My Journey

Author's note: The following is as accurate account as can be expected under the circumstances, as any reasonable reader can imagine. Names and dates are presented exactly as remembered. "Who the hell is 31?" It was either Day One, or Stardate 310762.2 of boot camp and my first Recruit Division Commander (RDC) Chief looked up from a sheet of paper, presumably a list of everyone who was supposed to be there. I raised my hand, and for the rest of time (or until Memorial Day wee

I began kindergarten in a small church school that used the Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) program. In 1986, this meant working through PACEs—Packets of Accelerated Christian Education—while sitting in a cubicle facing the wall, my back to the center of the room. To get the attention of the supervising adults, we raised small flags: one American, one Christian. I don’t remember which meant what. Within a month, I was moved into the main classroom. My reading, writing,

Was I looking for travel? Longing for adventure? Hoping to continue a legacy? Nope. I joined the Navy because I was broke, divorced, living with my parents—and inching toward 30 with a résumé full of odd jobs and a master’s degree I couldn’t afford. This isn’t the beginning or the end. Just the part I feel like telling today.