DISCLAIMER: This is quite long. This is more for me to look back on in the future rather than for a grade. I had a lot to write about :)
On December 17th I, along with my mom, dad, vovo, and my brother’s girlfriend Jill, made our merry way to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri in order to see my brother Adachi graduate from Army basic training. Adachi joined the military for a number of reasons: payment for college, pride in the nation, and fulfilling a family legacy. A family legacy that will ultimately end with my brother, no matter how much my parents try to convince me that Air Force basic training “really isn’t that bad.” My mother served 6 years in the US Army. My father, as of December 2018, is a veteran after 27 years of service in the US Army, so Adachi began his career as my father ended his (which spontaneously brought my mother to tears the night she realized this)
It was equally educational as it was entertaining to hear my brother and my dad exchange stories about their own basic training, both completing and graduating on the exact same base. My brother spoke about every thinkable hardship a person could face. One of the most horrific tasks of basic training that I am now familiar with is the gas chamber. The privates are put in a gas chamber, told to put their gas masks on as tear gas is released, take it off while in the chamber, put the mask over their head, and walk around in a circle. He described the event as if it was just any other day, but the pictures that were released later show privates with red faces, fluids coming out of every hole on their face. They also exchanged stories about this training called “the forge” which is the name given to the final “FTX” or Fitness Training Exercise. One of the more significant exercises within “the forge” is a ruck (or march) with the privates wearing upwards of 50 pounds of clothes and equipment on their back. The ruck is broken up into 4 days. Adachi told me he has bald patches on his legs from the amount of friction sustained between his legs and whatever he kept in the pockets of his pants.
My dad spoke about the significant differences between his time in basic compared to my brother’s. For instance, neither my mom’s family nor my dad’s were able to make it to their graduations due to lack of funds. After discovering this, I realized it was really a privilege that I was able to go despite originally feeling like it was a chore. My parents were financially stable enough to take the time off and put the money aside to see their son graduate from a service they had all joined, something their parents were unable to do for them. Another discrepancy was the amount of letters Adachi received compared to my dad. My dad told us about how he was waiting for a letter from his family in Guam for the first month of training. As names were called out one by one for mail, he would wait eagerly for his and was disheartened a little every week when he had no mail. Finally on his fourth week he received a single letter from his mom all the way from his home-island of Guam, over 7,000 miles away. He felt like a child on Christmas morning when he got that letter. A small token of hope he could carry for the next 6 weeks of basic training.
With this ongoing theme of the disparities in their basic training experiences, I highly doubt Adachi could have named everyone who sent him a letter. The poor kid was drowning in letters from everyone he has ever known likely due to my mother’s pride in her new soldier, which was all her facebook friends heard about. He received letters from me (most importantly:), both of our parents, his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s family, aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends, parents of my friends, old teachers, my parents’ coworkers. One of his first letters back was addressed to everyone saying “Thank you all for the letters. I have gotten so many and don’t have time to read them, but I will respond when I can.” and in that same letter, “...and Myra, I cannot stress this enough: DO NOT SEND A GLITTER BOMB!” because in my letter to him I *JOKINGLY* said he should keep his eye out for a glitter bomb, but I guess basic-training-Adachi could not take the joke, could not afford to get in trouble, and could not stand the sight of glitter all over his uniform. Needless to say, I felt pretty special that he called me out in that letter. I would also especially like to mention how our old elementary/middle school, St. James St. John, sent him a package of letters (I think from the middle schoolers), thanking him and praising him for his bravery. Some even said that they remembered Adachi from school and were so happy to hear the news and wished him the best of luck. My brother is not one for sentiment whatsoever, but I could tell that meant a lot to him from the way he talked about it. This whole letter-situation put me in a tough spot as a teenager of the 21st century who could not recall the last time she wrote and mailed a letter but has a vague idea of the practice thanks to To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. I was probably more anxious to write and send my letter than I was to receive a response from him. I considered what I would want Adachi to write in a letter to me if I were ever locked away from society for nine weeks. I decided to write about what was going on in my life, and at that time it consisted of the following: a first date, a schism in the friend group, academic stresses/struggles (although that was nothing new), and family updates (which was just to say that mom misses him). His absence in an already solitary house felt maddening, and that may be why I may have shared a little more than usual in my letters. Some of those probably would have gone left unsaid had he been living at home, but I figured he could have used some entertainment, even if it was the high school drama of his little sister.
It was honestly a selfish letter where very little focus was put on him and what he was doing, but I have younger-sibling-syndrome therefore my issues take precedent no matter how awful basic training was going, but he understood that (this is somewhat hyperbole; I was a little worried for him, but was I going to tell him that? Under no circumstance.) I was also well aware that all the letters he would get would be praising him, and over my dead body would I be praising my brother to his face (or in this case - in a letter). His response, coming two weeks later, was the exact response I would expect from him, which was comforting since I had a somewhat irrational fear that he would be this boring military guy after basic training. It was honestly exhilarating to get a letter back, much more exciting than any text or email I have ever or will ever receive. I reflect on this experience now with a new appreciation for writing letters, receiving letters, and embracing distance. The experience altogether brought me much closer with my family. I learned things about them that I had never thought to ask and heard stories that no one had ever told me, but I think the biggest takeaway from this experience is that I may actually know military time.