet quiver in the wake of the noise that assaults my senses.The jagged black rocks of the cliffed edge on the beach obtrude into my back, and I painfully roll to my right side. There, clutching the

Entering the once lonely house, there was a family rejoicing with a long-gone relative. As striking as the first rose in spring, her silky, soft, shiny hair combined with her enticingly exquisite eyes: producing a sublime look. Her upturned nose, oval face and elegant cheeks exhilarated hope within anyone in sight; she filled a void that could only be filled by her. Instantly ejecting any ridicule of the family, her presence made the household regain its original nobility.

Coming from BCT to my unit was a big change. You go from standard military bearing to a laid back informal style. I arrive to my unit in July of 2008, from that point until January 2010 was spent training for a deployment. Now there is nothing that can prepare you for a deployment. You can go through all the briefings and all the trainings you want but nothing will prepare you for it. The day came to board the bus set out for a foreign country. I little about me first I am a very keep to myself person. I show zero emotion, as when I was a child I was poked fun at for showing any type of emotion. Once I boarded that bus I broke down and started to cry. I more I thought about it the more uneasy I became. I had to hold it together for

Sitting in the same eerie darkness as my comrades, I lifted my head once to see the dark outlines of their faces. Each face was hardened and darkened by the interminable warfare that each of them had struggled through. Medals, titles, they had earned them all. But what did it do? What does a title mean through the course of a raging war, where men leave their families every day, going off to a faraway land where they will never return? What do medals do when we take the lives of others who have families to take care of? Shadows danced along the sides of the wall as the the truck bumped over the different terrain. The truck jerked to a halt at the drop point. All the men in the care stood up, straightened their backs with deadly precision, and loaded their weapons. We had all been briefed, each man knowing their own job to do. That was the way in our special unit. The lack of windows made it impossible to see out of the

The time was August 1990, I was a young man at the age of 19. President Bush Sr. had put into motion what started off as Desert Shield, later escalating into Desert Storm due to Saddam Hussein taking over the country of Kuwait and making his way to the country of Saudi Arabia. The Marines where the first one’s in with boots on the ground. The time I spent in Desert Shield/Storm helped me transform me from a young boy into a responsible man, with oh so real events that became part of American History. My family and friends say their little boy wasn’t the same that left the States as the one that returned a man.

Screams of rage filled the air as I ran down with the men. My neck was sweaty already from the sun beating down on the armor that was there to protect me. The sun created a shine from all the men around me dressed in thick silver armor. Their swords or bow and arrows were pointed ahead of them, ready to kill. As the first wave opponent hit, blood splattered all over the clean sand, making it turn crimson and camouflage with the red liquid that spilled on it. My hair itched at my neck under my armor, for it was put into a bun I would blend in with the men. Luckily, the soldiers were allowed to wear a scarf around their mouths, covering their mouths and nose from the frequent sand storms. I rushed into the war. Now that the war had begun, the

I listened as the familiar click of her kitten heels faded as she walked down the steps and into the kitchen. I trudged out of bed, twisting my Star Wars boxers back to normal (Yes, you heard correctly. I own men’s Star Wars boxers!)

According to the New York Times in 2013 less than .5 percent of the U.S population serves in the armed forces. Thats all 6 branches: the Navy, the Army, the Marines, the Air Force, the Coast Guard, and the National Guard combined. It surprised me when I found this information last year because the military was, and still is, such a big part of my life. Just about everyone in my family is in or has been in the military. When I was still in elementary school my aunts and uncle were still active duty so I remember sending them care packages and waiting for them to come home. I remember going on base to go to the commissary, which is the grocery store on base, and the PX, which is where you get clothes, toys, etc., on base, every week. Growing

Serving in World War one was a life changing thing. I had become use to my everyday life as a citizen, living without and worry’s, not having to worry about getting bombed, or losing your friends. I would try not to male any friends, but it is just my personality I guess. I would try to be alone and not talk to anyone, I wish I would have stuck to that. One day everyone in my troupe woke up at 0500 for our morning routine; usually we would have a few practice rounds with our guns, run a few miles, eat breakfast, and sometimes they would issue us rum to not only drink, but to clean our guns as well. Something was different about this morning though, we had woke up, gotten dressed and before I knew it the base was shaking. We all grabbed our gear and headed

The morning of September 11th, 2001, started just like any other morning when my Platoon was out in the field. At 0500 hours I was woke up to start my morning hygiene routine, and reapply camouflage face paint before we started training. Shortly after quickly eating a Meal Ready to Eat (MRE), my squad leader was directing the guys in my squad to execute the morning maintenance on the Mortar System and our personal weapons.