November 10, 1776. The birth of the Marine Corps. Yes, I am so very thankful for this. It may sound odd as I was never a marine, never considered being a marine. But the United States Marine Corps has been awfully good to me and without the legend of Tuns Tavern and the men that drank there that November 10th, my little life would be very different indeed.
My love affair with the Corps began when my brother joined in 1978. My other brother followed in 1982. This blog isn't fact checked, but I think I have those dates right. But it wasn't until the summer of 1989 that I began to see my future with the USMC. I wasn't joining, just marrying into it. Just.
In November of 1989, Danny went to MCRD San Diego. He graduated boot camp on 9 February and I married him and by extension, the Corps, the very next day.
I will not even try to describe what being a Marine meant to and continues to mean to Danny. But being a marine's wife meant the world to me. And these feelings would have probably have been the same if Danny were in another branch, but having been the Marine Corps wife first, I will say that I don't think I could have been more proud of the branch Danny chose.
I got to live in Southern California. I got to drive on the I5. I got to navigate the military system. I learned how to live on my own. I learned to appreciate the mail man in ways I would never thought imaginable had we never chose this adventure. The Marine Corps gave me two daughters for around $50.00. I did most of the work, but they paid most of the bill.
The Marine Corps gave Danny and me the chance to move onto the US Army. And the Army gave me Germany and Jacob, who did not cost me anything.
The Marine Corps celebrates their birthday with a ball and cake and much pomp and pageantry. I have attended two balls, one while Danny was sitting in the desert of Saudi Arabia and the second one was two years later when Danny was sitting next to me.
Tonight I will go with Danny, not to a ball, but to a bar. Limey's off of Grand. We meet there every year and I generally bring the cake. After the formal cutting by the oldest and youngest marine present, it is sliced up and eaten in random bites by the drunk marines that walk by the table. They thank me for the cake and call me ma'am. They gather because they are thankful in different ways for what this branch has given them. I will hear the parts of a million different stories, all heavily peppered with swear words. The stories will not be about honorable causes or fights worth fighting. They will be about that one time that someone got drunk in France or Guam or Lejeune or Pendleton, a fight broke out, and the MP's showed up or all hell broke loose etc. There will be marines that fought in WWII and marines home on their first leave after boot camp.
Most of these guys are all out now, some did their four year tour and got out, returned to civilian life and went from there. Some stayed longer, some retired. Some are battle tested and some, well, some are full of shit. But they all have a few things in common, they all know how to adapt and overcome, they all know that Ronald Reagan was right and they all know that once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi and thanks for letting me come to the party.
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