He may have been just another face in the crowd of graduates, but not to me. The only problem was that I couldn’t pick him out — not with some 883 graduates. They all wore the same clothing, stood the same way, styled their hair the same. Even when he paraded right past me, I couldn’t see him. I cried in frustration.
As I listened to all pre-scripted, ceremonial words, I wondered what it all meant. Esprit de corps? What’s that? My son had left for basic training feeling just a little bit jaded that he’d signed up for one thing (Military Police) and been given another (Aircraft Armament Apprentice).
Did any of that change now that he was 8 weeks into his 4-year commitment? I sure hoped so.
The words kept spewing forth until finally the ceremony closed with all of the graduating airmen reciting the Airman’s Creed. That was when reality really set in; this ending is just the beginning of some yet to be determined future. It’s my son’s future. It is not mine. My pledge, as AirMom is not to judge but only to provide the encouragement, prayers, and maybe a few tears… at no extra charge.