UNDERSTANDING MILITARY TRAINING FOR A BETTER ATTITUDE

Military training? Everyone knows what that is.

“Yeah, I saw Full Metal Jacket, so I know what you mean.”

What they’re missing is the hot breath and spray of some nut case screaming words in their face.

Which words? It doesn’t matter. The sheer volume obscures the words. It doesn’t matter because you know what you did. Even if you don’t.

If you don’t know, you’re finding out. But, maybe you didn’t do anything to deserve this sort of treatment?

It doesn’t matter, and that’s where the understanding kicks in.

Continued for words of encouragement.

Every classroom I’ve been has had the same teacher’s pet. It’s either the smart kid, or the problem kid.

Mrs. Kraus’s third grade class had show and tell early in the year. One of the new kids brought in a switch blade.

The knife ended up in teacher’s lock-drawer and the student moved his desk closer to Mrs. Kraus.

It was an early Life Lesson not wasted on me. I wanted a switchblade knife.

During a family trip to Texas with a stop in Juarez across the border from El Paso, I bought that knife.

As a sixth grader I knew I was old enough to pack a blade.

I may have had a distorted attitude about responsibilities and maturity.

I told my Mom about my new knife. She asked to see it and tucked it into her purse. I got it back in my early-thirties.

What Kind Of Training Is This?

It’s not military, it’s ball-breaking, and everyone in the service gets ’em broken, balls or not.

In classrooms, in outdoor settings, teachers offer instruction.

The teachers are called drill sergeants, properly known as “YES, DRILL SERGEANT,” or, “NO, DRILL SERGEANT.”

Drill Sergeants are trained and experienced ball-breakers who look forward to their next military training cycle / semester, their next company, next platoon, next squad, and the first trainee to scream a hole through.

The screaming is based on failure. Nothing guarantees success like getting blasted by a lunatic after doing one thing wrong?

The lesson plan is designed to prevent death, or supply death.

The training is geared for 100% fail rate toward those two goals to save lives later.

Military training requires people from all corners of America to learn how to fail, and more importantly, how to blame someone else for failing. It doesn’t mean what it sounds like, not after hearing:

“IF IT’S DARK OUTSIDE AND I SAY IT’S DAY THEN IT’S GODDAMN DAYTIME; IF YOU SEE THE SUN AND I CALL IT THE MOON, THEN IT’S A GODDAMN MOON. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. DO YOU? DO YOU?”

It’s a whole different universe orbiting around these masters of time and space.

Unfortunately, not everyone shows up with the same expectations of failure. Big boy fails, little man fails, and sometimes the authority of the teachers fail a little.

Success Through Failure In Military Training

Based on years of experience the Drill Sergeants for my platoon selected me, (me?), as the platoon guide.

Through a miscommunication, (I knew night from day,) I was demoted a month later to squad leader for a day. It was the day we all learned rifle salutes for the first time.

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

After one run-through the Drill put me in front of the squad to demonstrate what we’d just learned.

I didn’t get it 100% right. Probably not 90%. I got about half way through when the storm hit.

Nineteen year old me got the dressing down of fucking shame like no one had ever heard before. In front of the squad. And demoted from platoon guide, to squad leader, to regular Joe with recent history.

The Drill screamed and spit and stomped while I stood stone still arms down, looking straight ahead. When our faces were as close as his hat brim would allow, I looked at his mouth, not his eyes. I call it the dangerous animal response, where eye contact eggs them on.

Lucky for me, not so much him, I’d heard this sort of blast a few times before in high school sports, and from my dad once when he explained why he didn’t want a lying, stealing, little shit-ass kid.

So the next time you see an image, or video, of some kid getting yelled at by a red-faced, neck-vein-bulging bastard in a Smokey The Bear hat, who is, “HELPING YOU TO NOT KILL YOURSELF, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DO YOU? DO YOU?”

Remember this: It could easily be you in either role, trainee or Non-commissioned officer. Or an officer. Maybe a general.

It could as easily be you. No, really.