The first Friday of January I drove down to San Diego to see my brother Jordan graduate from boot camp. he had been going through hell for 13 weeks. I received 3 letters and wrote him maybe 6 or 7. When my family and I were actually allowed to hug him after they demonstrated their precise marching abilities, my eyes filled with tears. This was the first time he had accomplished something on his own. Completely away from anyone he had known. He looked like a man. I didn't even know what to say to him. He wasn't the baby I played Superman with, he wasn't the little boy that would grab a hold of my waist each time I came home for Christmas and not let go for the two weeks I was there, and he wasn't the pre-teen that took my advice on girls and talked my ear off every chance he got. He had grown up and now he was a Marine. I wished that my immature teenage choices were still the only danger in his life, but that wouldn't be the case. He chose a career that could risk his life on a regular basis. This was new. He was new and was a person I was going to have to discover a new bond with. Change was and is on the horizon. Jordan is a Supermarine.
|They were ready to go home...|