Waking up in pain

One morning in June this year (2006) I woke up very uncomfortable. Bad leftovers the day before? Good sex that night? Difficult to tell - abdominal discomfort can be hard to sort out. But I felt awful, and old.

I have lived in this town for about seven years and I drive past the National Guard Armory regularly. I'm one of those citizens who feels a sense of ownership of government property - after all, I'm paying for it. So I see the Hummvees parked out back and increasingly feel drawn to them.

The first step in making any decision is when weird ideas cross your mind and you tell yourself no, but they keep coming back. Many times now, I've looked at the ugly old building, the flags, the unit insignia on the sign, the equipment out back while driving my minivan around on minor domestic errands. I don't feel repelled by them. I don't feel alien/other thoughts about them. Increasingly I feel like they're mine, and I need to go claim them.

This is crazy!

I'm a full-time stay-at-home dad with three little kids, 6, 4 and 1 year old. I can barely get housework done. I've basically given up on my yard and on doing any carpentry for the next few years. How many times can I start a project then walk away from the tools to go deal with screaming or snacktime or crap-filled pants, only to find my rake or hammer or an uncleaned paintbrush rained on a week later when I get back to it? There is no way I could get away from my family long enough for military training. I can't write or even read around these people without getting interrupted repeatedly. I find it impossible to go out to the shop - I have to kick the limpets loose from my ankles on my way out the door. They own me, all of me, and all my time.

But the day I wake up feeling old, I decide to call the National Guard recruiter. I ask them to come to MY office, as bringing the screaming horde to his is inconvenient. I ask him to wear MY uniform, "civvies," since I'm just thinking about it and don't want difficult comments or questions from the larger limpets until I'm ready to discuss it with the wife. And I'm not ready - this is not her decision, it's mine. This is my life, I'm living it, I own it. I want to reclaim it.

I spent several years waiting desperately for the day to end, just sitting around and dying. I gained a bunch of weight when I stopped working, and lost it again by not eating breakfast, barely eating lunch, finally eating dinner. I felt awful with extra weight, but losing the weight was awful too. I was probably more cross and irrational with the kids than I would have been otherwise, and that felt awful too.

The recruiters show up in the afternoon, a specialist (e-4) and a staff-sergeant (e5). The sergeant's version of civvies involve a t-shirt with the word "ARMY" in 4 inch letters. Hardly subtle. We talk under the apple tree for a while. I have to give the baby a bottle of mom-milk. We try to fill out the paperwork. The baby barfs milk on my shirt. This version of the paperwork will eventually be thrown out, but we have to start somewhere.

Later, the specialist sends me some information by e-mail so I can start looking at what kind of job I might be eligible for. I'm color blind, so my options are quite limited. Cook, for example, is right out. Seems fair - military food is bad enough when made correctly. I Google everything to get descriptions.