Ann had a "Can Do" moment

Ann wrote:
Shortly after I left the church, I had (and I really don't get into this often) what might, in some circles, be called a "religious experience." (I have a weird feeling I've told this here before - old age is like that). I had decided it was imperative, though very frightening, that I finish college, and get my degree and teaching certificate. I reluctantly enrolled at the school I had attended for two-and-a-half years before my marriage, and began attending, even though it meant a 45 minute drive, every weekday, over a major freeway (Had I mentioned that I hated driving and kept it to a minimum?). I had been making this trip for several weeks, trembling all through the heavy traffic drive, when, one morning, as I was crossing a multi-laned bridge over a major thoroughfare, I suddenly became very calm and at peace, when a sense of complete - can I call it protection? - came over me, and my life perspective changed in an instant, as I felt totally reassured that I was doing the right thing, and would come through the experience just fine. Want to know a weird thing? I stopped hating to drive and started relishing in it.

Was this a "religious" experience? I have no idea. If it was, it came about after I had left the church, and stayed with me for a very long time after.

Ann, I think that was a "can do" moment, not a religious experience or anything more than a sudden realization of your own ability to do something. It was the same experience I had on a cold and wet January, 1944 day in Georgia.
I have written before about my company being taken out in a woods shortly after first light. Each man was asigned a deep and well-used foxhole and a portable telephone so we could hoist targets on command. I don't remember my number but if it was 10 I'd raise the target shaped like the upper half of a man at the command "10 up." At "10 down" I'd patch the holes in the target and tell the man the number of hits.
This went on all day and so did the rain. No break for lunch, no break for supper, just standing there in that red-clay hole listening for "10 up" until finally a little after dark they collected us and we began the nine or ten mile hike back to Camp Wheeler.
For more than a month it had been drummed into us that we were useless scum. Stupid, incapable of ever being infantrymen. Maybe the Army could find jobs for us sitting at a desk or loading boxes in a warehouse. I knew it was true, I didn't have what it takes, I was a detriment to the war effort.
On that hike back to camp all I could hear was the rain pelting against my steel helmet and the squishing sound as the man man behind me kept going even though the back of his boot had split and was filled with blood.
After several hours the lights of camp came into view, still a fair distance away and at a lower level than our red-dirt road. That's when I had a "can do" moment like Ann's. I could do it, I had been doing it, I was doing it.
When we reached our barrack we were not fed, just ordered to take care of our equipment. To my amazement, men who had hardly spoken during our first month of training were laughing, cursing, acting the fool. Izzy Rosenberg, stark naked, paraded up and down the aisle singing a parody of a popular song: "Tangerine, she's a sex machine. . ." One of the fellows everyone knew was a homosexual stood on his bunk and gave a limp-wrist performance in a falsetto voice: "No one was nice to me today."
Yes, it was amazing. Everyone had experienced a "can do" moment on that miserable day. The Army knew we could never be infantrymen by being told we had the ability and could do it. We had to find it out for ourselves by first being reduced to base level. The drill sergeants pretended to be furious by our new attitude but you could see the pleasure in their eyes. They were accomplishing their mission. They were giving us the best possible hope of staying alive during what lay ahead.
I hope the Army is still that smart and hasn't listened to the bleeding hearts trying to tell the military how to instill self esteem. The military knew how. You start at the bottom.

Dick,

You are feeling better--keep it coming.

Dick,

Last month we went to a presentation at OCS at Quantico. Yes, they are tough. They put emphasis on integrity and character, but none of the men we were with fro 50 years ago would have wanted it any easier and those who did the presentation said it was not.

As for wives, the Marines always said if they wanted their men to have a wife, they would have issued them one. "It had been drummed into us that we were useless scum," was part of the existence for this new wife who meant to be supportive rather than a detriment to national security.

Dick, good to see you back.

Carol

"Would have issued them one." I like that. So military.

How did I miss this??

I can't believe I didn't respond. I won't believe it is too late. I know that Dick is around somewhere, and will know that I finally said something.

Dick, a "can-do" moment. Yes, it was like that. I certainly felt like I was at some "base level" of my existence just before it happened. I needed that assurance in the very worst way. I was definitely in the throes of a "dark night of the soul." So, perhaps it was my own soul that I heard. And just perhaps the moment you and your troops experienced was an example of how we are all connected, and how in just our thoughts, we can reach out and influence each other in a positive way. We will miss you, Dick. But somehow, I feel that you have all our backs. If I ever have another "can-do" moment, you will be a part of it. You will forever be "as steadfast and loyal as they come."

Ann

Ann, it was meant for you to see today, after he'd passed. For some reason you got more out of it today than you would have, for whatever reason. Don't beat yourself up about it or take heart. You're a good soul.

Ann,

You have had a lot of turmoil and upset lately. Dick knew that.

Don't blame yourself for not seeing a thread.

Love ya,

Alice

Anne, I would agree with Author, it was definitely meant for you to see at this time.

Hugs,
Vickie