Wednesday, June 10, 2009

the scars we're covering

Every now and then, I always come back to the realization that we are all the same. The Marines I’m with, the friends I know, the people that I see wherever I am. I talked to this one kid today, a Marine that’s been under me for about 3 years. Even though I’ve known him for all this time, I never came to learn his story. He’s 21, and shares a 2 bedroom-apartment with his father, mother, 29 year-old brother, and 31 year-old brother and his wife and 3 kids. Dad is disabled, 29 year-old bro is cognitively disabled, and 31 year-old bro has problems with alcohol and violence and being a good father. Marine boy hopes he can finally get a job when we get back home, and his girlfriend dumped him last night (which is why I was talking to him).

Me, I live at home with my parents too. They paid for my undergraduate and graduate education. Mom cooks for me every day and I have a choice of which bedroom to sleep in every night.

But us Marines, we’re all the same. We wear the same uniform and bleed the same blood on the outside, and we hurt and feel the same loneliness on the inside. We get fucked over every once in a while and get sent to senseless fucking wars where we have nothing to do but cry over our girlfriends and wives at home who will (if they haven’t done so already) break up with us or leave us for other more worthwhile and tangible guys. We struggle together, trying to figure out how to fit in the world.

Marines. The few, the proud.

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