When I was going through basic training, they didn’t have these little timeout cards or stress cards in the Army that soldiers have now. But we did have a mechanism for stress relief. I don’t want you to think that we were left high and dry or in the middle of a vast lake in a leaky canoe with no paddle. It wasn’t like that. Pretty close, though. We could seek emotional support counseling from a chaplain if we had a valid reason. Let me give you an example. For example, assume hypothetically, that a soldier suffered some sort of trauma, whether physical or emotional, to the point where it impacted that soldier’s performance. The soldier could then seek emotional support counseling from the chaplain. I knew of a couple of specific instances in my basic training unit at Fort Lost in the Woods (Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri), where soldiers actually went to the chaplain for emotional support counseling. Since it worked so well for a couple of friends of mine, I thought I would give it a shot. One day just prior to range week, I received a letter from my mom. In that letter, my mom wrote that my older brother was dating my girlfriend. I already had a few axes to grind with my older brother for other issues. For starters, when I was 12, the bastard played like he was sick so I would have to do his chores. Then, while I was doing his chores, he stole my fireworks and started lighting them. When I caught him, I was going to beat his ass because I was bigger, and I could. I was also pretty mad. So, what do you think he did? He lit some gas on fire and threw it at me. Guess what? Gas burns and so do people. Yeah. You learn that quickly when you’re 12. Anyway, there I was reading that letter and saying, “That’s just one more nail, you bastard! One more nail. All of these damn nails, I’m driving into your coffin.” The first day of range week was zero day, so not much happened on the range. When we went to the practice range the next day, I tore up those damn targets. Every target I hit, I imagined it was my brother. Every time I shot the shit out of a target, I imagined I shot the shit out of my brother. My company commander walked up to me and saw my targets. Then, he said, “Damn private, that’s some mighty fine shooting. Have you had training?” I replied, “Oh no sir. I was just shooting the shit out of my brother.” “Excuse me?” “Yes sir. Like I said, those targets are my goddamn brother. And every time I shot those targets, I was shooting the shit out of my goddamn brother.” “Well, all right then.” And the company commander walked off. The following day was the first day of qualification fire. A perfect score would have been 36 targets hit out of 36 targets attempted. I hit 35. Can you guess why? Go figure. Those goddamn targets were the spitting image of my older brother. It was just like he was standing out there dancing around, popping his head up at various different ranges. And every time I shot his damn head off, that sonofabitch would stick it up again someplace else. I don’t know how in the hell my brother was moving around so damn fast. But you know what. I really didn’t give a shit. Every time he stuck his head up, I shot his ass off. I thought to myself, “Take that, you sonofabitch!” Bam! “Take that.” Bam! “And that.” Bam! When I walked off the line with my score, my company commander checked my record fire score and commented, “Wow! That is damn good shooting. We have a possible expert here. Keep up the good work. How do you shoot so well?” I replied, “Don’t you remember, Sir? I told you yesterday, the targets are my brother. I just imagine that I’m shooting the shit out of my brother. That’s all.” “You’re just shooting your brother?” “Yes, sir. Every time I see a target, I imagine that I’m shooting the shit out of my sorry ass brother. Cuz that sonofabitch deserves to be shot.” “Are you sure you’re alright?” “Oh, I’m fine.” The next day during part two of record fire, I shot 34 out of 36 and scored expert. Again, I just imagined it was my sorry ass brother that I was shooting the shit out of. When the commander asked how I could shoot so well I told him, “Well sir, it’s like I’ve been telling you, I just imagine it’s my sorry ass brother. That sonofabitch deserves to be shot. Then, I go out there and shoot the shit out of him. That’s it.” The commander just shook his head and walked over to talk to my drill sergeant. They talked for a little while and pointed at me every so often. I’m not really sure what they were saying. I really didn’t care. The next day, my drill sergeant told me he was sending me for emotional counseling. I thought, “Woo hoo! I’m in luck. My plan worked like a charm. I’m being sent for emotional counseling, although I wasn’t really sure what that was all about. They sent me to see this full bird colonel by the name of Colonel Janssen. I went in and reported to Colonel Janssen and he told me to relax. He asked me why I was there, and I told him. Over the course of the next two or three days I laid out the history between me and my brother. I don’t think he bought the bullshit about me needing emotional counseling though. Finally, he asked, “Must you always use so much profanity?” I responded, “Well, I don’t suppose I have to. But I was raised in the country around a bunch of boys and all of my relatives are a bunch of boys and every damn one of them swears. When you’re so used to swearing all of your life, it’s difficult to not swear. Do you know what I mean?” “Yes. I think I do. Tell me, are you afraid of heights?” “What in the hell does that have to do with my emotional stability or the price of tea in China for that matter?” “Nothing really. I just think you may have missed your calling.” “My calling?!?” “Are you afraid of heights?” “No. I think I could shoot just as well out of a tree as I could from the ground. And I can climb pretty good too.” “As I was saying, I think you missed your calling. You should have been a poll climber.” “Oh. A cable dog. I see where you’re going with this. Oh hell no. Ain’t no way in hell. Yeah, I’m not going to crawl around out on the battlefield stringing cable and getting my ass shot off.” “What did you call them?” “Cable dogs. Cuz that’s what they are. Cable dogs.” “Private Masters, you mentioned earlier that you used to babysit before you joined the Army.” “Yes sir. My mom had lots of friends, and when her and her friends would all go out, they would have me watch their kids.” “Is that something you enjoy?” “Well, here’s the thing, I used to watch TV until it went off the air. I mean, kids pretty much take care of themselves once they go to bed. Cuz they go to sleep. So, I would watch professional wrestling until it went off the air, and then I would watch horror films until the network would go off the air. Hopefully by then, the folks would be back because in my hometown the only place to get books was in the library. Sad but true.” “So, you like to read?” “Absolutely. I would sit for hours in the library and read reference books like encyclopedias and law books. You know, books that could actually teach you shit.” “I think you’ll like my books.” “What are you saying sir?” “Well, every so often, I need a babysitter. And every so often, you need a break from training. I don’t think that emotional support crap is going to work very long. But if I say you need counseling, they have to let you go. Do you follow me?” “Oh, yes sir. It looks like you got yourself a babysitter.” And that was how I shot my way out of another exercise in futility by way of an emotional support babysitting gig.
by 
by 