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So, would I want a “do over? Interesting question. I joined the Navy Reserves during the summer between my Junior year and Senior year of High School in 1975, just as the Vietnam War was coming to a close. I went active in December 1976; attending boot camp at Recruit Training Center (RTC) Orlando.My career in the Navy was relatively brief. I received a medical discharge in May of 1979 for repeated injuries incurred in the Navy which were improperly treated. While there was no love lost when I took off my uniform for the last time, I have to say that there were moments that I couldn’t have experienced anywhere else.There were also people I met along the way that I could never have met anywhere else but through my time time in the Navy. Most of those individuals were generally nice; mostly young kids like myself in a world they couldn’t have quite imagined. We were all just trying to figure it out as we went. Of course, there were those were complete jerks.The majority of these were guys who had been awhile and liked using whatever experience, rank, or clout they thought they had to made life miserable for us. Really no different than freshmen and sophomores in high school and seniors except the consequences were a lot more serious…and so was payback.Of course, there were the other individuals; the ones you become more than friends with. These are the ones that you stay in touch with the rest of your life. There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them and visa versa. You’ve shared things that few others who hadn’t served would ever understand.Perhaps that’s part of the bond. Perhaps too it was the experience of youth so that your memories of the moment, of them and of yourself remains forever one of your youth; when you were full of energy, and yourself, and you felt as if you were immortal. None of those individuals, who I think about more often with each passing year, would have happened had I not joined the Navy when I did.Of course, it was never intended to be such. I never wanted to join the Navy. Never. Hell, I didn’t even like water! Nope, my plan since at least the eighth grade (if not earlier) was to join the Army. I wanted to go Armor. Nothing was more thrilling to me than the idea rolling into battle astride a tank with guns blazing! Maybe it growing up in the age of TV Westerns, I don’t know. I had seen tanks up close and was awed by their size and power.I saw the movie “Patton” on opening day. I was about 15. I went with my first ever girlfriend. We had front row seats, a big box of hot buttered popcorn, Milk Duds and a couple of Cokes, It was a birthday present from my grandfather whom I loved dearly. It turned out to be the last present I would ever receive from him. He died a few months later. Since then, “Patton” has become my favorite movie for obvious reasons and I say with some sense of pride that I know word from that movie. By the time I walked out of that theater, I knew absolutely what I wanted to do.The “plan” if you can call it that, was to get through high school (no mean feat). I would join the Army Reserve during the summer before my Senior year. I would select Armor. Armor School was just up the road from where I’ve lived, at Ft. Knox Kentucky. I would get a choice of two duty stations out of school, Korea or Germany. I would select Germany since that’s where my family was from and I always wanted to go there, but there was also another reason I’ll tell you about in a moment.As soon as I completed my initial post “A” School training and completed whatever assessments I needed in Germany I would immediately start taking college courses. I had already learned that I could challenge or “CLEP” out of my first year and a half. It was just a matter of taking and passing the comprehensive final test. As an aside, that’s exactly what I did while in the Navy. That would leave just about a 18 months to complete my Bachelor degree.Meanwhile, I would work to get qualified on anything and everything I could pertaining to my tank, as well as make rank as rapidly as I could. Sounds tough doesn’t it? Well, for most I suppose it is, but I was never one who had to study. Things just came to me naturally. Besides, I had always went considered a “wunderkind” in school and I had a near photographic memory. So, as far as I was concerned, this was all “doable”.So, why the hurry? I intended to become a Warrant Officer as quickly as possible. I figured that if the military was going to be my career, the only way to do it was an an officer. It was also the best way to make rank the fastest (I also knew that a lot of officers—-Vietnam Era—-were getting out, That created openings and that meant opportunities). As soon as possible, perhaps starting with Chief Warrant Officer 3 or 4, I intended to try for an assignment at NATO (which was the other reason I wanted my first assignment to be in Germany; to start making connections). If NATO was unavailable, SHEAF would do nicely.By the time my career began to wind down, I intended to be a Chief Warrant Officer 4 or 5. I wanted my final assignment to be the Pentagon. Although I was a little vague beyond this point, I thought a good post-military career (I would only be around 48 years old) would be in the defense industry, possibly as a lobbyist/consultant for a defense contractor or maybe on the R&D end.Such are the dreams and ambitions of youth. As John Lennon once said, “life happens while you’re making plans”. As it turned out, my mom remarried a man who was in the Navy. He was a hateful, brutal, demeaning and ignorant individual with no ambitions. Mom worked her butt off to keep things going, including motivating him to make rank.She worked hours upon hours ironing his uniforms so he got good evaluations and helping him study for his rank advancement tests. She played the role of the dutiful Navy wife at all the functions. Oh, did I mention she also held down a 9 to 5 job for a defense contractor?Meanwhile, I did took over the role of house cleaner, groundskeeper, and nanny to a mentally handicapped stepbrother and to a younger sister, not to mention school. I got my younger siblings up, dressed, fed, and off to the babysitter and then headed off to school (I was about 7 when this all started). On the way home, I’d stop off and get them, got them home, and often fed if mom was running late, and on numerous occasions, bathed and put to bed (my younger sister required diapers changed, formula, and all that stuff. I was about 9 by then).My stepbrother often had convulsions, so that involved medication and so forth. Dishes were always done (by hand), and at least once a week I dusted and ran the vacuum as well as did laundry. At some point, I would do homework. During the weekend, it was yard work. However, during this time, my step-father had added mean drunk to his resume, so beatings were rather common. He had also…somehow..managed to become a Navy Recruiter. Nevertheless, as Nietzsche once said, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”, and I was one tough SOB by the time I was 17.By the time I was ready to put my plan into effect, I was none to politely informed that if I ever wanted to see my mom again, I would join the Navy to make him look good to the Third District Commander. It seems that everyone down at the recruiting headquarters knew of my plans, and was routinely giving him a hard time about it. Since this poor excuse for a human being was known to be pretty brutal towards my mom, I had no doubt that this wasn’t an idle threat.I also knew from experience that there was literally no one I could turn to for help. In those days, drunken behavior was sort of laughed off; at least not taken as seriously as it is not. As for child and spousal abuse, that didn’t get much attention either. So, it seems, I was forced into doing what I least wanted to do.However, I knew the old GI Bill with its great perks (especially education) ended on December 31, 1976, so I was facing a quickly approaching deadline. So, I did what I thought was the unthinkable. A the same time, I “modified” my grand plan. I would do my four years; make rank as quickly as possible and get as much college credit under my belt as I could. After which, I would simply join the Army as planned or maybe the Marines (desperate times brings desperate actions). All I had to do was make E-4 before my enlistment ended, which was doable.Fate came into play at this point. While in boot camp I repeatedly injured my knees, which were then improperly treated. Nevertheless, I made it through. I then found out I was sent to the wrong “A” school. I was assigned to ADJ (jet mechanic) school instead of PN (Personnelman) school. Apparently the Third District Commander thought he was doing me a favor and overwrote my school selection and sent me to be a jet mechanic like the ole drunk (I had taken my entrance exam—-ASVAB—-during my the summer before my Senior year. I had missed three questions from a perfect score. I could literally have my choice of rates in any branch of the military. Why in the hell he thought I would want to be a mechanic when I picked Personnelman followed by Yeoman!). Oh well.I was able (with a lot of difficulty) able to get out of ADJ school, but the Navy wouldn’t give me any my originals choices. So I was was to be sent to the fleet undesignated, which is about as bad as it gets. However, I made an impression on the clerk over at Personnel (not to mention my ASVAB scores). I was instead assigned to Personnel and could “strike” for PN (that’s basically OJT instead of school). However, I first had to do a week of Mess Hall duty, which turned into three weeks; often pulling double shifts. During that time, I repeatedly re-injured both knees and again and again received improper care.Not to whine, I started taking college courses and tested out of my first year in a matter of a few weeks. By then I was finally working in Personnel. I ended up on the Command Staff pretty quickly. I enjoyed my work and who I worked with a great deal (well, most of them anyway). However, a year later I was sent to ASW school in Norfolk (WTH?). That’s Anti-Submarine Warfare. To this day I don’t know why.When I got there I wasn’t assigned to a student’s barracks. I was assigned to an “open bay” barracks for transients sailors. I was being set up to fail. Unlike in a student barracks, you had to stand duty at all hours; there was no place to study. There was no privacy. After six weeks, I was sent to Alameda California, and to an oiler, not as a PN, but as an undesignated seamen which didn’t make sense.Anyway, to make a longer story shorter, I was sent to Oakdale Naval Hospital and then on to Naval Station Treasure Island, San Francisco where I was once again assigned to Personnel. I was also assigned as an aide to the base commander, and to base security and NIS (Naval Investigative Service, or NCIS nowadays). What I did we can’t talk about, but it sure was interesting! I also got to make trips to San Diego, Seattle, and Adak Alaska among other places. This was San Francisco in mid-1970’s and I was in my early 20’s. A better time couldn’t have been had! I had made E-3 and passed my test for E-4. Then “life” intervened once again.Because of my repeated knee injuries, I began a series of medical boards (which were very unpleasant). I was verbally and on a few occasions, physically abused in order to get me to agree that the Navy wasn’t responsible for my injuries. That wasn’t going to happen. I fought like a tiger to be allowed to complete my enlistment. At the same time, I saw firsthand other sailors and Marines go through the same abuse and harassment. Many hurt so bad and were so browbeaten, they just caved. Their assigned JAG officers were there to to work against them, not for them. It wasn’t my nature then or now to stand by and do nothing.I had quickly learned how to fight back against these boards, including how to contact Congressmen and Senators (and what to say). I reached out first to the local Congressman, Ron Dellums of Berkeley. Soon I found myself helping others fight for their rights and for their disability ratings. I later volunteered at Congressman’s Dellums office as an aide where I helped teach them about the boards and assisted others in the military going through the same thing.Ultimately, I was honorable discharged, just six months shy of completing my four year enlistment. However, the Navy had the last laugh and I was denied the opportunity to reenlist in any other military branch for any reason. But, I was able to get my disability rating and complete college through the Vocational Disability Chapter 31 program. I also represented veterans and non-traditional students before the student government and the school Provost. I had also helped dozens of others get their disability ratings, and no telling how many benefited from what I was able to teach Dellum’s staff.I later completed a dual Masters (Magna Cum Laude each) and a Post Graduate degree as well as 31 or so professional certificates or certifications. Although I’m now 60% disabled thanks to the Navy, I retired as the Assistant VP of Special Projects (Employee/Management relations) and Senior Legal Manager at the ripe old age of 55. I taught human resources, management, business ethics, organization behavior and business and labor law in college.I was also state chairman of a writers union for almost ten years: serving as Vice Chairman of the national At-Large Steering Committee and overseeing the Veterans Committee. Most importantly, I’ve been a community and political activist for over 40 years now; teaching people how to fight back against abuse from the political and corporate systems. I’ve co-hosted a top rated talk radio show, and write a syndicated non-partisan political blog which is consistently ranked in the top 25 nationally. I’ve been blessed to receive numerous local, state, and national awards and honors for my community service and service to veteran causes.So would I change my military enlistment? You know, I wouldn’t change a thing.