Naval Air Station Alameda, CA: Oct 30 1987
"So how did you end up with Devils Night duty, Sergeant?" asked Gunnery Sergeant Myers looking over the papers passed to him by the young Sergeant currently stood at attention before him.
"I upset the Platoon Commander, Sir," reported the marine.
"And just how did you do that, Sergeant?" the Gunny enquired further, somewhat intrigued by the man before him.
"I told him he couldn't shoot for sh…. for toffee Sir, and when he tried to demonstrate by shooting up every target on my range and demanding that I retested him I threw him off my range Sir," came the reply.
"So you demanded Captain Sanderson get off your range and you end up here?" asked the Gunny slightly amused but trying to hide it, he had never liked Sanderson either.
"No Sir, not quite," replied the Sergeant and then added, "I asked him to leave and when he refused I threw him off Sir."
Stopping in shock, and searching the marines face to see if this was some sort of prank, but seeing no hint of amusement in him or his explanation, the Gunny tried to get back to the business of assigning the duties, stifling the laughter he himself was likely to let out at the thought of the cranky platoon commander being sent flying.
"Right Sergeant, you are on patrol with Kilby over there, try not to get into anymore trouble," ordered the Gunny.
"Sir, yes Sir," replied the sergeant.
As the Sergeant turned to leave he was called back by the Gunny, "have you let the wife know you won't be back tonight?" he enquired.
"Yes Sir, she was even angrier with me than the Captain Sir," he responded. "She has her mother visiting and had planned this whole fancy meal and that."
"Guess you will need to do some making up to her and your mother in law," advised the Gunny.
"Guess so," replied the Sergeant, "it's my daughter I really have to make it up to, I had promised we would play pranks on the mother in law for Devils Night." He then turned to leave again.
"Try and stay out of further trouble Gibbs," laughed the Gunny.
"I'll try Sir but I can't promise," Gibbs replied.
….
On the far side of the base, Commander McGee had called his son into his study. He had been back home from his last tour for a week and hadn't really seen his son at all. He'd been busy sorting his forthcoming duty rotas and Tim had spent most of his time in his room with his computers and books.
The ten year old cautiously made his way into the room, he had tried to stay out of his fathers way, tried to be no trouble at all to him. He knew he was a busy man and had important work to do.
"So Tim," began the Commander, "how did the soccer tryouts go?"
"Er, I, well, er" stuttered the boy.
""For goodness sake speak up and clearly boy," commanded the father, clearly failing to take in the nervousness and lack of confidence in the child in front of him, "did your mother and I teach you to mumble when you speak to adults?"
"No Sir, I'm sorry," replied Tim, tears already threatening to spill from his eyes.
"So," his father pushed, "explain, and clearly!"
"I wasn't good enough, and all of the others in my year are three years older than me and a lot bigger," explained Tim, who had skipped three grades already.
"Did you practice like I told you to?" asked his father.
Lowering his head in shame, tears now tumbling down his cheeks, Tim shook his head. "I tried a bit but I'm just no good at it," he cried.
Failing to offer any comfort to his distressed son, the Commander shouted "then you didn't try hard enough, I've told you that stuffing your head into computers and comics and science experiments might make you smart but it won't make you strong and you will never get into the Navy like that."
"I don't want to be in your stupid Navy," Tim yelled back through the tears, and the sniffling, "I hate your stupid Navy."
Without out any further word of warning the Commander stepped out from behind his desk, pulled his son under his arm and spanked his backside harshly. "You will not speak to me like that," he continued to spank, "You will not speak so dishonourably about this Navy." Not pausing for breath or even to allow the heat that was building in Tim's backside to dissipate, he continued, "This Navy keeps a roof over your head, food in your belly, buys your stupid comic books and computers and protects you and this country."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tim cried out over and over again, "I'll try to be better, I'll try to be good."
Finally letting up on his hold on the young boy, he stood him up in front of him. Tim tried to rub furiously at his behind, anything to take the heat away.
The Commander began to calm down, "You know I will not tolerate disrespect Timothy," he lectured, "Anymore of this and the spanking will be on your bare behind, understood?"
"Yes Sir, " sniffed Tim.
"Good then we are clear," nodded the Commander. "Now I'm home for another two weeks before deployment and in that time I do not expect you to be on your computer or hidden away with a comic book," pausing to look at his son, he added, "I want you outside, playing with the other boys, practicing sports and then next time I'm home I want to hear that you have got a whole load better."
Tim nodded and when bid to do so he left the room more miserable than he had been for sometime. Normally he'd ring Penny, she would talk to him, she understood him, she let him be who he wanted to be; but Penny was at some sort of protest about keeping marine mammals in captivity and not at home on the end of a phone. Grounded from his machines and comics he made his way out through the front door into what was left of the late afternoon sun.
As he walked through the base housing, kicking the odd pebble as he went, he took no real note of the direction he was heading in. The tears had stopped, but his face was still red and splotchy, his backside still felt like it was on fire and as it rubbed against the denim it re-ignited all over again.
He muttered away to himself as he wandered around alone, why couldn't he be like all the other kids, why couldn't his Dad be proud of him. The last thought gave rise to his kicking the pebble just a little harder and it flew up in the air and towards a group of his classmates who were gathered on the corner, hitting the spokes of the bike of the class bully. Tim stopped dead in his tracks and held his breath.
"Hey, what the hell," began Sean, the bully.
The others all turned to look Tim's way too. Tim tried to turn so as to run, but his feet felt like they didn't belong to him and he tripped falling flat on his face.
The other kids laughed, Sean made his way over to where Tim laid sprawled on the floor. "You've being crying," he laughed, "didn't momma change your diaper?"
The others fell about laughing, all but one, "hey knock it off Sean," said Leyla, "he's just a little kid."
Sean not wanting to upset Leyla who he had secretly been soft on for some time, responded "Sure Leyla, sorry kid." He held out a hand to Tim and pulled him back to his feet. "So what you doing out here alone?"
"Just walking," mumbled Tim.
Still trying to impress Leyla, Sean put his arm around Tim's shoulders, "how about you walk with us a bit, we're heading over to the base commanders billet, Want to come?"