August, 2019. Quantico, Virginia
Keith Monroe hadn't worn his uniform once since retiring from active duty almost five years to the day, but this was an occasion that called for it, so he'd gotten a regulation haircut and put on the uniform he'd worn for 30 years.
As he walked toward the reviewing stand by himself, he was saluted numerous times.
"Good afternoon, sir!" one Marine after the other said as they snapped a salute at the colonel they didn't know was no longer on active duty.
He returned each one of them and asked how the Marine or junior officer was doing knowing every answer would be, "Outstanding, sir!"
Perhaps if his wife, Beth, was still alive, it might be an even more enjoyable occasion than it was. But since her passing three years ago, nothing gave him any real joy anymore. He wasn't depressed, he just couldn't get excited about anything without the love of his life by his side.
But today, his son, Neil, was graduating from Officer's Candidate School, and the 57-year old retired Marine colonel felt pretty good. He felt even better when the commanding officer of OCS, an officer he'd know many years ago when he was a major and the younger colonel was a lieutenant.
"Colonel Monroe, it's good to see you," the younger officer said as he shook hands with the man who was now his peer in terms of rank.
"You, too, Dave," his former boss said.
"You've gotta be awfully proud, right, Dad?" Colonel David Duncan said, knowing the answer.
"I am. I just wish his mom could be here to see this."
"I, uh, I'm really sorry about Beth."
"Thanks. Me, too," the older man said.
"Come on. The parade won't start until I'm in place so we should probably get seated."
Keith Monroe understand completely, and as they moved toward the reviewing stand where he'd be joining the OCS commander as the graduating class passed in review in front of them, he recalled the many times he'd either been in a parade like this one or standing as the reviewing officer himself. The last time, of course, was at his retirement ceremony with Beth dutifully by his side looking as beautiful as he could ever remember.
Neil had been there, too, happy to take a day off of school to attend his father's retirement. He'd had no interest in the Marine Corps at that time, and his dad had never pushed him in any direction other than attending college. That wasn't optional. The only question had ever been 'where', and when Neil agreed to attend Western Washington University in Bellingham, Washington, his father's alma matter, the elder Monroe was secretly thrilled.
Neil was a sophomore in high school when the family relocated to the city where his parents had met and fallen in love when Keith was a junior in college. The lure of flying had attracted him to the military, and when Keith learned about a program called PLC which stood for Platoon Leader's Course, the Marine Corps had won his business.
The PLC program allowed those enrolled in it to attend class with no obligations whatsoever. No classes, no meetings, no uniforms, no haircut or grooming requirements. No nothing other than maintaining a minimum 2.0 GPA and attending a 10-week OCS stint in Quantico, Virginia, after one's junior year. The other option was attending a six-week course twice following one's freshman and junior years. Even then, those who successfully completed the course had no military obligations whatsoever, and could refuse a commission right up until the day they graduated from college without penalty.
The elder Monroe had flown CH-53 helicopters his entire career, less those years he was attending some professional school like Command and Staff College, also located in Quantico. In fact, it was 'just down the street' from OCS.
"Have you found your son yet?" Dave asked after being introduced as the reviewing officer and commanding officer of Officer Candidate's School.
Keith laughed as they looked out at the sea of green where nearly every graduating officer candidate looked the same.
"He's in third platoon," Dave said.
That was enough of a clue for Keith to find his son's platoon where a young captain was standing at attention in front of it as the parade got ready to start. As much as they all looked alike, Keith's still-20/20 eyes spotted his son in the second squad of third platoon, and the salty veteran of two wars briefly felt a lump in his throat.
"Got him," he said as a very young candidate marched out and called, "Sound, attention!"
Less than thirty minutes later, the roughly 250 graduating candidates marched passed the reviewing stand, executing a movement known as 'eyes, right' as they did.
Keith stood next to Dave, and returned the salute of each passing platoon, until the emcee told everyone that was the end of the ceremony and that family and friends were now free to find their loved ones.
Rather than walk toward Neil and end up having to salute a hundred candidates, Keith waited knowing his son had already seen him. He had another unusual emotion. Keith felt a knot in his stomach as his son ran toward him, stopped, saluted smartly, and said, "GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR!" as he tried not to smile.
His father returned the salute, then grabbed his son and hugged him.
"You look good, son," he told his boy as he held him close for a few extra seconds.
"You, too, Colonel," his said, now better able to appreciate the silver eagles on his father's collar.
"Your mom would be really proud of you, you know," he told Neil. "And so am I."
"Thanks, Dad. Come on. I want to introduce you to a couple of my friends."
One of them was a prior-enlisted Marine who'd been a staff sergeant who'd served two tours in Afghanistan. Keith asked him how his son had done, and the former Marine answered him honestly.
"Sir, he didn't know his ass from his elbow when we got here, but I'd be honored to serve alongside him anywhere in the Corps now."
Unlike Neil, who wanted to fly, this young man wanted to be an infantry officer more than anything else on earth. Keith wished him luck, then returned a second salute before asking his son what was next.
"I change out of this monkey suit into some civvies, and we fly home," Neil told him.
Two weeks later, Neil Monroe was back at school for his first day of class just like nothing had happened that summer. Well, other than the white sidewalls on his head that were nearly already covered with dark hair.
"How was your first day of class?" his father asked when his 21-year old got home that afternoon.
"Fine, Dad. How about you?"
His father had no interest in working, and as much as his son wished he'd find something to fill his days, the older man instead he enjoyed staying home and hanging out with the dog.
"Good. Things were...good," his father said the way he always did no matter how things actually were. "So, what? Nine months and counting, right?"
Neil laughed and said that was pretty close, as graduation—and commissioning—were now just a tad under nine months away. He was a liberal arts major, and had breezed through his first three years, maintaining a 3.72 GPA while working about 20 hours a week at a miniature golf course in town.
It was the only mini-golf course in Bellingham, and in spite of the often-cold, often-rainy weather, it managed to turn a profit year after year. Neil didn't know exactly how much the owner made, but the man who ran it had dropped a few hints here and there. The only thing he did know was that he was grateful to have a steady, part-time job.
It wasn't like he needed the money. His dad had a ton of it, and rarely spent a dime. That wasn't exactly true, as he'd recently dropped over $50,000 on a new Jeep Cherokee with all the bells and whistles, but he typically spent less than $50 a month on himself.
So the issue wasn't money, it was more an opportunity to get out of the house where his father left the television on all day long as a way of keeping him company. It drove Neil crazy, so any opportunity to have some time away from the quiet madness was a blessing.
"So, you workin' at the golf course tonight?" he asked Neil, more rhetorically than anything else.
"Oh, yeah. Just like old times," his son said. "Can I get you anything before I head out, Dad?"
"That's a pretty sweet gig," his dad reminded him without answering his son's question. "Getting paid to sit in a warm booth passing out putters every now and then while studying the rest of the time."
"Ha! Why do you think I've stuck with it all this time?" his son asked almost as rhetorically. "It's not like I'm getting rich on minimum wage. Oh, that reminds me, I'm makin' the big bucks this year. Yep, I'll be pullin' down a cool $8.50 an hour."
