Chapter 1: From Humble Beginnings

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

—Theodore Roosevelt

Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Battleship Cove. Fall River, Massachusetts. Date: July 4th, 2012. That's where it all began for me. I can't think of a better place to start this process with you. It's where I first got a glimpse of what I truly wanted out of life. Before I get too sentimental, let me just go through the chain of events as they happened. 

People on both sides of my family had served their country; My father was a blue side Navy corpsman working in a Naval hospital, where he met my mom, another Navy corpsman. They fell in love and got married, which is why I was born in Charleston, South Carolina shortly after they honorably retired. On my mom's side, my grandfather served in the Navy, can't remember his MOS though, and my uncle served in the Army during Desert Storm. He was a Blackhawk helicopter pilot. On my dad's side, my grandfather served in the Army National Guard during the Korean War. He was a tank operator, I believe. I think one of my father's uncles also served in the Marines, but I don't remember much about him beyond that.

Knowing that I came from a military background, the sense of honor I had having all of them in my lives was a big contribution to why I enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 2014. Not to mention, I wanted to go one step beyond them and join the toughest branch just to prove myself to them that much more. Boy howdy, were they all proud of me when I made that motive clear!

Over the course of our upbringing, our father took my brothers and I to many historical landmarks, one being Battleship Cove during the summer of 2012. It was like stepping back into history as we explored the decommissioned vessels. We sat in antiaircraft artillery guns, marveled at the size and shapes of the many different ships as they sat with dignity in the bay, and learned so much about what each one did for their country. I can't begin to understate how magnificent it was for me to be there.

So, after we get our fill of history, we enter the gift shop, where an old and weathered man offered to make me some customized dog tags. While he worked the press, I wandered over to a mixed assortment of military flags. Without a second thought, a red one caught my eyes immediately, and so I pulled it out, inspected it thoroughly, and asked my father if he could buy it for me. I didn't need a second opinion on which one I wanted. It was a Marine Corps flag, small yet sentimental, and when we got to the car to leave, I knew this decision was going to change my life forever. I remember telling myself while I was taking in that flag and all it symbolized that someday, somehow, I would do whatever it took to earn the title of United States Marine. One of the few, one of the proud. Nothing else would ever come close. 

I had no idea how right I was.

I've heard that when you set your mind to something that is meaningful, the world has a way of providing you an opportunity to see it through. A test of will, or fate, that confronts you, and it all comes down to how you choose to respond to it. When I was a sophomore in high school, a Marine Corps recruiter by the name of Sergeant Landry visited our cafeteria. I knew that all military uniforms were cool, but there was just something different about seeing a lean, fit Marine in his dress blues, let alone one that was standing at a table in MY school. It had to be a sign. It had to be the world saying, 'Hey, remember that flag you picked out? Well, here's someone who can help you earn the right to own it.'

We got to talking, and before long, when I told him how cool he looked, and how much I wanted to join the military, he said that there'd be an opportunity for me to meet him at a career fair that the school was holding. I was 16, turning 17 soon, and when a friend and I went up to his booth, we talked some more before we both saluted him, to which he responded, "Hey man, no need to salute. I'm not an officer." I got his contact info, and we discussed a means to get together and train in a program known as the Delayed Entry Program. Once I turned 17, I was able to go to the recruiting office in a nearby city, where I'd be registered into the DEP. I was given a deep blue workout shirt with a red Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the symbol of the Marine Corps, plastered on the left peck, and from there, throughout the rest of my high school career, I was a poolie getting myself ready to enlist and go to bootcamp when I graduated. I've still got that shirt and the flag that made all of this possible in a safe spot, among other things I earned in my career.

I had no objections from my mother or father to be involved in the DEP, quite the contrary; they were beyond proud and even more so ecstatic to see me with so much Drive and motivation that was focused on my future. To hell with being a machinist like all my other friends in the trade school. I didn't want to go to college, or to work in a machine shop. I wanted to be different. I've always seen myself as an exception to the expectations of society. I wanted to earn something that was beyond the confines of the norm, something that few could dare to compare to. I wanted to become a United States Marine. Purpose became destiny, each step forward was to change myself for the better, and to go at full throttle, head first, headstrong. My anxiety? My fears? Mental limitations didn't define me! Emotions didn't affect me! They were just feelings and thoughts. What could they do that physical pain couldn't do to stop me?

Each DEP meeting, one Saturday a month, was very intimidating, but equally satisfying after it ended. Pull ups, sit ups, 3 mile runs. That, and other exercises, were always hard, and there were some things I struggled with. Sit ups especially sucked, because I always struggled with core exercises. Pull ups, I passed, but I was pretty average. I think my maximum set of pull-ups was 11, and that was during boot camp. My run times were my best trait, from an eleven minute 1.5 mile run to twenty one minute three mile run on average. The demands were always high, but my Drive demanded me to meet them time and time again.

In between each meeting, Sergeant Landry and a small group of other poolies would go to the gym, go for long runs, and work to meet the demands of what boot camp had in store for us. We improved as a unit, meeting goals, shattering expectations, and all the while, getting our minds and bodies ready for the true test of our commitment. All of it was bare minimum, but we always helped each other meet it time and time again. I was making my family and recruiters proud, one rep at a time.

During the remainder of my time in high school, the big, quiet kid who always wore camo became a person who was different, yes, but who also walked around with purpose. While, yes, I was sort of going overboard on how I carried myself, I didn't see it as being a wannabe. I knew that soon, school would end, and the dread of facing the reality of my choices was closing in fast. Was I scared? Yes. It was going to become a reality quicker than I imagined, and I'd soon have to put my money where my mouth was. Did I waver? No. There was no going back, nor did I consider that option. With all the training I did with real Marines, and in one instance real Drill Instructors, I felt certain that I could do it, even if it meant changing my way of life forever.