Running Barefoot
Page 36
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Staff Sgt. Blood says I am whispering when I should be yelling. He got right in my face and yelled “Why are you whispering Recruit?!!!” He said I must not have any heart. I don’t have to scream to have heart. I let my actions speak for themselves. No one will outfight me, no one will outrun me, and no one will outshoot me. I guarantee it-but I won’t be the loudest marine in the platoon, that’s for sure. So because I wasn’t loud enough, D.I Blood made me do twenty extra push-ups, one hundred extra crunches, and squat thrusts and mountain climbers until my legs were shaking-they call it quarter decking when one recruit is taken aside and made to do punishment exercises. The only other guys that have been “quarter decked” are the whiners and the guys that continually screw up or lag behind. I don’t want that kind of attention.
I know this letter is long, but I needed to tell someone about this crazy place I’m in. I hope you are okay, playing the piano, writing more music. Schools out, so you’ve probably got more time to practice and read. They let me keep my dictionary and my dad’s bible. I decided I’m going to try and read it while I’m here, using the dictionary for all the words I don’t know...which is at least half. I’ve got one hour of ‘free’ time every day. No music allowed, so I will just have to keep Rachmaninoff in my head.
I hope you write,
Samuel
Dear Samuel,
I was so excited when I got your letter. I’d been checking at the post office every day - and when it finally came in I felt like crying. So I did. You know me -a little emotional. I have to say I probably wouldn’t last a day at boot camp. I don’t do well with people screaming at me. Plus, I’m a major klutz. I’d be tripping over myself and everyone else the entire time. Yuck! It’s a good thing God blesses people with different talents. The world would be in trouble if I were a Marine.
I added a little ‘bridge’ section to your song. Maybe someday I can record it and send it to you. I don’t think you said whether or not they will let you listen to music eventually, so I’ll save it for when you graduate. I’ve been playing constantly since school got out. Sonja has been working with me on composing music -and actually writing it out on composition paper. Up to this point I’ve only read and played music, but never written it down. It feels like school, but I don’t mind. Sonja says I have the ability to make a living as a musician -perhaps play with an orchestra or a symphony, maybe tour Europe. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I don’t know how I would feel about leaving my dad, though.
I was thinking about your comments on Samson when you had your hair shaved. I went back and read the story. I don’t think Samson’s power was really in his hair. I’ve always thought what an idiot he was to trust Delilah with his secret. She’d proven herself completely untrustworthy. She had used everything he’d told her against him. After reading the story, it occurred to me that Samson didn’t trust her. He just didn’t believe that he would really lose his strength if he cut his hair. He believed the strength was his and that it hadn’t really been given to him from God with certain responsibilities and conditions, like his parent’s had taught him. He didn’t keep his promise to God. God said that his long hair would be a symbol of that promise. Not the source of his power. So when Samson revealed the symbol of his promise to Delilah, he rejected God and essentially cut himself off from the source of his power. So, to make a long explanation short and sweet your individuality does not come from the way you wear your hair, Samuel. Your individual worth comes from keeping your promises and being a man of character. Easy for me to say, I know, here in my comfy room, listening to Mozart. But I think it’s true, all the same.
Do you remember that little part I read you from Jane Eyre? Jane Eyre’s worth came from her sterling character. I guess none of us really knows what kind of character we truly have until we are really tested. I think you’ll find you have plenty of character in these next few weeks. I believe in you. Would it embarrass you to tell you that I really miss you? Because I do.
I’ll listen to enough music for both of us, and try to send it to you telepathically - wouldn’t that be cool, to be able to transmit our thoughts like radio waves? I think there has to be a way.
Be safe and be happy,
Josie
July 1, 1997
Dear Josie,
I got your latest letter last night during platoon mail call. I’ve read it slowly, in sections, making it last. My Grandma Nettie keeps sending care packages full of stuff I can’t have. She communicates her love through food, rather then letters, although she sent a short one, so your letters are especially appreciated - thank you. Some of the guys pass around their letters, especially if they’re from girlfriends. Some of those girls have no class. The difference between you and them is mind boggling. They aren’t fit to lick your shoes. This big black kid from Los Angeles named Antwon Carlton was passing around some filthy thing and everybody was laughing. I didn’t want to read it and refused to take it when Tyler passed it to me. It made Carlton mad and he started saying “You too good white boy? Or do you just not like girls?” I told him I had no interest in touching his trash. I don’t think he likes me much, but the feeling is mutual.
Tyler jumped in, saying I wasn’t white and the Hispanic kid, Mercado, said “Well we know he ain’t Hispanic.” They all stared at me. I just kept cleaning my weapon. Tyler jumped in again and said ‘He’s Green!” ‘Green’ is what the Marine’s call themselves. I used to think it would be nice if people were all one color everybody the same. Not anymore - because then you wouldn’t be you. Your hair wouldn’t be all white and gold and your eyes wouldn’t be so blue. But here the goal is to make us the same . . . green. It’s strangely therapeutic after all these years of feeling so torn by my desire to know more about my father’s culture, and still be loyal to my mother’s. There’s a whole new culture here.
I know this letter is long, but I needed to tell someone about this crazy place I’m in. I hope you are okay, playing the piano, writing more music. Schools out, so you’ve probably got more time to practice and read. They let me keep my dictionary and my dad’s bible. I decided I’m going to try and read it while I’m here, using the dictionary for all the words I don’t know...which is at least half. I’ve got one hour of ‘free’ time every day. No music allowed, so I will just have to keep Rachmaninoff in my head.
I hope you write,
Samuel
Dear Samuel,
I was so excited when I got your letter. I’d been checking at the post office every day - and when it finally came in I felt like crying. So I did. You know me -a little emotional. I have to say I probably wouldn’t last a day at boot camp. I don’t do well with people screaming at me. Plus, I’m a major klutz. I’d be tripping over myself and everyone else the entire time. Yuck! It’s a good thing God blesses people with different talents. The world would be in trouble if I were a Marine.
I added a little ‘bridge’ section to your song. Maybe someday I can record it and send it to you. I don’t think you said whether or not they will let you listen to music eventually, so I’ll save it for when you graduate. I’ve been playing constantly since school got out. Sonja has been working with me on composing music -and actually writing it out on composition paper. Up to this point I’ve only read and played music, but never written it down. It feels like school, but I don’t mind. Sonja says I have the ability to make a living as a musician -perhaps play with an orchestra or a symphony, maybe tour Europe. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I don’t know how I would feel about leaving my dad, though.
I was thinking about your comments on Samson when you had your hair shaved. I went back and read the story. I don’t think Samson’s power was really in his hair. I’ve always thought what an idiot he was to trust Delilah with his secret. She’d proven herself completely untrustworthy. She had used everything he’d told her against him. After reading the story, it occurred to me that Samson didn’t trust her. He just didn’t believe that he would really lose his strength if he cut his hair. He believed the strength was his and that it hadn’t really been given to him from God with certain responsibilities and conditions, like his parent’s had taught him. He didn’t keep his promise to God. God said that his long hair would be a symbol of that promise. Not the source of his power. So when Samson revealed the symbol of his promise to Delilah, he rejected God and essentially cut himself off from the source of his power. So, to make a long explanation short and sweet your individuality does not come from the way you wear your hair, Samuel. Your individual worth comes from keeping your promises and being a man of character. Easy for me to say, I know, here in my comfy room, listening to Mozart. But I think it’s true, all the same.
Do you remember that little part I read you from Jane Eyre? Jane Eyre’s worth came from her sterling character. I guess none of us really knows what kind of character we truly have until we are really tested. I think you’ll find you have plenty of character in these next few weeks. I believe in you. Would it embarrass you to tell you that I really miss you? Because I do.
I’ll listen to enough music for both of us, and try to send it to you telepathically - wouldn’t that be cool, to be able to transmit our thoughts like radio waves? I think there has to be a way.
Be safe and be happy,
Josie
July 1, 1997
Dear Josie,
I got your latest letter last night during platoon mail call. I’ve read it slowly, in sections, making it last. My Grandma Nettie keeps sending care packages full of stuff I can’t have. She communicates her love through food, rather then letters, although she sent a short one, so your letters are especially appreciated - thank you. Some of the guys pass around their letters, especially if they’re from girlfriends. Some of those girls have no class. The difference between you and them is mind boggling. They aren’t fit to lick your shoes. This big black kid from Los Angeles named Antwon Carlton was passing around some filthy thing and everybody was laughing. I didn’t want to read it and refused to take it when Tyler passed it to me. It made Carlton mad and he started saying “You too good white boy? Or do you just not like girls?” I told him I had no interest in touching his trash. I don’t think he likes me much, but the feeling is mutual.
Tyler jumped in, saying I wasn’t white and the Hispanic kid, Mercado, said “Well we know he ain’t Hispanic.” They all stared at me. I just kept cleaning my weapon. Tyler jumped in again and said ‘He’s Green!” ‘Green’ is what the Marine’s call themselves. I used to think it would be nice if people were all one color everybody the same. Not anymore - because then you wouldn’t be you. Your hair wouldn’t be all white and gold and your eyes wouldn’t be so blue. But here the goal is to make us the same . . . green. It’s strangely therapeutic after all these years of feeling so torn by my desire to know more about my father’s culture, and still be loyal to my mother’s. There’s a whole new culture here.
