on war. That’s how it is with most old people I know. There are guys in my hometown who are the same way. But things weren’t that great in the past, especially not during a war. They just remember being young.
But that guy was right about one thing. The diversity was interesting. Take this group. There were two other white guys besides myself, two black guys, and one Hispanic guy.
One of the black guys was named Dubois. He was from New Orleans. I can’t remember his first name, if I ever knew it.
Dubois was hilarious. During our downtime, he would tell stories, using slang that was like another language. Most of his stories revolved around “jocking the bitches and slapping the ho’s.” Even though I had never heard of most of the terms before, I picked up their meaning from his big smile and excessive body language. He liked girls who were “bootylicious,” and he had been “freaked out” when “messing with
mo-fo’s”, “running from the heat”, and “fighting for the cause.”
Dubois, like a lot of people, it seemed, lived in his own world. In Dubois’ world, nobody had to worry about AIDS. They “hooked up” quickly after meeting at parties or on vacation or wherever, and “got together” often.
Dubois once told a story about getting “the clap” from some “skank.”
“Dubois, you fool. Haven’t you ever heard of condoms?” a man named Boudreaux said.
“Hell yeah. But I can’t help myself,” he said, flashing a big Dubois smile. “I like ‘em tasty!”
Boudreaux was a big black guy. I never knew any black people before joining up. They simply didn’t live in my neck of the woods, literally. But I liked these guys. Boudreaux was cool, like Dubois, although he talked a lot less. He was tall, and had apparently had been offered a full ride to practically any college of his choice on an athletic scholarship. Then some injury changed his life forever. His dream of career in professional sports was over, so he was forced to find something else. This was his “Plan B.”
Boudreaux towered over the rest of us, and at the opposite end of the spectrum, both physically and in every other way, was a kid called Kaz. His real last name was Kazmirzak, but nobody wanted to say that, so we just called him “Kaz.” He liked it. He felt cool because he had a nickname.
He needed all the help he could get to feel cool. Kaz was a short white kid who wore glasses and didn’t like sports. He was a nerd, and I wondered what he was doing in the Army at all. As it turns out, he was not only into computers but also into chemistry, and he liked, in his words, “blowing things up.” He hated the physically rigors of BASIC (Didn’t we all?), but figured the Army would have career opportunities for someone with his particular interests and his talents.
Kaz was kind of cool, in his own way. He had to be at least 18, but he looked about 14. In a way, I kind of admired him. I mean, it took balls for somebody who looked that young and weak to join the one group where he was guaranteed to get yelled at and get his ass kicked.
Like me, he listened to Dubois without saying much. He simply had nothing to add, no experiences of his own to relate. Also like me, I could see the momentary confusion on his face as he deciphered Dubois’ lingo.
Dubois was probably fully of shit half the time, but who cared? He was fun to be around. I don’t know how many times he had “gotten monkey with the hotties,” but one thing I knew was that he wasn’t a virgin. I couldn’t say the same for Kaz. In fact, the very word seemed to be written on his face.
There was one guy in the unit who was more religious than me. His name was name was Paco. He was a Hispanic guy from Los Angeles. “Paco” is the Spanish name for Frank, which is kind of funny. I mean, I get how “Pedro” is the Spanish version of “Peter,” and “Marco” is “Mark” and all that, but how they get “Paco” out of “Frank”, I don’t
But that guy was right about one thing. The diversity was interesting. Take this group. There were two other white guys besides myself, two black guys, and one Hispanic guy.
One of the black guys was named Dubois. He was from New Orleans. I can’t remember his first name, if I ever knew it.
Dubois was hilarious. During our downtime, he would tell stories, using slang that was like another language. Most of his stories revolved around “jocking the bitches and slapping the ho’s.” Even though I had never heard of most of the terms before, I picked up their meaning from his big smile and excessive body language. He liked girls who were “bootylicious,” and he had been “freaked out” when “messing with
mo-fo’s”, “running from the heat”, and “fighting for the cause.”
Dubois, like a lot of people, it seemed, lived in his own world. In Dubois’ world, nobody had to worry about AIDS. They “hooked up” quickly after meeting at parties or on vacation or wherever, and “got together” often.
Dubois once told a story about getting “the clap” from some “skank.”
“Dubois, you fool. Haven’t you ever heard of condoms?” a man named Boudreaux said.
“Hell yeah. But I can’t help myself,” he said, flashing a big Dubois smile. “I like ‘em tasty!”
Boudreaux was a big black guy. I never knew any black people before joining up. They simply didn’t live in my neck of the woods, literally. But I liked these guys. Boudreaux was cool, like Dubois, although he talked a lot less. He was tall, and had apparently had been offered a full ride to practically any college of his choice on an athletic scholarship. Then some injury changed his life forever. His dream of career in professional sports was over, so he was forced to find something else. This was his “Plan B.”
Boudreaux towered over the rest of us, and at the opposite end of the spectrum, both physically and in every other way, was a kid called Kaz. His real last name was Kazmirzak, but nobody wanted to say that, so we just called him “Kaz.” He liked it. He felt cool because he had a nickname.
He needed all the help he could get to feel cool. Kaz was a short white kid who wore glasses and didn’t like sports. He was a nerd, and I wondered what he was doing in the Army at all. As it turns out, he was not only into computers but also into chemistry, and he liked, in his words, “blowing things up.” He hated the physically rigors of BASIC (Didn’t we all?), but figured the Army would have career opportunities for someone with his particular interests and his talents.
Kaz was kind of cool, in his own way. He had to be at least 18, but he looked about 14. In a way, I kind of admired him. I mean, it took balls for somebody who looked that young and weak to join the one group where he was guaranteed to get yelled at and get his ass kicked.
Like me, he listened to Dubois without saying much. He simply had nothing to add, no experiences of his own to relate. Also like me, I could see the momentary confusion on his face as he deciphered Dubois’ lingo.
Dubois was probably fully of shit half the time, but who cared? He was fun to be around. I don’t know how many times he had “gotten monkey with the hotties,” but one thing I knew was that he wasn’t a virgin. I couldn’t say the same for Kaz. In fact, the very word seemed to be written on his face.
There was one guy in the unit who was more religious than me. His name was name was Paco. He was a Hispanic guy from Los Angeles. “Paco” is the Spanish name for Frank, which is kind of funny. I mean, I get how “Pedro” is the Spanish version of “Peter,” and “Marco” is “Mark” and all that, but how they get “Paco” out of “Frank”, I don’t
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