I'm sitting on my bunk at Ft. Sam Houston (San Antonio) Texas. Someone has to stay with the handful of trainees who couldn't go home. I was broke anyway so I volunteered. Picture it. Acting Sgt. Ochs and two dozen Alaskan National Guardsmen (most of whom speak little English and I speak no Inuit) rattling around a 50's era barracks designed for four times that number.
The Post Commander has decided that playing Christmas music will boost morale. From Reveille to Taps non-stop Christmas carols and an occasional Christmas novelty song blare from the speakers all around the post. Hey! I'm not a Christian but even if I were, this gets irritating mighty quickly.
But, no sweat, I've got a plan for tomorrow. After supper, I kindly offer (through an interpreter) to teach the guys how to shoot craps. I keep the stakes under a buck but in a couple of hours I've got enough to go into San Antone tomorrow.
It's almost time for lights out so I head back to my room. Sgt.'s, even just acting jacks, get a room. The troops get the large bay. The last Christmas song of the night begins. Mario Lanza sings "O, Holy Night". My Mother is a French/Cree/Iroquois Catholic who loves Lanza and it's her favorite carol. As the last note fades away, the first note of Taps is sounding. I'm so glad my door is closed. I don't want anyone to see me cry.
{It's been a year since I posted. I'll try to do better in 2014.}
