It’s odd to me how just six years of my life will define who I am forever. Not even six years – I was a Reservist, a one-weekend-a-month and every-other-year-in-Iraq warrior. If you were to add up all my days in uniform it would only be somewhere between two and a half and three years.
Ultimately, I got out because I thought I could do bigger things than just being a Marine. If I didn’t think I could do anything bigger, I would’ve stayed in until retirement. I would’ve been one of those cranky grandpas eventually with the “not as mean, not as lean; still a Marine” bumper stickers on my old-ass Jeep.
It’s been a crazy ride and it continues to be crazy still. These days, no one believes I’ve ever served because my big ol’ beer belly, and the fact they see me occasionally with a seriously unkempt and wild beard. And I write poetry, don’t wake up before eleven very often, and I certainly don’t do many of the other stereotypes you would expect of a veteran.
I guess the truth is that I never was a very good Marine. I mean, I knew everything about all the weapons, and how to the wear the uniform, and how to drill my subordinate men, but I just never was a killer. I didn’t enjoy wrestling or being macho. And I got tired of always needing to be on the edge all the time.
I wish I had been more tough. And I still think about reenlistment all the time. Like all Marines, my ideas of the Corps were initially groomed with Full Metal Jacket, and I always thought Combat Correspondent would be a super sweet job. I’m pretty sure I could definitely get that gig, just like the main character in that movie, with my upcoming degree in creative writing from Hopkins.
But here I am. I’m a vet. I can’t be anything but. I still sometimes feel sad about the brothers I lost. Memorial Day is the most serious day of my year. I occasionally still flip out on civilians when they act stupid or lazy. A mishandled or uncared for American flag makes me want to stab people. I still wish I could be in Afghanistan doing more.
Maybe I’ll never be anything bigger than the monikers I once had: Devil Dog; Jarhead; Leatherneck; Warrior; Marine.
Maybe I’ll never be bigger than my experiences or ever truly move past them. But that’s okay for me. Because I don’t regret anything, and all the bull**** that came with being in the service swirled in with the best and worst moments of my life – coming home, and remembering those who didn’t – has made me the best and strongest man I could ever be.
A veteran. A proud veteran.
Connect with Dario online:
Personal Website (Free Writing, Podcast, Dario in the Media, Biography, Books, Blogs)
20 Something Magazine (Editor-in-Chief, Creator)
JMWW Literary Journal (Senior Nonfiction Editor)
The Veterans Writing Project (Instructor, Nonfiction Editor)
LinkedIn (Professional Stuff)
Facebook (Be my friend?)
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