I am now old enough to have had “my younger days.” I can look back now on experiences I had 20-plus years ago and see quite a different person. I’m completely the same, while completely different. (I have talked to enough of you that I know you know what I mean.) Youthful exuberance and excitement have been replaced by cautious exuberance, and yes, even sloth. While excitement and great joy still occur in my life, “the way it was” can never be captured again. I guess that is how it should be. God willing, I am a long way from the end of my journey. Here are some of my thoughts on friendship as I approach 40.
Over the weekend, I had a small reunion with two of my best friends – John Botten and Gabe Nieto. These were men I spent my formative years with as a Marine. People who I see a lot nowadays have never met these people. In fact, I saw John last year and before that it had been over 16 years. And Gabe. He completed an entire career in the U.S. Army since we last saw each other. And yet they still are my “best friends,” one might ask? What I really liked about Gabe when I first met him was he was hilarious. I remember we talked about our moms. His was always worried about him, and mine was always worried about me. As different as our lives might have at first seemed, we were really just the same. John was the prototypical Marine – square jaw, outstanding physical condition and focused – but to talk to him, he was the nicest guy with depth of feeling. Both were crazy mothers, too, who liked to party. I could say something for each of my friends during this period of my life.
As newly stamped Marines, still in our teens, we travelled to places around the world, experienced the same rites of passage, got into the same youthful trouble and overall just had a h*ll of a good time in places both seedy and tawdry. We were Marines, for God’s sake, and we were impervious to any physical force, even bullets, so we thought. So how could two people (in fact most of the guys I served with) still be considered so close? The brotherhood of Marines is part of the answer. That brotherhood was instilled in us like parents who instill the pride of family name or ethnicity. You don’t remember when your parents started doing it. It was always just there. Same for the Marine Corps. Pride in being a Marine was always just there, too. As Marine recruits, we were immediately taught that if we made it through boot camp, we would not be “in” the Marines, but rather would “be” a Marine – always and forever.
Our small get-together that afternoon was filled with stories that were tearfully hilarious and tearfully sad. Philosophical and just plain stupid. It was just good for the soul to see people who “knew me back when.” The cool thing is, there is no awkwardness. We pick up right where we left off.
The other big part, and this isn’t an original idea, was these guys – and all the others we served with – were like a surrogate family. Our blood families could not be with us, but our friends sure were. There’s something about shared hardship that builds bonds.
Other than the odd guy who was a seemingly ancient 25 or 28, we were all, “boots to life,” a term any Marine would immediately understand. We were young and inexperienced. In literally every corner of the world, we experienced new and exciting and shocking and terrifying things for the first time together, like brothers do growing up. How could you not want to remain in contact with these people?
At times – like living with my squad in a cramped room in Mogadishu – we got on each other’s nerves. We worked out our differences with sarcasm, talking, yelling, and sometimes fists. But we always settled them. If something bad happened, if something good happened, if nothing happened, they were there and you could never be depressed because you were alone.
During one of the most life changing periods in my life, in Somalia, I was a fire team leader and sometimes squad leader. No matter what was happening, how scary or depressing it was, good ole Beeker (that was his nickname) was smiling. Without him even knowing it, it provided great comfort. If I’ve never thanked you before, I am doing it now. Thank you.
I am fortunate to have re-established contact with my Marine friends. They are the most important group of friends I have or will ever have. Nothing can replace them. When I see them, as I did yesterday, it is as if I’m 19 years old for a few hours. That is pretty cool to have once in a while. I think it will become more important as I get older.
This is dedicated all those who shared that part of my life. You know who you are.
Semper Fi,
Kevin Sadaj, 89 – 93
Somalia Vet