Lessons Learned

Mom and dad didn’t get along which of course led to

their divorce. Back in the early 1960s that was still a

rarity, especially for those of the Catholic Faith (proof

God did not discriminate based solely on religion). And

I, at the pubescent age of fifteen, was left without a

father to guide me through some very uncertain teen-

age years.

I became a defiant kid, especially toward adult authori-

tarian figures such as teachers and clergy. I’d rather be

an uneducated sinner than conform to the BS they were

trying to impose upon me.

And so, not having a clue as to what the future had in

store for me, and refusing to attend school any longer,

I forced my mother to reluctantly give her permission

for me to enlist in the Army at age seventeen.

Back in those days, I was that sort of guy who could be

seen portrayed on the back of comic books: The skin

and bones, pimple-faced kid who had sand kicked in his

face regularly by bullies at the beach. I could relate,

even though as a Midwesterner there were no beaches

within 1500-miles of where I lived. Anyway, I thought it

would be great to have Charles Atlas, the world renown

muscle man, as a dad who could help me beef-up and

show me how to fight back.

My second choice, and more realistically, would be to

have the battle-hardened drill instructors mentor me

with tried-and-true hand-to-hand combat techniques.

And as I made it to that point in Basic Training, where

we recruits were taught some of the more lethal marshal

arts, our DI instructor began with a firm and cautious

warning: “Now, don’t think you’re going to be one tough

son-of-a-bitch with what I’m about to show you. Don’t try

any of this on a high school student back home. He’s liable

to beat the living crap out of you. These are mortal self-

defense techniques. And should you ever have the need to

apply them, you’ll be faced with the fight of your life. Use

your bayonet, the butt of your rifle or any means at your

disposal in order to survive.” Huh, I considered, that seems

a bit extreme for my domestic hometown needs.

Damn! I figured, there really are no guarantees in life,

not in the Army, not with mail-order training from

Charles Atlas, nor with the possibility of God reuniting

my parents, and returning my father back to me.

And crap, it was then I realized it was too late. I had

already signed up for three long years of this.

Chris Hanch 4-19-19