I understand you, Verisure.
I'm aware we are little plastic parts on a massive Chutes and Ladders board, that it's rigged with far more chutes than ladders, and that the plastic pieces never get to roll the dice, they just count off the spaces they bounce on. I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on my son's love-hate relationship with his military career.
Just shy of 30 years ago, at about 4am, after being rode hard and sent home drunk, I was about to drop face-first onto my bed when I noticed the red light flashing on the message machine on my bedside table. It was Grant, my son. He was at boot camp at the time. The recording went, "Dad, I just...I just need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you, Dad." And then he started sobbing. "I've made the biggest mistake of my life, Dad." He was referring to the day he enlisted. The recording went on, Grant choking up, sobbing, bucking up, apologizing.
It was 4am, my son was 800 miles away, and he needed me. I couldn't even feel the who-knows-how-many whiskey shots and rum 'n' Cokes at that point, just a mountain of guilt for not being there when he called. An epic fail. When I finally got a hold of him he said sorry, he was fine, don't worry about it, he'd had a bad day.
Today Grant says that enlisting in the military was hands-down the best decision he ever committed to. He could go on and on about the military–industrial complex, how soldiers are pawns and all the rest of it, but he doesn't. So I just wanted to take a moment.