Thursday, December 22, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The Ultimate Sacrifice (Part 2)
First Sergeant Thomas was definitely a hard ass. I knew that from the second I started boot camp. During drills, people tried to get around everything, and a few were sneaky enough to be successful. I didn't dare to try it, though. Thomas was a little bit harder on me because I was smaller than most of the other trainees. I got tired quickly, and wasn't built like the rest of them. I think Thomas knew I had potential though, and that's why he didn't leave me alone.
"Private Wallace! You're running double today!" I was pissed. What did I do to have to run longer than everyone else? I was stupid enough to ask. "Sergeant Thomas, why do I have to run longer? What did…?" He screamed before I finished. "You giving me lip? Are you undermining my authority? You better shut the f**k up Wallace, I'll make it triple…"
"Triple? I wasn't undermining you, I just wanted an explanation!" What a big mistake. "Damn it Wallace, you screwed yourself. This will teach you when to shut the hell up! You will run until I say enough is enough!" Well, that didn't seem to go too well, did it?
I'm a pretty holy person, and I wanted to tell him not to use my God's name in vain. I take that personally. But I thought about that and decided not to. Probably not the best decision, considering this man is already pissed at me for a reason that I couldn't understand, and that he was much stronger than me. And when I mean much stronger, I mean that he could probably end my life with one punch landed to the head.
I have to say, that day was the longest day of my life. I had no idea how long I ran. Thomas was on me all day, whenever I slowed down, he screamed in my face until I got back to speed. I threw up so many times that I was dry heaving for a full hour. I'll tell you, there was nothing left in my stomach that day, absolutely nothing at all.
When he told me I could stop, I collapsed. The guys had to take me back to our rooms because I couldn't walk. To this day, I don't know how long I ran, but I figured it had to be at least 6 hours. Though, I'm not good at estimating, so your guess is probably as good as mine. They gave me water, I was pretty dehydrated. I guess anyone would be when you're running that long in the heat. I thought about training camp for football, and I always wondered how guys that were in such good shape could get so tired, and it seemed so quickly. I understood now, it was hell. That's when I met Jeff Duncan. He was one of the guys that pulled me away. He kept asking me repeatedly, "What did you do?" I had one answer for him, "I don't know." We didn't speak much, but we quickly became friends. I think he felt bad for me, but didn't want to say anything about it and have Thomas listening. Would you want to run until you collapse? I don't blame him at all.
I have to say, boot camp was rough. Probably the toughest thing I will have gone through in my life. At the time, I absolutely despised it, and began to hate Thomas for all the garbage he put me through. Treated me like dirt, disrespected everything I stood for. When we graduated, Thomas came up to me, and shook my hand. "You still pissed about all the sh*t I gave you?" I just looked at him. "You've done well Wallace, I knew you would. I had to push you, because I knew you wouldn't push yourself. You didn't have that fire in you. I hope I created it in you, because I will be the first to tell you, that's the only way to survive in that goddamn jungle. You're ready Wallace, more ready than any of those guys. Good luck Wallace." I didn't know what to say, except, "Thanks Sergeant."
I never saw Thomas again. I wish I could have the opportunity to talk with him; I'd like to tell him about my experience also. I think he had helped me more than I could have ever known at the time, and I am truly grateful for it.
"You may be able to see him soon," the man said. "Continue your story, I am very interested."
"Private Wallace! You're running double today!" I was pissed. What did I do to have to run longer than everyone else? I was stupid enough to ask. "Sergeant Thomas, why do I have to run longer? What did…?" He screamed before I finished. "You giving me lip? Are you undermining my authority? You better shut the f**k up Wallace, I'll make it triple…"
"Triple? I wasn't undermining you, I just wanted an explanation!" What a big mistake. "Damn it Wallace, you screwed yourself. This will teach you when to shut the hell up! You will run until I say enough is enough!" Well, that didn't seem to go too well, did it?
I'm a pretty holy person, and I wanted to tell him not to use my God's name in vain. I take that personally. But I thought about that and decided not to. Probably not the best decision, considering this man is already pissed at me for a reason that I couldn't understand, and that he was much stronger than me. And when I mean much stronger, I mean that he could probably end my life with one punch landed to the head.
I have to say, that day was the longest day of my life. I had no idea how long I ran. Thomas was on me all day, whenever I slowed down, he screamed in my face until I got back to speed. I threw up so many times that I was dry heaving for a full hour. I'll tell you, there was nothing left in my stomach that day, absolutely nothing at all.
When he told me I could stop, I collapsed. The guys had to take me back to our rooms because I couldn't walk. To this day, I don't know how long I ran, but I figured it had to be at least 6 hours. Though, I'm not good at estimating, so your guess is probably as good as mine. They gave me water, I was pretty dehydrated. I guess anyone would be when you're running that long in the heat. I thought about training camp for football, and I always wondered how guys that were in such good shape could get so tired, and it seemed so quickly. I understood now, it was hell. That's when I met Jeff Duncan. He was one of the guys that pulled me away. He kept asking me repeatedly, "What did you do?" I had one answer for him, "I don't know." We didn't speak much, but we quickly became friends. I think he felt bad for me, but didn't want to say anything about it and have Thomas listening. Would you want to run until you collapse? I don't blame him at all.
I have to say, boot camp was rough. Probably the toughest thing I will have gone through in my life. At the time, I absolutely despised it, and began to hate Thomas for all the garbage he put me through. Treated me like dirt, disrespected everything I stood for. When we graduated, Thomas came up to me, and shook my hand. "You still pissed about all the sh*t I gave you?" I just looked at him. "You've done well Wallace, I knew you would. I had to push you, because I knew you wouldn't push yourself. You didn't have that fire in you. I hope I created it in you, because I will be the first to tell you, that's the only way to survive in that goddamn jungle. You're ready Wallace, more ready than any of those guys. Good luck Wallace." I didn't know what to say, except, "Thanks Sergeant."
I never saw Thomas again. I wish I could have the opportunity to talk with him; I'd like to tell him about my experience also. I think he had helped me more than I could have ever known at the time, and I am truly grateful for it.
"You may be able to see him soon," the man said. "Continue your story, I am very interested."
Thursday, December 08, 2005
The Ultimate Sacrifice (Part 1)
Well, I decided to write some of that story after all. Gives me something to do when I get sick of studying for exams, and I usually hate writing, but this story seems like a movie to me, so I don't mind it. Anyway, please comment and let me know what you think. You do not have to be signed up for this to comment, if you read it, just let me know. Thanks. By the way, I don't know how long it'll go, but hopefully I will finish it. And I can guarantee you it won't be too long, I'm not a writer... Anyway, here is the first part.
"Mike, are you all right? What happened?" A man was standing right next to me, yet I could not make out who he was. Everything was pretty much a blur to me at that moment, for I had just woken up. "Where am I?" I still wasn't sure who this man was, but from the way he spoke to me, I trusted in him and believed every word he said. "Don't worry, you are safe now. Just tell me what happened...."
".... all right."
I can remember that moment as if it were yesterday. At first, my parents did not agree with the idea. My mother thought it would be much too dangerous, and while my father would not come out and say it, I knew he was worried. "I am going to join the army," I told them. "What?!" My mother was stunned. "I have to. I just feel like I need to defend my country from these people. I have been thinking about it for a while, and I will get paid, and send the money back home. I just feel like I need to do this."
"Mike, I hope this isn't about money," my father piped in. "We don't need the money right now." "Dad, please don't worry about me," I replied. "I'll be all right." I knew my father was just saying that because he was worried. He knew as well as I knew that it wasn’t at all about the money. At that time, there wasn't much my parents could do. I was 18 years old, and ready to be on my own. As I thought about actually joining the military, I became frightened. But, I felt I had to do it. Those bastards attacked our country and killed thousands of innocent people. What else could I do to help? I figured that this was the best way. This country had given my family and I many opportunities, and I was extremely grateful. I wanted to give back to my country, and like the thousands and thousands of other people that feel the same way, I decided to join the military. At first, it was surreal, and seemed like a dream, until the day that I left. Because I knew what would happen. I was going to boot camp to train to become a soldier, and soon after, I was going to war.
"Mike, are you all right? What happened?" A man was standing right next to me, yet I could not make out who he was. Everything was pretty much a blur to me at that moment, for I had just woken up. "Where am I?" I still wasn't sure who this man was, but from the way he spoke to me, I trusted in him and believed every word he said. "Don't worry, you are safe now. Just tell me what happened...."
".... all right."
I can remember that moment as if it were yesterday. At first, my parents did not agree with the idea. My mother thought it would be much too dangerous, and while my father would not come out and say it, I knew he was worried. "I am going to join the army," I told them. "What?!" My mother was stunned. "I have to. I just feel like I need to defend my country from these people. I have been thinking about it for a while, and I will get paid, and send the money back home. I just feel like I need to do this."
"Mike, I hope this isn't about money," my father piped in. "We don't need the money right now." "Dad, please don't worry about me," I replied. "I'll be all right." I knew my father was just saying that because he was worried. He knew as well as I knew that it wasn’t at all about the money. At that time, there wasn't much my parents could do. I was 18 years old, and ready to be on my own. As I thought about actually joining the military, I became frightened. But, I felt I had to do it. Those bastards attacked our country and killed thousands of innocent people. What else could I do to help? I figured that this was the best way. This country had given my family and I many opportunities, and I was extremely grateful. I wanted to give back to my country, and like the thousands and thousands of other people that feel the same way, I decided to join the military. At first, it was surreal, and seemed like a dream, until the day that I left. Because I knew what would happen. I was going to boot camp to train to become a soldier, and soon after, I was going to war.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Thank you, Joshua Sparling!
By Michelle Malkin - December 05, 2005 09:53 AM
Lots of readers watched Fox & Friends this morning and e-mailed about the disgusting greeting card a wounded soldier received while hospitalized at Walter Reed Army Hospital.
Thanks to reader Shari for taking these cell phone camera shots of the card displayed by co-host Brian Kilmeade.
The card front, decorated with patriotic and holiday stamps, was deceptively innocuous:
But take a look at what was inside:
Yes, that's right. It says "P.S. DIE" in the lower right-hand corner.
According to Kilmeade, who visited Walter Reed on Friday, a US Army soldier named Joshua Sparling received the death wish while recovering from a gunshot wound he received in Ramadi, Iraq. It's the only Christmas card he received. Fox & Friends is urging you to counter the hate by sending your thanks and good wishes to Sparling:
Joshua Sparling
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue
N.W.Washington, D.C. 20307-5001
Some people are so sick, help this soldier out by sending him a card.
Lots of readers watched Fox & Friends this morning and e-mailed about the disgusting greeting card a wounded soldier received while hospitalized at Walter Reed Army Hospital.
Thanks to reader Shari for taking these cell phone camera shots of the card displayed by co-host Brian Kilmeade.
The card front, decorated with patriotic and holiday stamps, was deceptively innocuous:
But take a look at what was inside:
Yes, that's right. It says "P.S. DIE" in the lower right-hand corner.
According to Kilmeade, who visited Walter Reed on Friday, a US Army soldier named Joshua Sparling received the death wish while recovering from a gunshot wound he received in Ramadi, Iraq. It's the only Christmas card he received. Fox & Friends is urging you to counter the hate by sending your thanks and good wishes to Sparling:
Joshua Sparling
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue
N.W.Washington, D.C. 20307-5001
Some people are so sick, help this soldier out by sending him a card.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Hmm...
I was thinking that I might write a small story for this blog. Don't know how far I will get or what I will do to it, but it's something else to write here. I'll see what I can do.
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