As Valentine's Day approached, I tried to think of an unusual gift for my husband. When I discovered that his favorite red-plaid pants had a broken zipper, I thought I had the "perfect Valentine." I had the pants repaired, and gift-wrapped them. On the package I put a huge red heart on which I printed: "My Heart Pants for You." I was the surprised one, however, when I saw the same heart taped to our formerly empty, but now overflowing, wood box. On it he had written: "Wood You Be My Valentine?"
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My dad and uncles were all in the Army during wartime, but only two of the three served overseas. One day, at an event honoring veterans, a young man asked where they had been stationed. “I served in Japan,” said Uncle Sid. “I served in Korea,” said Uncle Jerry. “Baltimore,” said Dad. “Keeping it safe for democracy.” —Lori Shandle-Fox
Aboard a troop carrier crossing the Atlantic, I noticed a seasick pal of mine losing it over the railing alongside several other soldiers. “I never knew you had such a weak stomach,” I said. “It’s not weak,” he replied. “I’m throwing up just as far as the rest of these guys.”
Anyone wanting to take pictures on our base’s airfield needs a letter from public affairs, which happens to be me. One day, while out snapping photos, I was stopped by the military police, who asked for my letter from public affairs. “But I am public affairs,” I said. “Without a letter from public affairs, we’ll have to take your camera.” I did the only thing I could do: I pulled a notepad and pen from my bag and wrote a letter giving myself permission to take photos. The MPs read the letter, saluted, and left. —Joe Macri
My dad and uncles were all in the Army during wartime, but only two of the three served overseas. One day, at an event honoring veterans, a young man asked where they had been stationed. “I served in Japan,” said Uncle Sid. “I served in Korea,” said Uncle Jerry. “Baltimore,” said Dad. “Keeping it safe for democracy.” —Lori Shandle-Fox
Aboard a troop carrier crossing the Atlantic, I noticed a seasick pal of mine losing it over the railing alongside several other soldiers. “I never knew you had such a weak stomach,” I said. “It’s not weak,” he replied. “I’m throwing up just as far as the rest of these guys.” —George Mahathy
Anyone wanting to take pictures on our base’s airfield needs a letter from public affairs, which happens to be me. One day, while out snapping photos, I was stopped by the military police, who asked for my letter from public affairs. “But I am public affairs,” I said. “Without a letter from public affairs, we’ll have to take your camera.” I did the only thing I could do: I pulled a notepad and pen from my bag and wrote a letter giving myself permission to take photos. The MPs read the letter, saluted, and left.
It was our first day on the rifle range at Lackland Air Force Base. I felt confident as I aimed and squeezed the trigger of my carbine for my first shot. “Good news and bad news,” my instructor said. “The good news: You got a bull’s eye.” Before my head could swell too much, he added, “But it was in somebody else’s target.”
As A.J. and his platoon of recruits were marching, their sergeant slipped and tumbled down a ravine. The irate sergeant scrambled back up amid guffaws and barked, “Those who laughed, get down and give me 20!” A.J. and some others fell to the ground quickly and did their push-ups. Meanwhile, the sergeant glared at the others. “As for the rest of you, get down and give me 40 for lying!”
While serving in Vietnam, my friend and his buddies were hunkered down in a mud-filled hole that had been dug into the side of a berm and covered with lumber for protection. Their one extravagance: a bare light bulb they’d hung from the “ceiling.” One guy was reading a newspaper article from back home about a congressional investigation into why some troops were living in relative luxury. The guy put down the paper, turned to my friend, and said, “Well, there goes the light bulb.” —James Valouch
