�Real men don�t use those sissy things, real men walk in the rain, real men get wet, only sissies and ladies use umbrellas. Maybe the Army, but real Marines do not use umbrellas!� That was the indoctrination we received down at Parris Island, South Carolina as we stood heel-to-toe in a pouring down rain, holding our stuff in our hands, as poncho-clad Drill Instructors paraded up and down beside us. Being a four-eyed one, my glasses were running rivulets, and of course I could not see. �If you were supposed to be a Marine, you would have good vision, vision so you could aim that rifle and shoot that gook from five hundred yards. Real Marines do not wear glasses, but we will have to kill you or make a man out of you since some fool allowed you to join our Corps,� was the next line.

And so I was introduced to the United States Marine Corps at Parris Island, South Carolina. It was January, January the 13th, and I began to think it was a big practical joke, a joke until the man next to me was doubled over by a blow to the gut for breaking wind. Yes, I was in the Corps, in the Corps, and by golly I had better quickly learn to be a "lean mean fighting machine", or go AWOL, hit the swamps a-running, and hope either I got away or the gators ate me. For God used to have my soul, but MSGT Josiah J. Abernathy, USMC had my ass, and I would become a statistic or a credit to the Corp.

Thirteen weeks later, when I left that place, that well, not too bad a place, I had a little swagger, I had two medals for shooting on my chest, and the stripe of Private First Class USMC on my arms. I had made it, �Not bad for a fat assed, four-eyed momma�s boy, Smith, not bad, and you ignorant hill people can shoot,� was the compliment I received as I got on the bus, on the bus out of here and to my new duty assignment, which was Advanced Infantry training at Camp Pendleton.