- Kelli
If you have never attended a Marine Corps Ball, you are missing out on one of the most motivational and truly touching traditions of the United States Marine Corps. I recently had the privilege of attending the 236th Marine Corps Birthday Ball. In some ways, it felt like it was MY 236th ball. With 25 years of service under my Marine’s web belt, I have done my share of ball gown shopping, birthday cake eating, and tripping the light fantastic on painful but very cool stilettos.
Our very first ball was at a place called Pea Soup Andersons in Carlsbad, California. I was the brand new wife of a young and gung-ho LCpl. I remember seeing the blaze of scarlet and gold on the dress blues and evening mess dress of the Master Gunnery Sgts and Sgts Major and the various stages of graying hair, if they were lucky to still have any, glittering under the ballroom lights. I distinctly remember thinking, “Wow…they are really, really old.”
For the longest time, I thought they were the reason Marines were called leather necks (that is not where the term leather neck came from, by the way). The sunburned skin and lines crisscrossing the backs of their necks made them somehow look meaner and more hostile than I’m sure they really were.
The solemnity of the ceremony was not lost on me, but I don’t know that the Kelli of twenty plus years ago really understood the depth of sacrifice, honor, courage, and commitment that surrounded her that night.
Twenty something years later on the other side of the continent with six kids, multiple duty stations, units, hair colors, and ball gowns behind me, I once again joined my Marine to celebrate this year’s Marine Corps birthday. Walking arm in arm from the parking garage to the convention center in Wilmington, North Carolina, I glanced at my husband and to my great pride, and astonishment, I saw an old and tough-looking looking Marine with a silver halo adorning his high regulation haircut. The blaze of scarlet and gold on his sleeve with the bursting bomb in the center testifying to the years spent away from us, the sacrifices he personally has made, and the constant care and concern he has for his Marines. The lines that now crisscross the back of his neck reminding me of the hours of training on the beach, in a boat, or out in the field. The Kelli at that long ago ball certainly never thought of this “other end” viewpoint of a Marine Corps career, and I certainly never pictured the old Marine I walked beside at this ball.
Only a few days before the ball, I received a cryptic text from my husband that said “need to start talking exit strategy for the USMC.” Nothing more has been said or done, but there it is. It has finally been said out loud to the universe. Well, electronically anyway and as any communications Marine will tell you once it’s out there, it’s out there…FOREVER. It is also very different coming from HIM and not from me. I have always been the one to bring up retirement, dreaming about the mini homestead we will create for all our grandchildren to visit. It’s not my career though and somehow his one text makes the impending end more real, bringing into focus something that always seemed so far away and fuzzy.
I think we have just entered our own version of twilight. Did that single text thrust us into our “twilight tour?” Are we really that old? In the Marine Corps, yes. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, hopefully not. The ball was somehow more profound for me this year, certainly more so than the one at Pea Soup Andersons. I don’t know if it was the
Commandant’s message this year, the roll call of those who we lost, or the impending discussion of an “exit strategy.” Maybe it’s the fact my kids are growing up and I know some will wear the dress blues themselves one day and my heart feels a little anxious at the possibility.
Maybe it’s just the last 25 years have been the refiner’s fire for me as a person, a fire I am in many ways grateful for. I’ve walked through the flames of deployments, moves, and separations due to training and other duties. I have felt the oppressive stress that comes from caring for a large family during some of those times.
However, make no mistake. I don’t feel burned; in fact, I feel great pride for the contributions my Marine and my family have made. I feel stronger for having overcome challenges, and wiser for having not only survived them, but thrived in this incredible life of service. I have to admit the prospect of executing an exit strategy fills me with excitement sprinkled with fear for what the future may hold for a well-seasoned Marine and his family. Sitting in that ballroom with my feet killing me, I knew without a shadow of doubt I would do it all again, bear the burdens, and face the foes that only wives of service members know. In those moments between the retiring of the colors and the serving of dinner, I realized our time is nearing an end. Maybe that is why the ceremony was a little sweeter, the recognition of the sacrifices made since 1775 cut a little deeper, and the cake tasted a little richer. In a year or two, maybe three, we will no longer be a USMC family, but a USMC (Ret.) family. As always, though, if the fear begins to come a little too close for comfort, I just look to my Marine and remember, Semper Fidelis, always faithful. Where there is faith, fear cannot exist. Oohrah Marines and Happy Birthday!
