Thirty-nine years ago today, at about this time of the afternoon, I raised my right hand and along with several hundred other young men, swore my allegiance and essentially turned my body over the the U.S. Army for the next three years.
Hours earlier, I had parted company with my parents at the fence surrounding Fort Holabird. My father was weeping shamelessly, and my mom was doing her best to hold herself together. What happened during the intervening hurry-up-and-wait period has long since drifted from memory, other than the vague recollection of a couple of acquaintances struck up during the boredom.
My service to the military was neither valorous, meritorious, or in any way remotely auspicious. The best I can say of it is that when the Army decided to release me, six months earlier than my promised date, the discharge papers contained the word "honorable." The farthest from home my travels took me was Fayetteville, North Carolina, and for much of my hitch I was within driving distance of home.
I took away some valuable lessons from those thirty months, although a number of them took decades to sink in: