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Narrative Essay About Myself - Life in the Military

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Narrative Essay about myself

Life In The Military

"Hey private, grab your bags and get up those stairs!" "You have 1 minute to be off of my drill pad." Staff Sergeant Timothy Creamer was standing in front of us screaming at the top of his lungs. He was about 6'5 and 250 pounds. His low haircut was covered by this brown, wide brimmed hat that seemed to move when he spoke. His voice was the only sound I heard and it appeared to thunder as it seemed to echo off the walls of the narrow confinement. As the names were being read from the roster, young soldiers grabbed their belongings and headed toward the stairs. There were four stairwells and a sergeant waited at each one to verify names. The stairs led to bays were these young soldiers would spend the next 13 weeks for basic and advanced individual training.

The scene look chaotic as Drill Sergeants yelled at everyone and young soldiers scrambled around trying to carry four and five bags with only two hands. My heart began to race faster and faster as the letters of the alphabet appeared to zoom by. It seemed like mere seconds had passed and they were already yelling for names starting with the letter "S". "Private, why are you still standing there, didn't you hear your name called?" SSG Creamer growled at this frail and scrawny looking kid. Pvt. Matthew Smith just stood there with a blank stare on his face. It was as if the lights were on, but no one was home. "Pvt. Smith, get your stuff and follow me." Pvt. Smith stared and the massive sergeant that stood in front of him.

"Hey battle, I think we have a real live one over here!" Before the last syllable left his lips four other Drill Sergeants had converged on Pvt. Smith. Each one seemed more intimidating than the other as they screamed at him in unison. "Why are you eyeballing me private?" I heard one of them ask. "Do I look attractive to you or something?" He barked. "Do you have a desire to kiss me?" As I stood at the end of the line, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. After Pvt. Smith finished blowing snot bubbles and crying like a 3 year old to go home, I found out which Staff Sergeant I would be stuck with for the next three months. I had prayed that I wouldn't be assigned to the same bay as that cry baby and that I wasn' assigned to Drill Sergeant Creamer. I think one of God's angles put me on hold that day, because neither prayer was granted.

The first three weeks of basic training were scary, but as I look back, I realize I had a lot of fun. As time went on, Pvt. Smith and I became close friends and the Drill Sergeants became less like monsters and more like big brothers or cousins. Needless to say, I teased Smitty every chance I got about the moment he nearly wet his pants. While



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