Zero the Rifle

Fort Benning, Georgia was a horrible place that I came to love. After failing to physically prepare for the ordeal that laid before me, I was in for a horrendous shock upon arrival. OK, not upon arrival at Fort Benning... arrival at Bravo Company, 9th Battalion, 2nd ITB (B-9-2). We were the "Rangers." Of course we weren't really Rangers: we were called the Rangers.

After a relaxed time at the reception station where I got shots and some basic in-processing done (My brother actually stopped by during that time because he was there for annual training with the 1st Brigade, 323rd regiment, 108th Division Army Reserve unit, the same unit that I was assigned to). That is so long ago, I can't recall exactly what my reserve unit was, but I think I have that about right. The unit was on Laurens Road in Greenville, South Carolina, but seems to be gone now. In fact, the entire reserve center seems to be abandoned. Let's get back to my story.

When we were live-firing our weapons, we were taken to a shooting range where we were supposed to get our weapons zeroed. Of course, I had never even touched a rifle before (except the ceremonial type at JROTC) and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I remember they had these little site picture training aids, but that didn't help because I used them incorrectly. When it came to be my turn, I lowered myself into a foxhole to begin the process. On a wooden bench, equipped with binoculars was a West Point cadet who was assigned to our company. I'd fire a few shots and he would tell me "turn your front site X numbers counterclockwise." I'd do that, fire again, and he'd tell me to adjust some more. By now, you could probably guess that things were not going to end well on this day.

The cadet kept telling me to rotate the site, blah, blah, blah. It was getting late. For some reason I was having trouble getting my weapon zeroed. Finally, A drill sergeant from my platoon by the name of Williams came by. The cadet got his attention and indicated there was a problem. The sergeant had me fire a few rounds, the cadet told me to rotate the sight post, and the whole thing came off the gun, apparently from turning it too much). The drill sergeant got angry and said, "Private XXXX, get out of that foxhole!" I did, and suffice it to say, I never got my weapon zeroed.

The problem was that I didn't understand the concept of a proper site picture. Rather than aiming at the center of the "o", I was aligning the site post with the top of the "o". This was on an M16A1 rifle. I never had another opportunity to zero so I had to learn what the site picture looked for my rifle by trial and error. I did well too: I qualified as sharpshooter.

Learn about My High School Graduation

What Graduation?

My high school graduation sucked, primarily because I was not there. The day of graduation I was shipping out to Fort Benning, Georgia via Newark, New Jersey. That was all right because my schooling largely amounted to pain. The pain I speak of is emotional pain. The pain that made me wish I were dead on more than one occasion.

A History of Rejection

Toddlers Workshop

There is something about me that caused me to be different. I remember I was pre-preschool age when my mother put me in some sort of classes at the YWCA downtown. The play area was set below street level and I remember one day looking up and seeing her watching me, right after I was bullied off the slide.

Nursery School

Later she put me in this nursery school at a church in Highland Park. I only remember two things about that: once we made these cool colored flowers. They were composed of a wire frame and then dipped in some sort of plastic that stretched across the frame. Mine had different colors and I liked it for years after I had made it. Another time, we drew leaves. Mine was different than everyone else's because my leaf had a smiling face on it. In short, I don't recall much of a problem in nursery school, but I was only three (I suppose).

Kindergarten

Kindergarten was at the same church but in a different section. I remember nap time. I also remember the teacher who, while teaching time would say, "Two thirty. My tank is thirty." That always puzzled me because I didn't think it made sense. I still don't think it made sense. That poor pathetic teacher probably ruined the lives of thousands of children throughout her ignorance-fueled career. The other kids didn't like me in kindergarten. I remember being laughed at, and one child tripped me, sending my head into the side of an opened door, punching a hole in my forehead. I didn't have any friends.

Still Rejected

That trend continues until this day. I have no friends. I desperately want a friend, but there is some sort of problem. I don't know what it is either. We started going to church again a couple years ago, and I fully intended to make some friends, but the story is the same: no one like me. No one cares about me. I feel like if I had just one friend, my life would be so much better.

Right now I'm not going to finish going through all my experiences at school. Suffice it to say that at graduation time I had no friends. The only thing I ever liked was the Jr. ROTC, and my future sucked because I had caved in to my mother's demands that I go to Bob Jones University. I had nothing to look forward to. The recruiter picked me up at the house in the morning and took me to Newark. My parents could have taken me there, but they didn't. The only extent to which my mother cared was that I was headed to Bob Jones University where my life would be further scarred and ruined.

Why I went to Bob Jones University

First Things First

I just sat down to write about my life. The first thing that came to mind is my experience at Bob Jones University. I am not going to write about all that happened there right now, but I will tell you why I went to college there. You will see that this, like most things in my life, is more complicated than it seems... or maybe it just seems more complicated to me.

A Wretched Mother in Proper Perspective

Intolerance Rejected

You haven't met my mother yet. If I had to tell you about her fifteen or twenty years ago, I would have told you that she was evil. Now that I've lived and experienced the forces of life, I would have to say that she probably was basically a good person who had "issues." I say that because I have met a lot of people. I have read about a lot of people. I have even met myself a time or two. No matter how bad a person is, I can see how life has affected them and helped form them into what they have become. Such empathy, understanding, and tolerance came to me late in life: probably too late. For a long time I resembled my mother in that manner, but I digress.

My Mother's Background

My mother. What happened to her to make her the way she was? Her mother seemed to be nice (but mark it down, she was more like my mother than I realized). I never met her father because he died before I was born. She grew up in a small town outside of Philadelphia and had an older brother and a younger sister: both of whom she seemed to legitimately hate, except when they were around (which wasn't often). I don't now much about her youth, but I do know that she encountered religion at some point and became involved with a local "christian" youth organization and eventually with a small independent Baptist church in the area. She graduated from Wheaton College in Illinois, and it was there that I think she became exposed to Bob Jones University.

My Mother and Bob Jones University

She pretty much held Wheaton in disdain. She spoke a time or two about how Bob Jones students would come up there (God knows why) and talk about how strict it was compared to the goings on at Wheaton. I don't know if the strictness is what caused her to idealize Bob Jones, but something did. Perhaps it was her step sister (her mother remarried a widower who had two daughters). One of them seemed to have permanent mental issues (perhaps they stemmed from her mother's untimely death) and another that somehow ended up attending college at Bob Jones University. There may have been other influences that pushed her into idolizing the college, but I don't know what they might be. At some point, however, it became clear that she was obsessed with the place and she made up her mind that her sons would go to college there.

My Mother's Lies in Print

My mother received the Bob Jones magazine, Faith for the Family, and even wrote a piece that was published in it (the article misrepresented life in our family, but who cares?).

My Mother's Peaceful Vacation

I remember we traveled to South Carolina and spent a week at Bob Jones for their "Peaceful Summer Vacation". I remember how awful that was. We stayed in the dormitories, ate meals at the dining hall. In between those exciting events, my father wanted to shoot archery, which we did in the rain, and we attended countless special lectures. One was by Dr. Frank Garlock who was ranting about playing records backwards (I wonder if they've tried that with CDs?) and Bob Jones III who ranted about students who kept breaking "Skoo Roos" and had their tails booted out of the place. My mother ate it up.

My Mother's Art Gallery

During that awful week at Bob Jones University, my mother purchased a number of replica prints of the art in their gallery. When we got home, she framed them and had my father hang them up in the stairway at home. She also got a book that talked of this history of Bob Jones and ranted about that to my father for weeks if not months. I forget how old I was then, but I didn't want to go to Bob Jones University, but my mother made up her mind that I was.

Shut Up!

I remember one time when we were at her mother's house that she was going on and on, telling her about how great Bob Jones University is. I kept saying under my breath things like "that's wretched," and "that's a waste." my mother finally made me shut up. Anyone with any sense should have been able to foretell from that point that the Bob Jones University ordeal would end up disastrous: it did.

My Brother

I'll talk more about my brother later, but for now let's just say he was a bad example. First, he didn't want to go to Bob Jones either. I had so hoped that he would stand up to her and say he wasn't going, but he caved under the pressure. The rationale my mother had was that he could go to another college, but he'd have to pay for it himself. seeing that he never worked at all (so had no money), he felt as though he had no option for college. My mother decided that he should join the Army Reserve under a "Split Option" for training. This allowed him to go to basic training at Fort Dix in the summer after high school graduation, and then go to AIT in the summer following his freshman year. My mother had no interest in going to his graduation from either training, but she was interested in going to Bob Jones University every year for Thanksgiving. How horrible that was! Before that, I remember going down there myself on a plane ticket I bought... was that over Thanksgiving? I don't recall, but I think it was.

My first huge mistake

In high school, I had excelled in the Air Force Junior ROTC program. As a result, I was offered the unit's ROTC scholarship to college. Of course, my mother wouldn't have anything of that. It was Bob Jones University or nothing as far as she was concerned. She ranted about how alcohol, drugs, and promiscuity were all over college campuses and that I had to go to Bob Jones University and meet a "sweet Christian girl to marry." That was the only vision she seemed to ever have for either one of us. The sweet Christian girl never materialized for my brother, and I had "issues" that caused her not to materialize for me either (at least not at Bob Jones University).

I Lost by Trying to Please

I succumbed to my mother's pressure and I did the same split option thing with the Army Reserve. I went to infantry school and - although it was incredibly difficult - I enjoyed it more than most things I've done since then. I was young. I was afraid to lose my parents because they were all I had (them and my brother). I wish I had the foresight at the time to see that I would lose them anyway. I should have told my mother "screw you," took the scholarship, and had a great life. I didn't, and that was my first major mistake.