Carry on my wayward son...

I went to a barber shop today, in a city I really shouldn’t have returned to. Inside, I encountered another former Marine. Like many of us, he was tattooed down, world-weary, and battle hardened.

Usually, all it takes is a second of eye contact. A knowing look of recognition passes where in the back of your head you just know that this guy has been there too. He was the one to say it first,

“Semper Fi, devil dog.”

Ed was there. The P.H. OPSEC creative team was just taking a 30 min. mess and maintenance break. After a few minutes of conversation, I learned that my new brother marine had also been down that same path of razor wire I’ve known too well. Ed and I had once believed our behavior to be so off the charts for returning Marines trying to adapt to “civilian life”. Yet here was another locked and cocked individual, still in shape, still full of USMC ritual and routine, but...

He had been in some trouble since he separated from mother green.

Prison in Spain.
Robbery in Greece
Prison in Peru
Then two years in a California prison

Just like many of us, if you didn’t know any better, you would say it was impossible. Not that squared away gentleman, right there?

We discussed how the training, the conditioning we received in the corps had literally saved our lives on various occasions. We also discussed how that very same training made us prone to involve ourselves in situations that others would deem hazardous, deadly, or downright insane. It seemed like we were naturally wired to take any normal, challenging situation one might encounter in life, and escalate it way beyond the socially acceptable outcome. And like the rest of us, we look back and think,

“How in the hell did I take things so bloody far?”

Well, it’s late and my fire watch is over. Take care, my brothers, wherever you are.

Stay green.

Keep it clean.



Semper Fi,


P.H.