THE BOAT SCHOOL

I graduated from the Naval Academy with Nine Hundred and ’01 of my rock star classmates ten years ago today. Growing up I never wanted to be in the military. But at the insistence of my eldest uncle, the lone Jarhead in my family, I visited Annapolis on my college tour just to shut him up. Then it was all over for me.

I fell in love. The deepest, purest, most unconditional love – with the Naval Academy. Annapolis is among the most amazing cities in the country. And the Yard is deceivingly beautiful. The Academy, steeped in tradition, honor and camaraderie, is physically, mentally and emotionally challenging. Ridiculously hard to get into. Free. And (at the time) 87% male. During my visit, there were ruggedly good-looking men everywhere. Men playing lacrosse. Men running around The Yard. Men in uniforms that showcased their broad shoulders, washboard abs and perfectly shaped gluteus maximuses. Smart, ambitious men who would grow up to be generals, senators, astronauts… and investment bankers. This may come as a surprise, but the 87:13 ratio did factor into my decision making process.

I came home from my college tour singularly focused. I was going to get into the Naval Academy and I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way. To remind myself of this, I took a permanent marker and wrote U S N A in large print on my bedroom wall. Yes, I have been bat-shit crazy my entire life.

4 Years by the Bay

You will never believe or begin to fathom the atrocities that a Plebe endures. So I will just say that it’s worse than prison. It’s worse than tasting donkey sweat every day for the rest of your life. It’s worse than getting bit by a monkey, catching the plague and bleeding out of your eyes until the moment of your ill-timed death. To summarize in terms John Paul Jones would use, in a word being a plebe is horrible, unfathomable and inhumane.

After you’ve been a plebe, everything else seems easy. But the truth is, I was always a bad midshipman. I either laughed or cried whenever I was yelled at; neither response was tolerated. I broke every rule. I was a horrible runner. I was goofy, a dreamer, stubborn and worst of all, liberal. I stood out in every possible way. Despite my personal hardships, I knew every midshipman was suffering with me. There were days of tiny victories: spontaneous pep rallies in T-Court, splashdowns on 6-4, Chili con carne and Cannonballs with hard sauce for noon meal.

Shared pain unites every Naval Academy graduate. But it was so much more than that. We learned how to be selfless on the most basic human level, knowing that in time some of us would give the ultimate sacrifice for our country. We shared bonds of patriotism that were infectious: America. Fuck yeah! And we leaned on each other to survive.

Apple Juice. Orange Juice. Assorted Cereal. Fresh Fruit.

Ten years. It goes so quickly. I’m gearing up for my reunion in September where I, along with 4 of my lucky classmates, will become Flip Cup Champions. Yes, it’s true that I have no idea what Flip Cup is, but if you know me, you know that will not stop me from winning. Just sayin.

Really, I am excited to be around people who get it. My classmates know what if feels like to be in the middle of a deep sleep and woken by the sound of a clanking metal trashcan in front of your door. It feels like Armageddon. They know the pure joy of a 1MC announcement cancelling drill due to rain. It feels like the greatest moment of your life. And they know what it feels like to throw their covers in the air in front of the President of the United States and become commissioned officers. It feels… most favorable.

Here’s to you, mighty class of Aught One. We started together. We finished together.