How Did I Get Here?

Quote of the Day: “A sympathetic Scot summed it all up very neatly in the remark, ‘You should make a point of trying every experience once, excepting incest and folk dancing.’”

Today marks a milestone.

Today, when I removed my United Sates Marine Corps Service “B” uniform, it was the last time that particular version of our legendary uniform set would be on my body.

What am I talking about?

Monday we will change seasonal uniforms. That means that we will go from sleeves down on the green utility uniform to sleeves up on the desert pattern utility uniforms.

It also means that we will go from wearing the Service “B” on Thursdays and Fridays of graduation weeks to wearing the Service “C.”

The next seasonal change, I will be in Saudi Arabia and I highly doubt I will be wearing bravos over there.

By the time I get back, it will be summer again and IF I have occasion to wear the Service uniform before I retire, it will be charlies again.

So, I repeat, today was the last day in my 20+ year career that I will don the Service Bravo uniform.

I was very aware of this as I stood in front of the mirror at about 5:30 PM, the last one in the building other than the duty. I looked in the mirror and my eyes roamed over the ribbons. Over the Windsor knot in the tie. Over the name tag that reads “Grose.” Over the shiny tie clip. Over the two golden oak leaves on the collar. Over the tip of the tie that fell right in the middle of the belt buckle that was aligned with the fly of my trousers.

As I took off that uniform and disassembled it, I thought about all the times I had worn that uniform from bootcamp to now. The duties I’ve stood. The inspections I’ve stood and performed.

The fact that I could not now even slid my arms into the original sleeves from 1987.

When I got everything off that uniform, there was a mound of items on the table. Oak leaves, clips for the rank, ribbons, and name tag. Cut pieces of web belt for backing of the ribbons and name tag so they don’t sag. A piece of duct tape to prevent the back-clips from popping off. The metal collar stays to keep the collar edges straight and stiff. A rack of ribbons. The name tag. The tie clasp.

And in the end, there it was. The shirt itself. Laying on the couch, just a small heap of khaki material with a lot of holes in it and just a hint of sweat around the collar.

I tried to take it to the cleaners but they were closed.

On the way home, the thought hit me…

“Why are you going to take a shirt you know you will never wear again to the cleaners?”

I didn’t really think about it until that moment. It never occurred to me NOT to have it cleaned.

And on further thought, I came up with the answer.

Of course I’m going to clean it before I put it away for the last time. Call it respect or whatever but it will not finish its duty as a dirty, khaki heap somewhere in the back of my closet. It will be hung with care and appreciation as the Cloth of the Nation by a grateful man proud I was allowed to wear it with pride for over two decades.

Free Advice for Today: “When a good man or woman runs for political office, support him or her with your time and money.”