Then the Marines had to have their own cammies, because optics and whatnot. Okay, say we get into a war with China or something, then those might be useful. Hopefully we never find out. The real beef with the uniforms is that they led to every service getting their own uniform, and the Air Force ended up in these:.
Way to represent the Air Force, Chuck. Air Force Photo by Staff Sgt. Tia Schroeder. We hear you. Marine Corps facilities are garbage compared to the Air Force. The truth is that most facilities are garbage compared to the Air Force, even civilian facilities are garbage compared to the Air Force. But Marines should be complaining to the Navy about facilities.
Look at him. Armed Forces. They shit on us for being fat. Must be nice. My heart goes out to you. It really does. Average Joes are just slightly more geared than Marines. If you really want fix the problem, take it up with the Navy. It sucks being the first ones anywhere, and soldiers sympathize.
We may change our dress uniforms every year, but Marines just found an awesome design and stuck with it. Navy SEAL candidates go through some of the hardest military training known to man before earning their beloved Trident.
It felt like a home, a place to rally together and stand for something — and against something. The Corps called it brotherhood.
Our senior Marines joked about raping Iraqi women, so we did too. They called Iraqi children terrorists in training, and meant it. So we did too. I developed ethnocentric thoughts that I shared without shame. But by then I was no longer a quiet, lost, empathetic kid who partied a little too hard and struggled with self-harm but still liked to read Stephen King and Star Wars novels and draw.
I was bloodthirsty. I wanted to kill. We knew the outside world would never be able to see that truth. When we raided homes in the middle of the night during our first deployment to Iraq and shoved our rifle stocks into the soft guts of men, doubling them over, we knew in our hearts they were not farmers caught in the crosshairs of a geopolitical struggle, but Al-Qaeda operatives.
When we watched American interrogators backhand the faces of restrained detainees over and over, we felt nothing but validation. We knew what it took to be real men. My reintegration did not go smoothly. I fought civilians in bars. After earning myself a DUI, I woke up in a solitary confinement cell and stared at my reflection in a tiny shatterproof window. I felt like I was continuing on with how the Marines had taught me to be a person and a man, but for the first time it felt wrong.
When I got to college I still played the role of the tired, damaged veteran, who was disgusted by civilian frivolity and ignorance, ready to hold my experience over others. And as I was presented with other worldviews, that brittle tower of masculinity I built in the infantry crumbled with me under it. I felt angry and depressed and alone. I had to relearn how to be a human again. My girlfriend — now my wife — taught me how.
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