My Son, a Marine?

"Why the Marines, Travis?" My mind was racing, and alarms were sounding, preparing me for combat. Anything but the Marines. I've seen the news - I know what can happen.

At the age of barely seventeen, Travis approached me and Mark, his dad, about joining the Marines through the Delayed Entry Program. It was a program where he would keep in weekly contact with recruiters, and have frequent meetings so they could prepare him both physically and mentally for service in the Marines. Travis would leave for Boot Camp after high school graduation and just three days after his eighteenth birthday. I thought this may be fine for some, but not for my son.

To me the Marine Corp stood for things like, the most rigorous boot camp out there, the first ones in to battle, war and death - these things scared me. Freedom? Yes, they stood for that too, but this was my son we were talking about.

"I like what they stand for," Travis said, to him they stood for honor, courage, and commitment. "and I like the idea of being the first in." The first in? I didn't want him "in" at all. His dad and I agreed - No, definitely not the Marines - not yet. He could wait until he was eighteen, and that was final... or so we thought. The battle had just begun.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, still he persisted. The onslaught came daily. "This is what I want. Come on, I'm not a baby." My heart said different. An image of him from years before flashed through my mind. At the store, close by my side, he was uncertain about going two aisles over to grab a carton of milk. His big eyes saying "Stay right here Mom, don't leave me." Now, my eyes and heart were the ones
pleading.

The battle raged; recruiters called; Travis begged. Each night he came at us from a different angle, his arsenal fierce, and always ready. Mark and I held our ground, for a while at least.

Travis was determined to join and we knew that he would, in a mere ten months, as soon as he turned eighteen. Were we wrong to make him wait? Were we hurting him by not letting the recruiters work with him and prepare him for these ten months? Would he suffer because of our decision? Doubts began to build, and our wall began to crumble.

"Talk to recruiters from every branch," Mark told Travis one night, after a fierce skirmish. "Find out your options, then we'll talk." I had a sinking feeling the battle had been determined, and I was on the losing side.

We all talked to recruiters. Mark and I pushed for the Air Force, to me, it felt more safe, but neither recruiter nor parent could persuade him differently. Travis stood firm, his mind and heart set on the Marines.

The Marine recruiters, Staff Sgt. Marks and Sgt. Vela, came to our house on July 26th with papers to sign, a lot for Travis, and one for me and Mark. These were two guys
I had tried really hard not to like. They were, after all, the enemy. But, to my utmost disgust, I found them both pleasant and very likable. Another battle lost.

"Is this where I sign my son's life away?" I asked Sgt. Vela, the defeat in my voice apparent.

"No," he said gently. "This is where you give him the ability to make a man's decision."

And he did. On July 27, 2005 he was sworn in. "I, Travis, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all
enemies..."

Watching him standing so tall, and so proud, listening to the oath he was taking, and knowing what a grueling two days he had just been through with the intake process, I was struck with a sudden awareness that he knew exactly what he was doing. He understood that he was laying aside all comforts and all that he knew - his family, his friends, his home, and if necessary, even his life - for his country.

"...I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.''

In that moment, I realized this was precisely what we had been fighting for all along, for seventeen years, this had been our goal. Our battle had been for him to grow into a mature young man who was willing and able to make decisions, to set goals, and to take on responsibility. Here he was, doing just that.

That day, I too joined the ranks of an elite group; the few, the proud, the mother of a Marine. Well, he's almost a Marine.