#FreeCuba #FreeIran #FreeBolsonaro #FreeBrianCole!

Happy 251st Birthday, Marines! And a happy Veterans Day to all who served. People often ask why I chose the Marines. Here’s the story: I moved out at 17, five days before high school graduation. Needless to say, my parents weren’t happy with me. I had a job, but I knew I had to do something extraordinary—and fast—to survive. So, in the wisdom of a 17-year-old without a driver’s license, I decided to join the Marine Corps. I wanted to prove to them that I could thrive in an even stricter setting than their home. Well, that was stubborn pride talking. I had no family history in the Corps. I studied ballet, tap, and gymnastics since I was three or four, played piano and violin, and wore a dress to school every day. In high school, I would have been voted least likely to join the Marines in my senior class. However, I needed my parents’ consent. My parents were not even speaking to me, mostly my father. I had already moved out and worried the recruiter would be thrown out of their home, but they signed before I turned 18. Now, to put everyone on pins and needles, I delayed my ship date for what may have seemed to be foolish reasons, which upset many. Some thought I would back out and not a single adult in my life wanted that. Goodness - they wanted someone watching me to keep me out of trouble and thought I would ruin my life with bad decisions if I didn't ship to boot camp. I dug my heels in and didn't ship for almost 5 more months. I never considered dropping out. That delay helped - I started running and getting my head on straight about what seemed like an impulsive decision. Many years later, I learned that "direct ships", the kids that sign and ship immediately, have a very high discharge rate. I know now: that delay was wise. So, I shipped to Parris Island in the winter—from sunny California to a cold, windy, and wet island—and faced screaming drill instructors. Believe it or not, I had no regrets. Ballet instructors, music teachers, and my parents had already taught me discipline and yelling at me was nothing new. I adjusted better than many, and my life changed forever. Years later, I noticed my mother kept a small boot camp photo of me at 18 years old and another of me as a Corporal at a Marine Corps Birthday Ball. They sat on a nearly hidden shelf in the curio above her desk. I asked why she never worried I would make it through boot camp and my enlistment, especially when females were only about 6% of the Corps. She said, “You’re my daughter. Of course I knew you would make it. You were going to show us.” Too many people doubted me, but my mother knew I was determined to prove myself. Those old, scratched, and faded photos stayed in her curio until today and they're here now for the world to see. Happy Birthday, Marines. We are The Few. The Proud. Semper Fi! 🦅🌎⚓️