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Health & Fitness

What's All the Fuss About I-Day?

I'm Ms. Lexa, and my oldest son is a Marine Corps officer. He got there through the Naval Academy. Today is I-day 2011, let's see what it was like 6 years ago.

Today is I-day. What is an I-day? I-day stands for Induction Day; 1,200 young men and women arriving in Annapolis at various times and from various places around the globe to be inducted into the Naval Academy. I can still remember my pacifist mother (and I) having a tremendous amount of trouble with the word "induction" with regards to her grandson. 

My son was 2 years old when he met his cousin Tommy who was, at the time, an Air Force ROTC student at the College of William and Mary. Tommy was going to fly planes. Tommy got to wear a spiffy uniform. 

He was just 2 years old, and he fell in love. He never fell out, with the military that is. In eighth grade, while other kids were getting 'cutest couple' and 'most likely to become president' awards bestowed upon them by their classmates and teachers, his science teacher gave him an award unanimously bestowed on him by his teachers, of "most likely to become a military leader".

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I was flabbergasted, he was an artist. He loved the outdoors and was good at anything he did with his hands, but in the military? MY son?

Yes, my son. He attended Parkville High instead of Eastern Tech because Parkville had a Marine Corps JROTC program, and he knew that was what he wanted to do.  He joined the JROTC in his freshman year, convinced that he could do the magnet program and JROTC all four years and still get in the required gym class. He won numerous awards within JROTC, and also from the American Legion as well as the VFW. He was a boy scout who stopped this short of Eagle Scout (needed one badge and his Eagle Project).

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He was sent to Boys' State and was accepted to the United States Naval Academy Summer Seminar during the summer of his junior year of high school. As my husband and I approached the hall where the ending ceremony of summer seminar was held, we looked at each other and at the same time, we admonished each other to remember that while he was always winning awards in high school, this was a place where he was amongst 625 kids who were of equal caliber and he wouldn't win any awards that day.  He left with an award for being the most outstanding member of the group. 

Later on that year, he became the 11th member of the Naval Academy's Class of 2009 to be accepted. When he called his Blue and Gold Officer to thank her for her role in his acceptance, she told him that his letter was probably just a thank you letter for applying. She had to come over, see for herself, make a copy of it and take it back to Annapolis to prove it to herself. 

Jump ahead to June 2005. High School Graduation on June 2, summer vacation for 26 days, then I-day! He brought with him the clothes that he wore, his watch on his wrist, his cell phone fully charged, and his backpack with 6 pairs of white socks, 6 pair of underwear, and a calculator. He and his entourage arrived at the Naval Academy (hereafter called "the Yard") at 7:45 a.m. for an 8:30 a.m. sign-in, and we, his entourage, waited with him.

We took the shuttle bus from the Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium through Gate 8 and into the Yard, stopped and stared for a while at all the midshipmen milling around, and all the tents going up from various groups offering support, water, or other things, stopped at Dahlgren Hall for some food (he didn't eat before we left), and marvelled at all the moms and kids with tears in their eyes.

Then we lined up with him. His mom, his grandparents, his step-father, his brother, his best friend in the whole world, all outside the hall with the glass windows, tinted, so as to tease us — we could only really see shadows once we got to them, they weren't really clear enough to see what was going on.

We hugged him goodbye, and he stood in line. All alone with just his backpack.  He and his friend shared a quick grin, and then he was inside the doors at precisely 8:30 (they don't recommend going in earlier than your appointment time!).

Then he was gone. For the entire summer. 

For the record, of the clothes on his back, his watch, the running shoes that he wore, the 6 pair of socks, 6 pair of underwear, his phone, and his calculator, they left him only his running shoes.

The rest of the stuff they took from him as they replaced it. His shirt for a summer whiteworks Plebe uniform shirt. His shorts for summer whiteworks pants and an upsidedown belt buckle. His socks for knee high white socks. His hair was cut and a dixie cup was chosen for his head. His watch, calculator, phone, and clothes were all placed in a bag that grew heavier as the day wore on and more items were placed into it for him to carry throughout the day. He didn't get his phone back until sometime in late July when it was time to call parents for a 2-minute phone call. He didn't get his watch back until Plebe Summer ended. 

Throughout the day, my parents, his best friend, my husband and I toured the Yard, sat in various places on campus where they had live-streaming video of incoming Plebes getting their hair cut; drank as much cold water as possible as it was a scorcher, and learned about the life my son was going to lead over the next four years.

We attended a "Parents and Family Brief" where the Commandant of Midshipmen and the Superintendant of the Naval Academy spoke to us about how special our kids were but how nonetheless one in ten of them would drop out before graduation. About how if they wanted to follow this thing through to completion, the Academy was going to be there and do all it could, but that despite all of that, all of our kids wouldn't make it through. They showed us videos of things that the kids went through during Plebe Summer, and talked to us about the high caliber of professors on campus. It was air-conditioned in that hall, that's mostly what I remember about that particular brief. 

As we wandered the Yard, we watched as young kids dressed alike, all looking fairly exhausted; drilled, shouted, lifted heavy bags, got hair cuts, drilled some more, ran laps, and got off and on white busses. Each time, we'd crane our necks look over other heads and 'spot' my son: "There he is . . . look.  Right over there. . . no, that's not him." 

We looked to his best friend who was over 6 feet tall to scan the crowds for my 5"7' son.  "There he is Ms. Lexa. . .nope, not him. . . oh wait, there he is right there. . . nope not that one either!"  Finally, during our lunch of pizza in Dahlgren Hall, I happened to look up at the monitor across the room and I spotted my son's legs. "Look!  There he is!!! There are his legs!  Look up and you'll see his face!!"  Sure enough, we spotted him once on camera. He is a distance runner and his calves were very well defined, they hadn't issued him his long pants yet, and we could see him as he got fitted for a white pair of New Balance running shoes for the summer! It made my day. 

At 6:00, there was a swearing in ceremony, followed by his own personal swearing in by one of his JROTC instructors from high school, and then supposedly 30 minutes of precious time with him before he was going to be gone again. We didn't see him until we met down below Memorial Hall, where the individual swearing ins were being held. He looked tired, but good. Other kids had a definite 'deer in the headlights' look, but he looked good. Just exhausted and hot. I offered him some Gatorade, but he refused because he didn't want to spill any on his uniform and get yelled at.

He spent about 15 minutes with us, but couldn't see where his company was lining up for the parade to leave and go to their rooms to begin putting their things away, and get their rooms in order. So, he got up to look for them, and never came back. No goodbyes for us, no chance for the weepies!

Even though his grandfather found him, already lined up about 3 minutes before they were due to report, he wouldn't leave formation to say his goodbyes to his mother, and the rest of his family. He was afraid that if he did, he'd be late getting back, and that would result in being dressed down. His intent was to fly below the radar. My son had just gone from being a JROTC Marine Corps Cadet Captain to being a Plebe in Plebe Summer, he knew the drill. He was so tired, he seemed to be asleep standing up.But no one was going to yell at him for being late for formation!

The skies opened up and rain poured down together with crashing thunder, and lightning that seemed to crack open the sky as we walked back to the bus stop to go back to our cars.

I turned to his best friend and asked him what he thought of the day, and if he wished he too, had applied to the Academy.  "No way." he said, "That's not for me. Your boy, though, he's happy. This is where he belongs."

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