Originally posted on September 26, 2010, by bojo8669

Eons ago, I first became a Marine. I had learned from my Dad that you never truly quit being one.

There was a book that came out during the height of the cold war, “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich”, by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. It was about survival in a Soviet labor camp in Siberia. Life was rough to say the least. I can’t remember much of the details of the book, but the last sentence was “All in all, it was a good day.” Actually it was a terrible day by our reckoning, but the narrator’s group of prisoners were able on the day in question to get on the labor crew that mixed mortar for the construction project they were working on. As such, they were allowed to have a fire, since the mortar would freeze in the Siberian weather. They were therefore able to stay warm and make warm soup out of something, I forget what, to give to their ailing and weak comrades. Their whole life was lived at a much lower common denominator than ours.

It’s good to have some experience at living at a simpler level, whether you intend to, like the Amish, or you are forced to by either economic or some other necessity.

When I was in the military as a late teenager, and on operations in “the bush” as we called all of Viet Nam outside the wire of the base camps and fire-bases, we got “C-Rations.” They came in cases of, if I remember correctly, 12 boxes of individual meals. They were all different, but one meal, in particular, I will never forget. “Ham and Lima Beans” was its name. Mention this to any Veteran of those times and he will immediately grimace and say, “Oh, you mean Ham and Mother F***ers”, because that is how they were universally known. The entree was absolutely horrid, chunks of fat gristly ham bathed in congealed grease that stayed in a chunk even in tropical heat and huge starchy and tough lima beans. To draw this ration was the epitome of bad luck, but there was a redeeming fact. Also in the meal was a dessert called “pecan nut roll” and it was delicious. You could trade it for something more edible or just enjoy it with canned peaches. So you could have a bad day by getting issued Ham and Mothers, but some redemption was yours due to the nut roll. If one was available, I gave my Ham & MF’s to a Vietnamese kid. This might explain why the Vietnamese wanted us to go home.

In the years since, I have, as all of us do in practice and in life, get issued Ham and Mother F***ers. It is no doubt by any one’s standards a bad day. Self pity is my fate, until I rustle around and find the pecan roll, and remember there’s only one ham and mother meal in the whole case, so tomorrow I might get that Epicurean delight, “Beef, with Spiced Sauce”

Terrible days are to be lived through and learned from, and they should teach you to hope tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow is always better, whether you are a young Marine or a vet student or a veterinarian , or anyone else. OORAH

SEMPER FI

"The wound is where the light enters you." Rumi

The "wound" can be what is perceived as a nick, such as lima beans and ham; not even a wound but a bruise. Nothing truly serious. No big deal. Just the way it is. But if it bothers us in any way, in any way, it is diagnostic of a deeper and prevailing problem. To look any deeper will appear utterly foolish. This food just sucks, end of story. Any sane person with active taste buds would reject this meal. Shoo with your psychological babble.

Yes, it can be that simple. And really complicated. With the basic equipment of an ego, we all hold a sense of specialness and entitlement. If those two things are based on deficiency, not getting from our family of origin a loving confidence and encouragement and overcompensating, this simple slight of arbitrarily receiving c rations that were considered "bad" is enough for untoward behavior.

Never having liked lima beans, ever and not in the next life, I truly relate. And I deeply appreciate this parable. It is a parable. Down to earth, evocative, and compelling. There was a great job opening for you 2000 years ago. Yet the pity-pot has its comforts: feeling put upon perversely makes me feel special. Woe is me is like this special pass for demanded endless sympathy and sanctioned righteous complaint. And being snarky. Cutting off people in traffic takes an ounce or two off my pain and is therefore justified; I have been egregiously wronged by waiting a half hour for eggs at that restaurant or by this villainous can of C Rations . Someone has to pay. We are strange creatures. Wonderful writing and insight. There usually is, as you pointed out, a silver lining we may overlook by our pride or sense of entitlement that could turn things around.

But I will spoil my deep appreciation and go horribly off-topic with a story about my daughter. She is five and we are out to dinner with all the siblings, our wives and husbands and children, and grandpa (Pop-Pop). Fifteen of us. No matter what anyone ordered, Lima Beans was the side. Half-way through the meal, I start getting a few sidelong glances that my daughter is avoiding her vegetable; I follow where they are looking. I choke down a few as a form of encouragement but the message is not received. In fairness, she never saw a Lime Bean before today. My dad (Pop-Pop) is getting that look on his face: he is paying for all this so we better appreciate every bite. Being still somewhat under that judgmental look, I say to my daughter, "Jenny, try your vegetable." Not looking at me she says, "I don't like it." Mustering irrefutable logic I say to her, "How do you know you don't like it if you haven't tried it?" She stops and turns to me, does a little wiggle as if to center herself, and says, "Why would I try something I don't like?" Case closed, and everyone did get a kick out of her answer.

"The wound is where the light enters you." Rumi

The "wound" can be what is perceived as a nick, such as lima beans and ham; not even a wound but a bruise. Nothing truly serious. No big deal. Just the way it is. But if it bothers us in any way, in any way, it is diagnostic of a deeper and prevailing problem. To look any deeper will appear utterly foolish. This food just sucks, end of story. Any sane person with active taste buds would reject this meal. Shoo with your psychological babble.

Yes, it can be that simple. And really complicated. With the basic equipment of an ego, we all hold a sense of specialness and entitlement. If those two things are based on deficiency, not getting from our family of origin a loving confidence and encouragement and overcompensating, this simple slight of arbitrarily receiving c rations that were considered "bad" is enough for untoward behavior.

The Wisdom of children. It is incomparable. We were invited by a childless couple as a family to join them for dinner. I made my usual speech about remembering manners and eat what your given, no choices. The first course was a stuffed onion. My youngest daughter hated onions, so the other children looked at me, like now what, and little Mandy rose to the occasion. "oh, onions, my favorite" and everyone breathed a sign of relief. No, she didn't eat the onion, but did eat a couple of bites of the stuffing.