Thirty-two years ago in early September, I started a new life.  It began in a frantic rush when the doorbell woke me to the panicked realization that I’d overslept!  I called down to the front porch from the third floor window, then rushed through the house while getting dressed, tossing extra jeans, underwear, soap, toothbrush, and other flotsam in a brown paper Acme shopping bag.  I was out the door and into the recruiter’s car in under 10 minutes.  Of course, it was 1973, times were tough for the Army, and the draft had ended only six months before, so the Recruiter was more than a little patient.  That afternoon, 10 minutes after I enlisted, I called home to tell my folks I had done so.  That night I was on a bus to Fort Dix, and for the first time in my life, I slept in a bed that was not arranged for me by my parents, in a place my parents had no knowledge of.

     I was only 17, but on that day I took an oath that bound me forever to the company of men and women who had sworn their lives to the defense of our nation.  I assumed a mantle of adulthood that day and I accepted responsibility for myself and for others beyond anything I had ever done before.  At the time, being besotted by the breathlessness of it all, I didn’t recognize the threshold I’d crossed for what it was, or its significance, but I knew I was into something big.

     I remember that day well, and the next day, when I stepped outside for the first full day of what would turn into many years as a soldier.  It was warm that day, but the season was edging into Autumn, which has always been a time of beginnings for me, of new starts and major life changes.  I love Fall more than any of the other seasons, and that love goes a long way back.

     As is true for most Americans, my earliest new start came at around the age of five, when I entered the astonishing and fantastic world of learning and left forever the world of walls and fences called home; and each year until my 17th, that transition was made again, and reaffirmed.  It was during those years that I learned an oath that can bring tears to my eyes under certain circumstances—when I watch young children recite it, for example.

     Red Skelton said best whatever can be said about the Pledge of Allegiance in one of the finest monologues I have ever heard.

     In 1967, my first stepfather died in the fall, and on that day I became one of those children who knows what it’s like to be left behind by a parent.  I was old enough to ask the doctor who called, “My Dad’s dead, isn’t he?”  To his everlasting credit, the doctor was understanding enough—and Man enough—to answer plainly and truthfully, “Yes, he is.”  It certainly wasn’t a positive change, but it was a new start, and it came with “Be a big boy, you’re the man of the house now.”  To that 11 year old, those words had the feel of a Commandment.

     Of course, life went on and so did I, every fall starting a new school year, meeting new people, learning more about myself and the world.

     In 1976, I re-enlisted the first time—same oath as before, but this time I knew what I was doing, and it felt better—and in the Fall of that year, I reported to Germany for the first of two tours there.  That too was a great transition, living and learning about other peoples.  In the early Fall of 1977, I was promoted to Sergeant, and on that day, I truly stepped into the world of Adults.  I was now in charge of other men, and I could order them about, and I was responsible for their comings and goings and their lives if it came to that.  I was barely 21.

     In the late Fall of 1980 I married.  I am still married to the same woman, but as anyone knows who has weathered a marriage for any length of time, every year is a new adventure.  Once again I joined a new class of adults; I had stepped through another door.

     Late in the year in 1986, I watched the stillbirth of my only son.  This was and remains the most painful experience of my life; there are simply no words that can express what it feels like to become one of those unfortunates who knows what is like to have been left behind by a child.

     In early Fall 1987, just 3 days shy of 14 years, I left the army.  On that day, I joined the hundreds of millions of other Americans who were entirely responsible for their own successes- and failures—and who did not have a safety-net like the Army to fall back on.  In my mind, I had finally and completely joined the ranks of grown ups.  I was wrong again.

     In 1994, we adopted a child, which is a process that requires an active intent.  Standing before a Judge, I had to swear that I would care for and protect the child I was holding in my arms as I would my own flesh and blood.  Ever forward . . .

     Since leaving home, I had worked in a variety of jobs and career fields, in a variety of places, but the common thread had been primarily one of service to my country or to people in general, rather than service to a bottom line or a product.  And so one day in the middle of 1999, while I was working in one of the few jobs I’ve had that had no real “service” value, I decided I’d had enough—that I missed being part of something larger than myself, and that I liked working in service to my country.  Shortly after that, I entered the U.S. Civil Service, working for DoD.  Finally, I was again part of something that mattered.  And once again, I had my right hand in the air:

     Which brings me at last to now, November 21st, 2005.  Today in 1783, the first untethered hot air balloon flight took place in Paris. In 1789, North Carolina ratified the U.S. Constitution and became the 12th State.  In 1791, Colonel Bonaparte was promoted to full general and appointed CiC of the Armies of the French Republic.  In 1877, Edison announced his invention of the phonograph; and in 1969, the first ARPANET link was established, making today the birthday of the Internet.  Today is also the middle of Autumn, which for me is about as good a day as any to formally join the ranks of Americans who have endeavored by means of the written word to make our nation and the world a better place.  It is a small step on a very long path, to be sure, but all journeys have to begin somewhere, and this one starts here:

Sanger Magee
21 November 2005