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Letters Home from Boot Camp
The Alvarez family page for our son Miguel, a Marine recruit in San Diego

Welcome. My name is Rosa Alvarez and this is the page I made for my son Miguel, who left for Marine Corps boot camp on July 6, 1999. He is at the recruit depot in San Diego, California. My husband Hector, Miguel's sister Vanessa (she is 14 and she is the one who showed me how to make this page) and I have been writing him almost every day, and he writes us back when they let him. I started saving all of it in a shoe box and then I thought, maybe other families who have a son or daughter going in would like to see what it is really like. So here it is. I am proud and I am worried and I miss him every single day. All three at the same time. If you are a mom reading this, you know exactly what I mean.

COUNTDOWN TO GRADUATION Friday, October 8, 1999 As of Sunday, September 26, that is 12 days away. Family Day is Thursday the 7th. We are driving down on Wednesday. (Vanessa updates this number for me every Sunday night.)

[ Miguel's Letters | Our Letters to Him | What the Families Are Told | Advice for Other Families | Graduation Plans ]

Miguel's Letters (excerpts) These are pieces of his letters, typed exactly how he wrote them. I have left out the parts that are just for us, and I am not putting in the names of his drill instructors or the details of his platoon, because they ask the families not to do that and I understand why. What is left is a boy who is very tired, very hungry, and doing fine. The first phone call, July 7 (not a letter): It lasted about thirty seconds. He read something off a card. "This is Recruit Alvarez. I have arrived safely at MCRD San Diego. Do not send any food or bulky items. I will contact you in three to five days by postcard or letter with my new address. Thank you for your support. Goodbye for now." Then click. I stood there holding the phone for a long time. July 13: "Mom, I am ok. I only have a few minutes so this is going to be short. The first days were a blur, we did not sleep hardly at all. My head is shaved, I look like Vanessa's old doll. Everybody yells but nobody has hit anybody, do not worry. The food is fine, there is a lot of it, you just do not get time to eat it. Tell Dad I am doing what he said and keeping my mouth shut." July 25: "Mail is the best part of the day. They call names and if you get a letter it is like Christmas. Some guys never get anything and it is sad. PLEASE keep writing even if it is boring stuff, I want to know boring stuff. What did you make for dinner. Was it your tamales. Do not tell me if it was your tamales." August 8: "It is hot when we are out on the parade deck and hot when we run and I sweat through everything. My feet are all blisters but they are turning into calluses. I have never been this tired in my life and I have never slept so good. Lights out and I am gone. I miss the couch. I miss Vanessa's music through the wall even. Tell her I said that and then tell her I take it back." August 22: "We are up at Camp Pendleton now for the rifle range and the field part. It is dry and hotter than San Diego. I qualified today. I am not going to say what I shot because Dad will just say he shot better in his day. Ha ha. We sleep in the field some nights. There is dust in everything. In my ears. In the letter I am writing you right now probably." September 5: "Something funny. I got your letter with the picture of the dog and I laughed and got in trouble for laughing. Worth it. Some of the guys got packages from home with cookies and stuff and the whole platoon paid for it, so whatever you do do NOT send anything except letters. I mean it Mom." September 19: "Third phase. We can see the end now. There is one big test coming up at the end that lasts a couple of days with almost no sleep and not much food and everybody is nervous about it. When it is over we are not recruits anymore. I want you to be there on graduation. I want Abuela to be there if she can make the drive. I want a carne asada burrito the size of my arm. I love you guys." Our Letters to Him I write him every night after the dishes. Hector writes on Sundays and pretends he does not, and Vanessa writes when she feels like it, which is more than she lets on. A few of ours: From me, July 10: "Mijo, we got your postcard with the address today and I have already written it on the calendar, on the refrigerator, and in my purse. Your room is the way you left it. I did not clean it. I could not go in there yet. The tomatoes are coming in and the dog sits by the front door at 3:30 like you are still coming home from school. I am not crying. Okay I am a little. Eat everything they give you. Love, Mom." From Hector, August 1: "Miguel. Your mother says I have to write something. Do what they tell you, do it fast, do not be first and do not be last. The truck needs a new alternator, I am waiting for you to come home and do it. I am proud of you. That is all. Dad." From Vanessa, August 15: "Hey bald guy. School started and it is boring without you here to be annoying. I am using your CD player and I am not sorry. Mom put your picture from the bus station on the TV and she talks to it. I think she thinks I do not notice. Everybody at church asks about you. Don't die. Love, V." From me, September 20: "Mijo, 18 days. I bought a new dress for graduation and your father bought a new shirt and complained about it. Abuela is coming, she says she would crawl there. Vanessa is making a sign. I told her it has to be a small sign. Your room is clean now. I went in. It was time. Love always, Mom." What the Families Are Told When Miguel left, the recruiter gave us a folder, and later we got a letter from the depot. Here is what they told us, in plain words, in case your folder is in a drawer somewhere: Write. Write often. Mail is the only thing they get from home. A letter a day is not too many. Short is fine. Boring is fine. (See Miguel's July 25 letter.) No packages. No food, no candy, no magazines, no anything. It causes trouble for your recruit and for his whole platoon. Letters and photographs only. Keep the envelope plain. No stickers, no perfume, no lipstick kisses, no drawings on the outside. It gets him noticed and not in a good way. Save the hearts for the inside. Address it exactly the way they tell you, with "Recruit" and his full name and the platoon number. Write it out carefully, mail that is addressed wrong goes back to you. Do not expect phone calls. You get the short one when he arrives and that is it until near the end. If the phone rings it is not him. It took me about a month to stop jumping. Do not send bad news you can't do anything about. If somebody is sick or there is a real emergency, you go through the Red Cross, not through a letter. Boot camp is about thirteen weeks counting the first week when they process in. It goes in three phases. Some of it is done up at Camp Pendleton, north of San Diego. Graduation is on a Friday and Family Day is the Thursday before. Advice for Other Families (from one who is almost through it) 1. Get a calendar just for this. Mark the day he left, the day graduation is, and cross off every day. It helps more than it should. 2. Write the letters even when you have nothing to say. Tell him what you had for dinner. Tell him the dog got into the trash. He wants the trash story. 3. The first letter you get will make you cry. The second one will be funny. By the fifth one you will notice he sounds different. Older. That is the point, but it takes some getting used to. 4. Find other families. Our recruiter put us in touch with two other families from our town with sons who went in the same month. We have coffee every couple of weeks and compare letters. It is the only place where nobody says "oh I'm sure he's fine" in that voice. 5. Do not send the cookies. I know. I KNOW. Do not send the cookies. 6. Book your hotel for graduation early. We did not and had to call around. Everybody's family comes and every place near the depot fills up. 7. Take care of yourself too. I did not sleep well the first three weeks. Hector finally said, "Rosa, he is sleeping fine, you should too." He was right and I did not tell him so. Graduation Plans We leave Wednesday, October 6. It is about a seven hour drive for us. Coming: me, Hector, Vanessa, Abuela, Hector's brother Ray and his wife, and Miguel's friend Danny who is going in himself in January and wants to see what he is getting into. Thursday is Family Day and we get to see him for the first time since July. I am told there is a run in the morning that the families can watch, and then we get him for the afternoon. I have been warned by the other moms that I will not recognize him at first. I have also been warned he will eat everything in sight. I am bringing a cooler. Friday morning is the graduation ceremony on the parade deck. Then he is ours for ten days of leave before he goes on to the next school. I have the menu for those ten days planned already. It starts with the burrito the size of his arm. I am going to put pictures on this page after graduation. The film has to be developed and then Vanessa says she can scan the prints at the library. So check back around the middle of October. Other GeoCities.us pages we like The Navy Wife's Survival Guide - Tina in Norfolk. Different branch, same feelings. USS Kittiwake Shipmates (1968-1972) - a reunion page for men who served together. It made me think about the friends Miguel is making right now. The Color Guard Page - Cmdr. Briggs at the American Legion post. The rest of the Pentagon neighborhood

You are visitor number since July 20, 1999. Thank you for stopping by. [email protected] - if you have a son or daughter going in and you have questions, write me. I will answer every one. Last updated: September 26, 1999 © 1999 The Alvarez family. The letters on this page belong to our family, please don't copy them to another page without asking.