The Adventure Begins

 "When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy.

In the company of strangers, in the quiet of a railway station, running scared."*

-Simon and Gar, the Funkel Brothers.

    Fifty years ago...

Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Except mine.
Because who cares?

    The summer of 1976 was glorious.  Having graduated from high school in late June, the potential of a carefree few months stretched before me with its comforting arms (clumsy metaphor, I know.  Sue me).  I quit my job at a seafood restaurant in late July, my bank account was full, and I was dating a girl who gave me all the love I deserved.  And I her.

    NOTE: Two and a half years later, she broke my heart.  But that's another story...

Available for the low, low price of...uh...huh.  Can't remember.
If you're looking for an answer as to whether she knew she broke my heart, you won't find it here.

"I think he's trying to sell books."

 

   My enlistment in the Navy was, to my hormone-fueled adolescent mind, a lifetime away.  I was having too much fun to worry about that, I told myself.

 

    Then, as the middle of August rolled around (and my savings account dwindled), I got a phone call from my recruiter.  He told me that I would be leaving for boot camp a day early, August 30th instead of the 31st.

    Well, if that didn't thrust me into a whirlwind of depression, nothing ever would, I thought.  I'd be leaving "my home and my family" 24 hours early than I had anticipated.  Oh, the humanity!

    NOTE:  Oh, how naive.  That whole "breaking heart" thing would be much worse.

    Of course, the fact that meant my enlistment would be over a day earlier than anticipated (August 29th, 1980 instead of the 30th) didn't occur to me.

    NOTE:  What happened in those four years is also regaled in the book above.  Teaser?  I totaled my car.  And slept in a pillowcase.

    In any event, I WASN'T READY TO GO!!!!!!

    But, go I did.  This was a actually a good thing because I only had $5.00 left in my savings.

    After I had retired (you read that right), I was asked to speak at various Career Days at local schools.  Although, I must admit, those invitations have pretty much dried up.  Because my uniform no longer fits.  Nobody wanted to hear some old geezer reminisce with tedious "back in my day" stories.  To them, I would be no different than John Paul Jones.

"Not gonna lie, more than a little hurtful."

    By far, the most common question I was asked was why I went into the Navy in the first place.  "That was easy," I said.  "I wanted to see the world."

    And so I did.

From Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia
(yes, it was still called that then)

to

To Memphis, Egypt (complete with a mummy of Elvis)

to

Notre Dame, Paris (the hunchback had the day off)

to

Whatever TF I was doing here in Rome.

     In the ensuing twenty-seven years, I had pretty much achieved what I wanted.  And remain happy that I did.  

    Fifty years after I left a day early.

  DISCLOSURE:  To be honest, military service isn't the yukfest it was in the 1970s.  A lot of things have happened since then.  And, even though I can intellectually understand the necessity of being at sea for an excruciatingly long period of time, my heart goes out to those whose only view of the world is largely water.

*This song has always appealed to me.  When I left for boot camp, I did leave my home as an 18 year old, who was little more than a boy.  And those of us who went to boot camp (mostly strangers; but three of my fellow "boots" were in my graduating class) did indeed take a train.