I joke about joining the military.
“I ran away from home to join the Army,” I tell folks.
The truth isn’t far from the facts, and when I got through basic training I discovered I brought myself. I couldn’t laugh at myself in those days. I can now though.
First of all, they stuck a person who couldn’t add or subtract much less see numbers in the Finance Corps. I showed up for work every day I didn’t have a blinding headache. Then one day, someone suggested I transfer to Special Services on a temporary basis. I helped build and paint sets then run the lights for several traveling musicals. It was heaven. I was home. No more crying my eyes out over a glass of something while I banged on the out of tune piano in the rec room.
They wouldn’t transfer me over there permanently. Darn it. For I was truly a misfit in the military.
The day I was to get out of the Army as I was now married and pregnant, there was to be a grand military parade for a famous general. My then husband and his cohort in confusions, Carradine, choreographed a buck and wing while tipping their chrome pots. Right in front of the reviewing stand, of course. I was hiding underneath.
I’ll never forget this send off, the laughter, or the court martials.
Life is Really in the Footnotes: