By Kenneth L. Hardin

After the first week of basic training, I realized I had never been taught the proper way to walk, stand or sit in a chair. Why was I forced to wear those white leather, square toed, hard sole, orthopedic baby shoes if I was now told my ambulatory technique was incorrect? That day, 40 new recruits or “pickles” learned the finer art of already achieved basic life skills.

Every day for nearly a week, after we survived the wake up and breakfast countdowns, we assembled on the concrete landing under our barracks learning how to walk like a soldier. This is also where I first learned how to stand at attention and remain frozen in place with strict orders never to move any part of my anatomy unless given permission. This directive was so strict you couldn’t even gaze away from straight ahead to check your peripheral without suffering dire consequences. That sounded good in theory, but nature caused me to question its validity one hot sweltering morning.

As I stood motionless, perfectly at attention with both hands in the correct balled position and arms tucked into my side, I was feeling pretty proud that I had caught on to this fairly quickly and easily. I stood erect as our diminutive drill instructor paraded back and forth down the line barking orders and instructions. Gone was the eye patch that covered up his earlier brush with reality, but his larger-than-life presence remained. As he sauntered down the row away from me, his absence was taken up by an annoying Texas-sized fly. Evidently, this Lone Star state insect had nothing better to do and apparently liked the cut of my jib better than the other 39 brothers standing next to me. He continually traced a flight pattern in and around my face. Knowing I couldn’t move my limbs, I pursed my lips together and quietly blew puffs of air at him to no avail.

Looking back, I think the fly believed he was in a full-fledged tactical air fight with me as he continued aerial assaults around my face. I could hear our caretaker’s voice off in the distance but couldn’t see him with the quick side peek I sneaked in. Feeling comfortable and wanting to bring an end to this battle, I briefly broke my rigid stance, quickly swiping at the flying nuisance. I immediately returned to attention feeling safe that my action went unnoticed. What I heard next was a loud, “Son, what in the hell do you think you’re doing moving when you’re supposed to be at attention?” My field of vision went dark as two more round-brimmed hats joined him in the fray, bumping me in my forehead as they hurled verbal assaults into both of my ears. I learned the importance of following orders, as well as another important realization in that chaotic and terrifying moment. When you screw up and disobey an order, the worst thing you can do is try to explain why. The more you talk, the less sense you make, and your confused and nonsensical explanations only feed their anger and prolongs their verbal tirade. I despise flies to this day and try to shorten their lifespan at every opportunity I can when they invade my home. A present day insect shouldn’t suffer from the misdeeds of their ancestors, but their kin started it.

The Air Force is more intellectually challenging than physically imposing. We spent hours in the classroom learning military history via an academic approach to training. The first day in class, I plopped down in a seat, leaned back and exhaled as I enjoyed the air-conditioned surroundings. And then the yelling started. Obviously, I and many others had never been taught how to properly sit in a chair. We were instructed to stand up and then given elementary-level instruction on how to ensconce in a chair properly and professionally. We were then tasked with practicing it several times while being talked to in a humiliating voice and tone. When the instructor finally released us for a break, it was similar to a prison escape. As we re-entered the room, we saw a mass of binders and pages from our thick manuals strewn across the room and into a pile. What we were not told before we left the room was your manual had to be closed and aligned precisely with the side of the desk. Since we failed to adhere, they threw all of our binders against the front wall. We spent the next period picking them up and reassembling hundreds of pages back in our binders. As we left for another break, every binder was in perfect position. We still, however, returned holding our breath.

That exuberant feeling I once felt had now begun to diminish just a bit.

Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists