# Loss of Memory

I think the main problem is that I never actually learned to suffer for what I
wanted.

My parents always looked after me and my likes and wants.

The only times I remember I actually suffered a little for what I wanted, I
actually felt betrayed by them.

## Becky and Tom

The first time, I remember, was when I was 15 years old.

A certain girl and I had just gone steady a couple of days ago and, not wanting
to make a big fuzz among the community, we had tried to keep it low for the
time being.

My mom certainly noticed something was going on and was blunt enough to make me
uncomfortable asking me what was my business regarding her.

At first, I tried to deny it but, hey, it was my mom asking so I decided to
open up and spill the beans right then and there. My mom listening all the time
with that face that most moms have when they are measuring up what you are
saying, somewhere between bemused and condescending.

My brand new first official girlfriend was older than I and it seems that was a
bit of a problem, given our circumstances and the belief system we grew up in.
We were both children of the military and we both knew that we would eventually
have to part ways.

My mom, being my mom after all, decided to introduce herself to my
not-so-official mother-in-law. "Good afternoon. Did you know that your daughter
is my son's girlfriend? Because I just found out..."

Yikes! My mom always had a knack for saying things in the most matter-of-factly
way...

I felt betrayed by her, for not keeping it to herself. I know she had the best
intentions, but I still remember the feeling as if it had happened yesterday...

From there, adults started keeping a watchful eye on us, beginning a search and
rescue operation if we went amiss for more than a couple of hours. We were
underage after all. Me a little more than her, anyway.

After 8 months, the dreaded notice arrived. Her dad was being relocated to
another base... First split, first heartbreak, first lesson... We saw each
other a couple of times months later but it was never the same again.

I lost track of her a couple of years ago and, judging for what I have found by
my own research, it didn't end well for her. A side of me is quite reluctant to
find out. I prefer to remember her the way I do.

## Bring In the Guns

The second time was when I turned 18 years old.

Back in my country, men are to compulsorily serve in the military for one year
once they turn 18.

I was no exception.

At that time, I wanted to travel the world but, in order to do that, I was
going to need a passport. And guess what kind of paper I needed in order to get
it?

Yes. The clearance paper that stated I had fulfilled my obligations with the
military.

So, as you read previously, my dad was in the military so, who would mind
dropping a few names here and there to, somehow, bypass the burden that all
this meant to an 18 year old, right?

Little did I know...

Due to lack of space, not everyone was eligible to serve in the barracks.

The selection process went something like this:

 First, there was a random selection of "black balls" and "white balls". "Black
balls" were the lucky ones and only had to wait out the one year period without
any other annoyance.

The "white balls" were not so lucky and had to report to barracks every weekend
to do community service for the whole year.

Then, there were the "elite". Those that, for one reason or another, couldn't
wait a full year and needed to have their papers cleared as soon as possible.
Usually in a matter of months.

I was in that group.

There was s catch tough if you wanted to belong to this group, and I will come
back to it in a moment.

Within that smaller group, there were more filters such as physical fitness
evaluations.

These filters would serve to classify and assign you to a group. Depending on
the group, your papers would be cleared sometime during the year. Group one
would get their papers cleared by the end of the first quarter of the year,
group two by  the end of the second, and so on.

Once you were assigned to a group, there was more pruning to do and some would
only need to show up every weekend and do community service, much like the
"white balls". The other group, the "chosen ones", would be assigned to an
actual military unit and move in to the barracks with them to receive full
military training during the period.

I got selected for group two, and showing up only on the weekends. A bitter
sweet moment. That meant my papers would not be cleared until the end of the
second quarter of the year. Not something I looked forward to. I needed to get
my papers cleared faster than that. At least I would only have to show up on
weekends...

A quick phone call to "the commander" solved the issue.

Sort of.

I was reassigned to group one...

AND full military training.

No! No! No! You were only supposed to change the first part of the agreement!

It was a Monday.

I didn't get to walk the streets free again until the next Saturday. And only
for a few hours, since we had to be back at the barracks by Sunday at 8pm.

Great move, dad! I think I stopped talking to him until the end of my military
training.

I got to learn a few nifty things though, like doing square meals and sleeping
with my eyes wide open.

The grind started at 5am and didn't stop until 9pm. Every. Single. Day.

Survival, marksmanship, and weaponry were among the interesting subjects,
although not so much when you couple them with long classroom hours and exams
every week. And physical conditioning. At least three hours daily of it.

Eventually, we earned the right to wear the uniform on the streets. That
feeling of accomplishment and responsibility is something that doesn't wear out
so easily. I guess I miss it sometimes. Thank you, dad, for being such an
asshole. I salute you wherever you are...