Semper Fi, Mijo
A Marine mom's survival guide,
from the first phone call to Family Day
by Betty Alvardo, Corpus Christi, Texas

Hello · The phone call · What boot camp is · How to write a recruit · What I learned waiting · Family Day and graduation · To the other moms · Our letters, week by week

Hello, Mom

I'm going to guess you're here because your son or daughter just told you they joined the Marines, and you are either very proud or very scared or, if you're like me, both at the same time, all day long.

I'm Betty. I'm 45. I'm the dispatcher for the school buses in our district, which means I'm on the radio at 4:45 every morning telling twenty-two drivers where the potholes are. I'm a single mom of three: Ramiro is 19, Renee is 17, and Sebastian is 13. Ramiro is the oldest, the serious one, the one who used to line up his toy soldiers by height.

Last fall he came home and said, "Ma, I talked to a recruiter." I said, "Which recruiter?" He said, "The Marines." I said, "Ay, Dios mío," and sat down on the kitchen floor.

Two weeks later I went with him to meet his recruiter, Staff Sergeant Bolton, a very polite young man with a very short haircut, and I cried in his office in front of everybody. He handed me a box of tissues like he'd done it before. I think he had. Then I went home and did what I do best: I got organized. This page is everything I organized.

Ramiro left for Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego on Monday, June 7, 1999. He graduated on Friday, September 3. I'm writing this the week after he left again for the School of Infantry at Camp Pendleton, and the house is too quiet, so here we go.

The phone call and the form letter

He went to the processing station in San Antonio that Monday, and that night they flew him and a planeload of other boys to San Diego. Recruits get there at night, on purpose, I think.

At about one in the morning our time, the phone rang. It was Ramiro, reading off a card in a voice I'd never heard before: he had arrived safely, he would write soon, goodbye. Fifteen seconds. Maybe less. Click. I stood in the kitchen in my nightgown holding the phone and I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry, so I did both.

Moms, here's what nobody told me: that call is short on purpose. It's not him being rude. He's got a drill instructor standing right there. Don't take it personally. Be glad you got it, and go back to bed. (You won't sleep.)

About a week later a form letter came in the mail with his mailing address on it. That's the day you can start writing. Copy that address exactly. Every letter, every number.

What boot camp is, in general

I'm a mom, not a Marine, so this is the general picture. Your recruiter can tell you more, and so can the Marines' own family information.

• It's about three months. A few days of processing, then about twelve weeks of training.
• Where: Generally, men who enlist from west of the Mississippi go to San Diego. The East goes to Parris Island, South Carolina. All of the women recruits train at Parris Island.
• Drill instructors are with them from first light until lights out. They yell. That's the job. Ramiro says he'd do anything for his senior drill instructor, and he said it the way he used to talk about his grandpa.
• Rifle range and field training: The San Diego recruits go up to Camp Pendleton for a few weeks for the rifle range and field training, the hills and the hiking.
• The Crucible: Near the end comes the Crucible, a 54-hour test begun in 1996. Very little food, very little sleep, a lot of miles, and problems they have to solve as a team. When it's over, they receive the Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem, and they're called Marines for the first time. Ramiro says that was when he cried. He told me I'm not allowed to put that on the Internet. Sorry, mijo.
• No phone calls during training, except for emergencies, which go through the Red Cross.

How to write to a recruit

Letters are everything. They get mail call at night, and the recruit who gets nothing feels it. Write. Write a lot. Here's what I learned, some of it the hard way.

1. Letters only. No packages. Do not send cookies. Do not send candy. Do not send anything that makes a lump. I'm told the drill instructors have creative ideas about what to do with a box of cookies, and none of them include the recruit eating them.

2. Number your letters on the outside of the envelope. Mail comes in bunches, and this way he reads them in order.

3. Good news only. He can't do anything about bad news except worry about it, and he needs his head in training. When Hurricane Bret came ashore south of us in August, I wrote him the day after: we're fine, the house is fine, the dog hid under the bed. If something serious happens in the family, it goes through the Red Cross, not a letter.

4. Tuck in stamps, envelopes and a few sheets of paper. He has almost no time and almost no chance to buy them. I put in an envelope already addressed to us. He used every one.

5. Nothing on the envelope that will embarrass him. No lipstick kisses, no stickers, no perfume, no "To My Baby." Trust me. Have his girlfriend read this part too.

6. Small photos are OK. I sent one of the dog every week.

7. Don't expect much back. He'll write when he can, short and in bad handwriting. Keep writing anyway.

What I learned waiting

• No news is normal. Two weeks without a letter doesn't mean anything happened. It means he's busy.
• Keep busy yourself. I cleaned every closet in the house. Renee says I alphabetized the spices. I did not. I organized them by color.
• Find the other moms. A lady at church has a nephew in the Marines and she put me on an e-mail group of Marine families. Some nights those women were the only ones who understood.
• Pray. I lit a candle for him every Sunday. My mother lit about forty.
• Keep his room the way it is. I dusted it. I didn't change anything. Sebastian moved in his video games after week three, and I let him, because I think he missed his brother too.

Family Day and graduation

Ramiro's Family Day was Thursday, September 2, and graduation was Friday, September 3, 1999. All four of us drove out, plus my mother, who said she wasn't going to miss it if she had to walk. Two days in the car. Bring snacks.

Family Day starts early in the morning with a run: the new Marines come by in formation and the families line up and scream. I couldn't find him. They all look the same, shaved heads and all. Then Sebastian yelled "THERE!" and there he was, eyes straight ahead, and I lost it. After a ceremony they get on-base liberty for a few hours, and you get to hug him, finally, and he says "yes, ma'am" to you, and you look around for who he's talking to.

Graduation is Friday morning on the parade deck. The band, the flags, the whole company marching. I've never been so proud of anything in my life, and I've watched three kids learn to walk.

Tips for traveling families:

• Book your hotel as soon as you know the date. Graduation weekends fill up.
• Bring a photo ID for every grown-up, for the base gate. Ask the recruiter what else you'll need.
• Get there early, both days. Seats fill up.
• Bring a hat, sunscreen and water. It's sunny and you'll be standing.
• Bring tissues. Bring more tissues than that.
• Don't plan anything big for the afternoon of Family Day. Just sit with him. He'll want to eat, and he'll want to talk, and then he'll want to be quiet.
• He'll be different. He'll stand up straighter and call you ma'am and fold his napkin. Underneath, he's still yours. On the second night of leave he fell asleep on the couch with the TV on, just like always.

After graduation they get about ten days of leave at home. Then Ramiro reported to the School of Infantry at Camp Pendleton, which is where he is now. He calls on Sundays. Sundays are my favorite day again.

To the other moms

You are going to cry. That's fine. Cry, and then write a letter. He needs to hear from you more than he'll ever say.

Your baby is going to come back a grown man, or a grown woman. It's a hard thing to watch and a beautiful thing to see. Mija, he's going to be fine. And so are you.

For later, when your Marine is out in the fleet and maybe far away: Care Package Central has what to put in a care package for somebody deployed, what not to, and how a monthly packing party works. Wendy is an Army wife, but a box from home is a box from home.

Semper Fi, mijo. Te quiero mucho.

Proud moms who've stopped by:

(and a few dads and grandmas)

Write me: [email protected]
Last updated Saturday, September 25, 1999