Michael Dixon has been in the Army for eighteen and a half years. In his second dispatch he sets down what the training never covered: being a father from a distance, surviving a leader who set out to break him, and the body he put last for two decades.
So, no shit, there I was, eighteen years old at Fort Knox, Kentucky.
I got there October 30, 1996.
In high school, I never really had a plan. I wasn’t thinking much about college. I kept toying with the idea of joining the Air Force. Hell, I had even used one of my college-tour days to go to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base with an Air Force recruiter.
So then the obvious question becomes:
“Dixon, how the fuck did you end up in the Army?”
At least I know I was asking myself that same question at 0300, standing in line and waiting to get my head shaved.
Back in September, I found myself at the Emerson Theater, watching local bands. By that point, I had stopped smoking pot because of a girl, and I could feel some distance growing between me and my friends. I had even started hanging out with a different crowd.
That night, though, I was with the old crew.
Somewhere in the middle of that night, I was overcome with this feeling that I didn’t belong anymore. I needed to get out of town. I needed to do something different.
Long story short, two days later my phone rang.
It was an Army recruiter.
And apparently, that was all it took.
Tracking?
Let’s skip ahead.
I got hurt and was discharged.
I had run through the entire gauntlet of emotions. First, I didn’t want to be there. Then I was completely fucking gung-ho. Then I got hurt, and suddenly I was done with all of it.
Well, almost all of it.
The PT test.
I took that bastard five times in two weeks.
I didn’t pass.
So they sent me packing.
And that should have been the end of my Army story.
It wasn’t.
So I know what you’re thinking:
“How in the hell did you wind up joining the Army again twelve years later?”
That’s another story for another day.
Let’s get to the brass tacks.
I’ve been in the Army now for eighteen and a half years.
I’ve learned a lot from the military. I’ve learned how to treat people, how to lead, how to follow, how to function when I’m exhausted, how to keep moving when I really don’t want to, and how to get shit done when everything around me is falling apart.
But I’ve also learned some things the Army never put in the manual.
1. How to family when you’re never home
How do you deal with missing birthdays, holidays, school events, sporting events, and all those other sacred little milestones that you’re supposed to be there for?
I’m still not sure I have the answer.
With my first unit, the 52nd Engineers, we were constantly in the field. Most workdays started around 0500 and ended around 1700 or 1730.
Then there was the extra shit.
CQ.
Staff duty.
Twenty-four-hour shifts that seemed to come around far more often than they should have.
You spend enough time away from home and eventually something happens that you can’t get back.
A birthday.
A holiday.
A school event.
A conversation you weren’t there for.
And the guilt lingers.
You try to make it up. You promise you’ll make the next one. You tell yourself that you’re doing it for your family.
Sometimes you are.
Sometimes you’re just trying to survive the next fucking day.
In my case, I dropped the ball.
I found myself constantly exhausted, stressed, and not particularly motivated to adult.
Do you know what that does to a family dynamic?
You become a nightmare to be around.
And eventually, your family learns how to operate without you.
That’s a hard thing to admit.
Add undiagnosed anxiety into the mix, and things can really start to go off the rails.
I owe my family a debt I’ll probably never be able to repay.
I’ve hurt all of them in different ways.
For most of my life, I’ve dealt with shit by bottling it up and holding onto it.
I’m pretty sure you don’t need me to tell you that’s the wrong answer.
But sometimes it takes a long fucking time to figure that out.
2. How to cope with shitty leadership
About six months into my active-duty career, I had an NCO take me aside.
She told me it was her mission in life to get me kicked out of the Army.
Keep in mind, I was brand new.
Six months in.
I barely knew what the hell I was doing.
And here was someone in a position of authority telling me I was a piece of shit and that she intended to make sure I didn’t belong there.
I endured that shit for about a year.
Maybe a little longer.
Eventually, it broke me.
I became suicidal.
One day, I came home and told my wife, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to let them kick me out of the Army.”
She looked at me and said:
“You’re married with kids. You have responsibilities. Don’t let that bitch beat you. Learn everything you can. Make them want to keep you around.”
So that’s what I did.
I learned everything I could.
I worked my ass off.
I made myself useful.
I became someone they didn’t want to lose.
So much so that when I eventually left that duty station and went to my next one, I was still getting phone calls from people there asking me questions.
I don’t think I’ve ever reached down that deep at any other point in my life.
And I owe that to my wife.
She reminded me that I wasn’t just fighting for myself.
And that NCO?
They eventually got rid of her.
Funny how that works.
3. It’s damn hard to say goodbye
People come and go.
That’s just the way the Army works.
You make friendships. You spend months or years with people. You suffer together. You laugh together. You bitch about the same bullshit.
Then one day, somebody gets orders.
And that’s it.
They’re gone.
Sometimes you never see them again.
Sometimes you do.
And sometimes, against all odds, you actually manage to keep the friendship alive.
I’ve been fortunate enough to stay in touch with quite a few people I’ve served with over the years.
Those relationships mean something different.
You went through some shit together.
You embraced the suck together.
And when you’ve suffered alongside somebody, there’s a bond there that’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it.
The Army has taken a lot from me.
But some of the friendships it gave me have been worth the price.
4. The transition back to the civilian world isn’t easy
This one surprised me.
You get out and suddenly realize that you can’t talk like you did in the Army.
You can’t cuss as much.
Military jargon doesn’t exactly fly.
Nobody knows what the fuck you’re talking about when you start throwing acronyms around.
And apparently, not every problem needs to be solved by forming a working group.
Civilian life is different.
There isn’t the same level of camaraderie.
There isn’t always somebody standing next to you who understands exactly what you’re dealing with because they’re dealing with it too.
And things are definitely different when there’s no UCMJ involved.
Here’s the funny part, though:
People love the stories.
Even the shitbags in your old unit don’t seem quite as lazy after you’ve spent some time in the civilian workforce.
You start realizing that maybe that asshole wasn’t that bad.
Maybe he was just an asshole who knew how to get shit done.
The Army gives you a weird perspective on work.
You learn to show up.
You learn to function when you’re tired.
You learn that sometimes the mission doesn’t give a shit how you feel.
Then you leave and realize the civilian world doesn’t necessarily operate that way.
It’s an adjustment.
Some people make it easily.
Some people don’t.
I think I’m still figuring it out.
5. You should have taken better care of your body
This one is pretty simple.
Shit hurts, man.
I make dad noises when I get up off the couch.
My back hurts.
My knees hurt.
My shoulders hurt.
My body generally feels like somebody traded me in for parts somewhere around 2014 and forgot to tell me.
For years, I was more focused on taking care of other people than taking care of myself.
You tell yourself you’ll deal with it later.
I’ll stretch later.
I’ll work out tomorrow.
I’ll eat better next week.
I’ll get that checked out eventually.
Then eventually shows up.
And suddenly basic tasks can feel like a lot of work.
The military teaches you to push through pain.
Sometimes that’s exactly what you need to do.
There’s a difference between being tough and being stupid.
Take care of yourself, fellas.
Seriously.
Your body is the only one you’re issued.
You don’t get a replacement.
What It Doesn’t Teach You
I’m not an expert in anything.
I’ve just seen a lot.
And I’ve probably done more than I should have.
These are just some of the things that come to mind when I look back at eighteen and a half years in the Army.
There are plenty more.
Some are funny.
Some aren’t.
Some I probably haven’t figured out yet.
But these are the things they don’t put in the manual.
The Army will teach you how to be a soldier.
It won’t necessarily teach you how to be a husband.
Or a father.
Or a friend.
Or a civilian.
Or how to put yourself back together after you’ve spent years taking care of everybody else.
I’m still learning some of that shit.
Maybe that’s the point.
Until next time, gents.
Dixon signing off.