Should you need to catch the beginning of this story you can do so right here

For the next couple of years I would finally manage to be an average redneck renegade teenager. Although Bob was now locked up in another federal penitentiary there were new replacement sources for our addictions. We stayed drunk from Friday to Monday and sometimes even got a little too wasted during the week to even make it to school. At one point during my senior year I was living with a girl nine years older than me who just so happened to be best friends with my mom during her time in the shelter. It all just sort of happened but it was pretty cool to tell everyone I was banging my mom's best friend.

Between the skipping school, leaving school and getting drunk during lunch I managed to pull a miracle out of my ass and graduate. Through my years of neglecting my education I accumulated enough credits to go to summer school for one credit and become a senior the following year. Because of this my high transcripts went 9, 9, 10, 10, 12. Flunked twice and skipped a grade. Barely made it by the skin of my teeth but I still got the same piece of paper everyone else got at graduation. This was the end of an era for me as in less than a week the parties would be over and I would be shipping off to Parris Island, SC. The little island that god forgot to bless when the earth was created.

My first choice for military service was the Air Force. When I went to see the recruiter I was unable to find his office. I heard a voice ask who I was looking for and then invited me into his office. I looked over and saw this tall beefy guy whose face told the story of a million secrets. A shaved head and pumped up chest in the dress blues of the Marine Corps uniform he was wearing took my entire field of vision. This guy was a Marine's Marine and he was staring right at me intently and smiling at the same time. I politely declined his offer and proceeded to the Air Force office. There was no fucking way I was going to be a Jarhead.

The Air Force recruiter was a bit of a dick so I really got turned off and left not really knowing what the fuck I was going to do with my life. All of my friend's were either enlisting, already in or had brother's in the military. It was like all the cool kids were doing it. My best friend was in the Delayed Entry Program (DEP) for the Marines and was going to be heading out when he graduated, which would be one year ahead of me. He had a meeting to go to one week so I was dropping him off and going to be on my merry way. It turned out the statue in dress blues was his recruiter and everyone was going to go play football. When I declined, the recruiter shouted out and called me a pussy. I, of course, had to prove how much of a pussy I definitely was not.

That would be the kick in the nuts that got me into the Marine Corps recruiting office. It would turn out that the recruiter I initially turned down would sign me into the Marines as the last person of his career. He dropped me off to go through processing as he picked up his terminal leave papers. I made it through and was sworn into the DEP and would ship off to boot camp the following year after graduation. I was now part of the craziest, meanest motherfuckers on earth. I was now on the launching pad to become a Marine.

Even in the DEP there are certain things that happen just for being a part of the group. One guy invited me to a kegger and I ended up being woken up by his kid sister and mom finding me in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles and clinching the toilet. To this day I still refuse to drink Yuengling Lager. Another party that happened someone grabbed the ass of the only female DEP member when she bent over the pool table. We got our first lesson in sexual harassment as well as the magic of the good ole' boys network. We all suddenly had amnesia and nobody saw anything. Welcome to the Marine Corps, your dignity is not our problem.

My family were all a bit shocked with my choice of going into the Marines. I was over eighteen so I was able to sign all of my own paperwork. They all wished I went into any other branch. Truth be known, none of the other branches could offer me the bragging rights that comes with being a Marine. I was even teased once when I was younger while watching Full Metal Jacket. I had long hair and when the barber shop portion began the mockery of “the hairbag getting his ass beat in the Marines” was quick to entertain all of the asshole jocks at my cousin's birthday party. So it was also a big middle finger to all of the people who ever doubted me and said I would be nothing with my life. They were partially correct though. Had I not joined the Marines I would have ended up dead or in jail. So the Corps was my ticket out of my personal hell and into a whole new life.

When my best friend graduated I went down with his family to pick him up. During this visit I would get a tour of the entire base. I would see where everything was located, how far it was from one place to another and this would play into my favor later on. Parris Island as a visitor is pretty sweet. Especially when I knew the following year I would be there no longer as a visitor but as a recruit. A recruit is the step up from DEP and you actually start your training to earn the title of Marine. I was sure to enjoy that next year of my life before it would become drastically changed forever.

When it came time to head to boot camp I was transported to the processing center by the recruiter that replaced mine. He was a lot less intimidating than mine but he still got his job done. He came by my Grandmother's and picked me up. All I would be taking with me would be the clothes I was wearing, my ID and required paperwork. This was no vacation and the lack of luggage was a clear indicator that this was going to drastically change my life. My Grandmother stood there in tears and I prepared myself for my next stage of life.

There is no way to mentally prepare for the last night of your freedom quite like hanging with DEP friends and strippers. Our one final night together was full of laughs, titties and ass. It was just the evening we needed as it would be the last time I would be enjoying my life for a very long time. We went through processing the next day where we received our plane tickets and were put on a bus to the airport. A couple hundred kids heading out to serve Uncle Sam and there may have been five or so of us going to Parris Island. I realized real quick that I was about to become a part of something very elite and unique in this world.

The plane was late and arrived in Charleston way later than usual. The bus to the island was there waiting for us. The Marines they send out to pick us up are strict as there is no talking, eating, smoking, drinking or anything remotely considered fun. The rest of this crew was sitting there waiting on us. How pissed were they? The bus ride is a voyage with our head down on the seat in front of us. We have no idea where we are or where we are going. Then before I knew it we were at the guard shack. The last point of light at the end of the bridge that leads to Parris Island.

This is where my previous visit would come into play immediately. They drive the bus around the base a few times to disorient everyone so we have no idea where we are. It is somewhere between 1 – 4 am when we arrive at receiving. The creaking of the bus door cutting through silence sends shivers straight to the core as this is the point where shit gets real. The receiving Drill Instructor (DI) comes onto the bus and begins barking rules and orders out as loud as possible. It is voice of gravel, piss, vinegar slathered with a dash of Satanic grumbling. Nothing in this world sounds like a Marine Corps DI barking orders. Nothing

Our first task is to fall out out of the bus and fall in on the yellow footprints marked on the ground. This is our first official task and it's amazing how many people fuck it up. We get a few more rules and regulations spouted out as well as a contraband shakedown. Once all of the stuff is emptied from pockets and dumped on the ground we get filed through the receiving area and go from civilian to recruit through a streamlined process of stripping away the world you came from and replacing it with a whole lot of Oohrah and sprinkled with tons of Semper Fi.

The first couple of days is spent weeding out the slackers and pussies. The thing that separates boot camp from prison is that you can actually leave boot camp or get sent home early for being useless. The fat and weak were the first to get trimmed out. Next come the ones who had a difficult time adapting to be yelled at. Fuck, being told to sit down and shut the fuck up was nothing new for me. The best part as the DI could yell all day but hitting us was not allowed. Compared to the rest of the shit I have already been through, Marine Corps boot camp was going to be a breeze.

One thing I learned from others before me was never volunteer for anything and stay off of the radar. This would be my mantra for the next twelve weeks. I was there to do my time and be on my way. Or so I thought anyway. Day two out of receiving the guy next me in the squad bay was dropped and was being sent back to receiving. What recruit wondernuts did was pack his seabag and somehow swapped his lock and mine. He packed up and left while I would now be unable to unlock my seabag for eight weeks. I was able to slide things in and out through the small opening that was there when required so I usually stayed off of the radar. There were several times I got my ass chewed for it but the DI never cut it off. It was probably a source of entertainment for them.

Marine Corps boot camp has a few basic elements to it. It starts off breaking you down to nothing. Then through training, teaching and a fuck ton of repetition we become Marines. That breaking down portion though, is a brutal fucking sadistic mind game that rips everything you love in your life from your beating heart, kills in front of you and then dines of the leftover bits of who you used to be. Nothing is done right the first time. Nothing is ever fast enough. Nothing is ever loud enough. Nothing makes a DI happy except for the shattered world of each and every recruit under their wing. There is no physical pain inflicted by the DI. The emotional destruction would be enough to make grown men cry themselves to sleep at night.

The favorite tool of discipline by the DI was the sand pit or “the pit” as everyone called it. The pit was a giant sandbox behind the barracks where the DI could take us out to at any time of day or night to dish out mass punishment to us as a platoon. About 15x30 feet in size and filled with enough sand from the island that regardless of how long you were pitted there was no bottom to the sand. You always knew the platoon who pissed off their DI that day as they were covered with sand from head to toe. Good thing we got one shower a day right before our one hour of personal time before bed. This is why pissing of a DI in the morning made for a most uncomfortable day with sand in every crevice.

We learn real quick that everything we do is a group thing. Eating, pissing and showering is all done with eighty of your new closest friends. Whether it was an accomplishment or an utter disgrace, we all share in the glory and the punishment regardless of who fucked up. There were times here and there where individuals were quarterdecked by the DI. The quarterdeck is the area at the end of the squadbay outside of the DI office. Being quaterdecked consisted of being yelled at and belittled while doing exercises being called out by the DI. Sort of like a pissed off aerobics instructor, a rabid pit bull, and a drunken angry father all combined and screaming directly at you.

There are moments where the DI would be teaching classes on killing people or first aid where the screaming was replaced with a normal speaking voice temporarily. Even though the DI was a bit more subdued we knew this was a temporary thing and soon enough someone or something would piss him off again. Our particular platoon had several moments in training where we came under questioning by higher authorities than our DI for some of the antics that may or may not have taken place. We were a dysfunctional family but it was still our family so we never dimed out our DI when any of us were questioned.

There are a few things from boot camp that always stand out. One was when one of the guys was running his mouth and threatening to drop dimes on our Sr DI. Our platoon guide at the time was the guy next to me on my right as we faced the center of the squadbay. Nark came out of the shower as we were all standing there online (standing on a straight line from one end of the squadbay to the other) and my neighbor knew what was going on and I saw his fists ball up. Before anyone knew it he was off running through the squadbay and dove at Nark while grabbing him by the neck at the same time. The DI on duty barked out “Aaabout Face!” and we all immediately turned our backs as whatever happened happened. When asked if we saw anything we all let out a resounding “No Sir, No!” Loyalty to our leader became our only moral compass.

Another instance was when we were doing hand-to-hand combat training and one guy shattered another guy's eye socket. Thunderpunch earned himself a phone call home. This is fucking unheard of in boot camp. What did he do with that call? He called his Mommy and told her how horrible the DIs were to us and whined about everything possible. Another round of higher authorities came through and we all got amnesia. Thunderpunch became whinypuss and instead of being the daily badass was now a loser outcast for betraying the DI with the reward he was given. Loyalty to the Corps is more important than personal needs.

One night the DI on duty heard us talking in the shower. He came flying in and began flipping his shit. He put all of us on one side of the shower room and told us to reach for the sky. Eighty naked men all standing there with our hands reaching upward. Then came the order of “Tighter........tighter........tighter.......tight er!!!” With each shout of the command we went from being a sprawled out gaggle of nakedness to a cramped ball of eighty naked guys each hoping he wasn't the one about to pop a boner. Because the situation wasn't already awkward enough. Humiliation as punishment is perfectly fine

It was somewhere around week eight when we were on the rifle range that I was instantly put directly into the sights of the DI. I was asked to come into the office to sign some paperwork. When they handed me a pen it wasn't working and I looked at slightly puzzled. Then the Sr DI told me I better check out the inside of it and see what was wrong with it. What I found was a brown clump of something. Then the Sr DI let me on the secret and handed over the envelope from my friend who graduated boot camp the year before me. There was a hole where the pen ripped through the paper and I instantly froze. I knew whatever was about to happen was going to be most unpleasant.

In the letter my friend wrote about the wad of chewing tobacco he stuffed inside of it. I quickly told the DI the the substance was in fact tobacco. He called bullshit and proclaimed it was hashish and I was going to be fried for funneling drugs through the platoon. He put it in bags for evidence and let me know once the tests came back my ass was fucking grass. This, this fucking destroyed my entire “fuck it, I can handle boot camp” mentality. The other DI was quick to point out how I was running drugs and to stay away from me. There is no lonelier place than Marine Corps boot camp with no friends and the DI on your case for possible drug dealing. It took eight weeks to break me and I was finally crying like the bitches from forming week when we first got there. It is not what you have or have not done but what you can prove to be true.

A few days later I was off of the radar as someone else had done something to get the DIs attention. Those days were the longest most stressful days of my life. It was back to learning how to kill people without mercy as usual. That was why we were there. To learn the most expedient ways to dispatch another human being from this world. This was no camping trip with boys. We were trained so that we could depend on the person to either side of us to be there for us should we need it. We were also trained to excel to our best so that we would be one step ahead of the people around us and be the one to provide the security for them. Just as we were trained to kill without mercy, we were trained to accept the possibility of dying for the guy next to us. Life is short and for us it is a coin toss as to whether or not we have that life for very long.

During the twelve weeks of hell there were other fun moments such as repelling, where the toughest dudes become some of the biggest pussies. Sliding down a rope along a wooden wall seems to freak some people out. The obstacle course and endurance course. Both of which equally build you up physically and piss you off emotionally where you continually feed that primal urge to want to kill someone. What trip to Parris Island would be complete without the gas chamber? A concrete shed filled with CS tear gas to build confidence in the use of a gas mask by taking it off and doing jumping jacks. The smallest and yet most harmful thing was the Parris Isalnd sand flea. Their bites weren't nearly as bad as the DI bark when you jumped or scratched after being bitten. Orders are orders and following them is the only option.

The culmination of my twelve week vacay to hell was capped off with an event called The Crucible. It was the weekend of week eleven and began with a hike out to bumfuck nowhere in the middle of an old airfield. From there it was thirty-six hours of combat simulation based activities with minimally allowed sleep and food. After being deprived of sleep and nutrition we made our hike back to mainside. At the end of the hike we dropped our packs and got into formation at the Iwo Jima statue at the parade deck where we watched people leave week after week from the windows of our squad bay. It was here where we would receive our Eagle, Globe and Anchor (EGA) which would later be placed on our uniform to signify we had finally earned the title Marine. After all of the troubles and turmoils of the previous eleven weeks I finally made it and was now a Marine. This was the second time I cried at Parris Island.

After eleven weeks of blood, guts and glory we were allowed to go to the PX (base store) and I went straight for the candy. I had been craving a Snickers since the first week and I was sure to get the king size as well as Twix and a big bag of M&Ms. Going that long without sweets was about to show me what a Snickers bar was capable of. It turned my stomach into knots and balloon animals but tasted so fucking good it made it all worth it.

Back in the squadbay the Sr DI made it abundantly clear although we were now Marines food was still not allowed in the squadbay. He gave us an amnesty period to turn in whatever we had and nothing would happen. Me being the honest little PFC I was had become I was going to turn in my M&Ms. Then my neighbor got the idea we open them and eat them. The bag ended up ripping and M&Ms went flying in every direction. We quickly knew who had yet to have their dose of sugar as bodies went flying in all directions eating the candies off of the floor. Marines have no shame in what they do.

I came to Parris Island a ragged little kid and after twelve weeks of intense brainwashing, training and reconditioning of both my physical and metal abilities I had been transformed into a United States Marine. We hit that parade deck in our dress blues and showed off our close order drill for all of the friends and family in attendance. None of which were there for me. My friend who did come to pick me got there right after the ceremony. She was living with another friend, who happened to be a Marine, and drove down to pick me up. I lit my first cigarette after twelve weeks as we drove over the bridge as I finally left Parris Island. I can still smell the salty air as if I am still there to this very day.