BY Herschel Smith
18 years, 12 months ago
While at Parris Island a few months ago to see my son graduate from boot camp, I saw my son look at something he called a sand pit. He looked with loathing, and I had recalled that his letters to us discussed something he called being “pitted.” Not knowing the full story, I thought I might take a picture of it and have it for a discussion topic later on.
I recall driving on to the Island and getting out of the car to have it searched. As soon as we got out we were molested by something they lovingly call sand fleas. My forearms were bloody when I finally got back into the car, and we found out that the molestation didn’t stop in the car. Hundreds of sand fleas had made their way into the car while the doors were open.
Well, the sand fleas are especially bad in the sandy areas. The picture below is a “sand pit,” and to be pitted means to go to the sand pits and do PTs (you know, running in place, crunches, pushups, etc.). One especially bad day (his unit just couldn’t do anything right that day), the drill instructor took them away from “their” sand pit (which is the picture below), and to the sand pits belonging to the other units.
In all there are more than 60 sand pits on Parris Island. That day Daniel’s unit started at their own sand pit, and ran to the next, and then to the next … you get the picture. They went to and did PTs in 60+ sand pits on Parris Island that day. The only one they didn’t get the privilege to PT in was the drill instructor’s sand pit.
That day the platoon spent the entire day in the pits doing PTs. So one day in the future when you (i.e., civilians like me) think you have had an especially bad day, just think: Things could be worse. I could have been pitted at Parris Island all day with the sand fleas sucking my blood.
BY Herschel Smith
19 years ago
Thanks to each and every one of you for your interesting comments and kind words on my posts. I read and ponder each one, even if I don’t have the time to respond to all of them.
School of Infantry Graduation was an unremarkable ceremony. It lasted fifteen minutes and within one minute after graduation the Marines were taken by bus and picked up by the fleet at Camp Lejeune. I have many comments on things I have learned recently, but all in good time.
Here is a picture of my son Daniel immediately after graduation. After thirteen weeks of Boot Camp at Parris Island, and two months of SOI at Camp Gieger, he is glad to lose the status “student,” go to Camp Lejeune and join the fleet. It has been a hard five months.
BY Herschel Smith
19 years ago
Off to Camp Geiger, Marine Corps Air Station, New River, North Carolina (near Camp Lejeune) to see my son graduate from SOI. Graduation from Boot was filled with marching, pageantry, bands, speeches and much pomp. My understanding is that this is much more austere. Five minutes, and then they get picked up by the fleet.
Standing on the parade deck at Parris Island, S.C. My father was in the 82nd Airborne. My son, Daniel, is in the middle wearing his Marine rifle expert badge the day of graduation from Boot, in his service alphas. I am the ugly one on the right.
BY Herschel Smith
19 years ago
We made a nice visit to our son yesterday at the School of Infantry, Camp Geiger (Marine Corps Air Station, New River, North Carolina) just near Camp Lejeune. In the barracks of Company D, the following quote hangs on the bulletin board, and is very inspirational to my son. I thought I would share it with you.
Somewhere a true believer is training to kill you. He is training with minimum food and water, in austere conditions, day and night. The only thing clean on him is his weapon. He doesn’t worry about what workout to do — his rucksack weights what is weighs, and he runs until the enemy stops chasing him. The true believer doesn’t care how hard it is; he knows that he either wins or dies. He doesn’t go home at 1700; he is home. He only knows the cause. Now. Who wants to quit?
