Personal Narrative: United States Army

“Privates, you have five minutes to call your family.” This was the last guaranteed time I would talk to my mother, father or sister. My life and my name were no longer mine- I was now roster number 132, a recruit in the United States Army. Since a young age, I had always dreamed of being a soldier. My grandfather was a Brazilian Army officer, and I wanted to be just like him. In my patriotic fervor, I saw the opportunity to take the first step; the National Guard offered a full ride to college (the financial burden I did not want placed on my family), and the opportunity to become an enlisted Infantryman. So I thought, “this will make me a better officer in the long run,” after a few signatures it was done- I became a 17-year old enlistee

Here I was, away from family for the first time, surrounded by others in the same situation. We were greeted with smoke grenades, simulated mortar explosions and hardened combat veterans who we came to know as Drill Sergeants, only to be addressed as “Drill Sergeant.” This started the transition from civilian to soldier; the Drill Sergeants were going to transform us “undisciplined nothings” into “real men.” The shock hit us all differently. Some of us took it well and trudged slowly through the training process enduring the suffering to come. Others were devastated, taking every verbal or mental attack from the Drill Sergeant like piercing bullets. Some tried their hardest to return home, claiming they had pregnant significant others, or prior injuries that began to act up. I was honest, this was going to be Hell, but to go home a soldier I had to do this and I wasn’t going home any other

We were separated into platoons and now we trained with our respective Drill Sergeants. Every day varied, one day we could be learning basic rifle marksmanship, the other day- a boring lesson on land navigation. Shooting and cleaning became the two things we were most proficient at, but we learned other “tricks” as well. We learned how to eat really quick, make our beds appear uniform, and sleep anywhere- a fact I discovered after several of us fell asleep on rocks shaped well enough to be primitive pillows. This was the “grunt life” as 122 would claim. Sure it sucked. “damn, I got oatmeal” or “we have to wake up at 0300 for formation” were common phrases at Basic. It took one person’s mistake to have everyone “smoked” (forced to do strenuous exercise) by the Drill Sergeants for hours, or what seemed an eternity. To be honest, it was this fear that made us stronger, more disciplined, and better in