Was Marine Corps bootcamp like summer camp?
My recruiter showed up to Parris Island, South Carolina to see me during second phase of recruit training, and he told my Senior Drill Instructor that I thought recruit training would be like summer camp. My Senior Drill Instructor called me into his hut, “Come here, Brdecka.”
And the recruits parroted, “Recruit Brdecka report to the Senior Drill Instructor hut.” My senior drill instructor asked me if boot camp was like summer camp, and I said—yes sir—and then I think I listed a bunch of smart ass comments like Eugene Jerome from the Biloxi Blues about summer camp, bunks, farts, bugs, and the chow hall.
I remember the Third Battalion Chow Hall like I remember the Camp St George and Camp St Mary chow-halls. The Camp St George’s chow hall doors looked homemade with thirty year seasoned wood, knife cut screens, rusty hinges, and slinky springs, and the camp doors would slam shut and bounce and slam shut again and bounce until it stopped.
WACKA——WACKA—WACKA-WACKA-WACK!
Meanwhile at bootcamp I slammed other recruits against the door or glass window on my way into the chow hall, because we had timed eating, and I filled all my plates THICK, and I ate fast, so I ate a lot more than the other recruits. After my recruiter left, and I joined the other recruits carrying our mattresses into the shower, that’s a different story for a different story, but we ended up at the chow hall where and when my Senior Drill Instructor said to me, “Boy, I have never seen a recruit eat as much as you, but you’ve lost the most weight in the platoon, so eat, Brdecka.” There’s more to that story, but that’s a different story for a different story. There’s a reason why my Appalachian Trail hiker name is Sir Eats A Lot or S.E.A.L.
I don’t remember being starved as a kid, but the first seven years of my life were so much turmoil, I may have gone days without eating. I just remembered in the group homes you had to eat everything on your plate, but you could eat as much as you want, but you had to eat everything on your plate. I ate everything. I always raced towards second helping without stopping to breathe, and it took me a couple dates when I was a Marine before I noticed I’d finish sixteen ounce steaks, corn on the cob, and mashed potatoes quicker than my dates tasted half their meals and wine.
Even if we didn’t cook s'mores, we still camped outside at bootcamp, and even though we didn’t jump off diving boards, we got to play in the pool. We checked out and salivated like ravenous wolves over the female recruits from hundreds of yards away. Recruits even went to specific churches, because they were coed. I’m suppose to double tap that with a joke, but I’m trying to be a good Christian. Good thing we hadn’t shot on the rifle range yet, because I would have opened up my mouth about the Staff Sergeant DI I hit on like a teenager high school kids hitting on college aged lifeguards. Yes, I was twenty-two, so I may have been older than the drill instructor, I’m just making the summer camp juxtaposition.
If you thought bootcamp was hell, bootcamp was hell, but everything gets easier, because humans condition to their environment, which is why they always talked about acclimatization to the south’s heat, which really isn’t that hot, but never-ending. I had a blast at Marine Corps bootcamp like my Marine Corps career was a blast. Yes, a lot of bootcamp sucks like being a Marine was torture at times, but there is no physical, mental, or spiritual development or growth without pain. Pain is nothing but weakness leaving the body. Marines aren’t super human. We just don’t quit. EVER!