"You Dropped Something Sir."

 

Why had I chosen to serve in the military, much less the Marines? And soon after the Vietnam War ended just five years prior? It was a dream of mine. Yes, a dream since I was at least age six or seven or even before then. Both parents were astonished at the announcement by age ten that I was going to be a US Marine. No one in the family had been a Marine. Too, no woman that I’d known of in the family had been in the military. Yet, their Bible reading daughter was thought to be different; however, I knew I bewildered them. They were thinking I’d either be a nun or a police officer. I told them, “…New Jersey State Trooper after I serve in the Marines.”

My dad, although he’d claimed to be a law-abiding citizen, I knew otherwise. He was surely disillusioned. My mother didn’t know what to think of me yet believed what I’d said. She would always tell me I was “…too honest”.

Why had I decided at such a young age to serve in the military? I’d not ever told my parents the whole truth. First, my mother feared her only living son would be taken into the military. She’d lost two sons prior to the then living son I knew. After nine pregnancies, only three of us survived, and two of us were girls. My mother had made it clear how important my older brother was and that he’d carried the name.

I figured, since my importance was not a consideration, that I should do anything and everything to keep my brother safe, so long as my mother lived. That was my job. That was the significance of my living. I was willing to put myself in harm’s way, so my mother wouldn’t suffer another loss of importance. My parents never knew that.

The second reason was I knew how fortunate I was that I didn’t live in a poor city, I saw food on my plate, that I had a roof over my head and that I didn’t have a fear of my country being destroyed by an enemy.  The third reason I chose to serve in the military I wanted to save people from having their rights violated. That was truly important to me. I also saw my mother’s generation in not having as many rights for women and people of color. I needed to help rectify all that in my lifetime. Yes, perhaps a tall order, yet I felt it was the good I could do with such service.

The fourth reason was I always wanted discipline in my life; I thrived on it. I’d imagined staying fit mentally, physically and spiritually all my life. I would maintain the utmost respect for the life given to me and for other’s lives. I would maintain not impinging on other’s rights, no matter whether I’d agreed, or disagreed with them. Why? Because I wasn’t them. I was me. The next reason was I loved the thrill of learning about things I knew nothing about. Stories I was told about the military that I knew were lies—I needed to know the truth about it all and who men truly were. And probably the final reason was that if I’d survived my service time, I’d probably always be employable because of my service to the country.

That all doesn’t seem to matter much now. Yet, on the inside I’ve kept true to the form I’d desired. And yes, I’m amazed I’ve made it to my mid-sixties, was married for decades and am a mom to boot. That amazes me. What truly amazes me as well is the inconceivable ability of people to vote for a spoiled, wealthy, bigoted, rapist and weak person to any office of leadership—and worse yet our presidency. After we’ve come such a long way to expand the rights of others and many other things which are and still will be a work in progress.  I fear now that perhaps everyone should do some service not to their religion, but in some way to the country.

I’ve had this discussion with one of my old superiors this year. We agreed on this and agreed that service to the people of this country can be a year or so long and done before age 26 in building people homes, reconfiguring computers for the elderly, the disabled, cleaning, restoring and helping maintain our national parks, just to give some examples. This is not about your culture or your religion. This service would be done outside of your comfort zone to people and areas that service would be given to people in need. This service would be full-time for a year, or part-time for two years within our country.

Much in my life has given me this idea. I’ll give you one example of privilege with a true story from thirty years ago. Here goes…:  While out for a run on Belmont Avenue in Haledon, New Jersey in 1994 I was running against the traffic in the morning on the road. A car was heading north as it was passing on the other side of the street. I saw a man throw a tissue out of his driver’s side window. I can say that act infuriated me. I am usually slow to anger; however, I was in much physical pain that day from a crime that had been committed against me three years prior and I still in physical therapy.

What I did next may astonish some, especially post-COVID. And the fact that I usually have been a ‘germaphobe’. There were no other cars around as I went into the middle of the road and picked up the discarded tissue. I then ran to the man’s car which was stopped at the stop light, with his driver’s side window open. He appeared to be nearing age 80, white and male—I held the tissue he’d discarded up to him and said, “You dropped something Sir.” I threw it back into his lap. He was nearly screaming, as I turned my watch back on and said, “You’re not supposed to litter.”  He stopped yelling as the light went to green and I now ran against the traffic on the other side of the road. He drove past me with look of disbelief. Nothing else occurred and he did not throw that tissue out of his car after that within my sight.

Sometimes we have to boldly tell people that they were wrong. And it usually takes the will of any bravery we have left with the lack of fear as that of a Honey Badger defending it’s den. ---Jody-Lynn Reicher