Recon Forever

The first impression I think back to was basic training when a 5-ton truck backed up to us and a Drill Sergeant told everyone to unload a heap of supplies.  While most of us hesitated to do it in an organized fashion, Brett Glaze grabbed as much as he could and slung metal shards over his shoulder to carry it off.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” said the Drill.

He made us all feel like little bitches in that moment.  So, we naturally tried to make up for our weakness by emulating his actions, but the deed was done.  Glaze didn’t always win, but he was always the Connor McGregor we all pulled for.  When he lost, we lost.  When he won, we, his family, won.  Glaze never left his people in the dust.  He always spoke of his hometown friends in the highest regard.  Earning loyalty went a long way and his conviction in his actions mimicked the most fearless ever born.

“Damn Vance!  I didn’t like you for some reason, but you’re fucking cool, hahahaha!” followed by more shots and Loaded Coronas.

That made my day after being assigned to the Pacific Northwest along with 45 scouts from our basic training class sent to the first ever Stryker Brigade Combat Team returning from their inaugural deployment of innovation and bloodshed.  Before deploying ourselves, we went out every night, living paycheck to paycheck, drinking until we were assigned to a particular troop… and then kept living paycheck to paycheck.

A wild child and all about his country… and also Texas.  We talked so much shit about Texas vs Virginia.  If he was ever caught up in the verbiage, he’d smirk at me, give a quick, high-pitched chuckle and finish with a deep, “Motherfuckin’ Vance man!”  I can’t stop hearing that and smiling.  It was a constant spar that we both adored about each other.  He’d sing a song from “Punisher” while Lyons played guitar and Blue challenged him to more NCAA Football while comparing a fake tooth to a gold tooth.

“Vance! Vance! Vance!” He bellowed.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I’m good."

“Bro, there’s blood everywhere!”

We hit a tree in a Durango.  After limping to the barracks, we hobbled to the “Big Boy” monkey bars in the light mist during the middle of the night to regroup and laugh off the close call with Yancey.  Uncle Sam pulled us in different directions from there, but our eyes still lit up when we saw each other randomly in Iraq or back in the states.  He did stuff, I did stuff.  We never spoke about it, because we did what we signed up for and that was the end of it.  We lived through the fire and we were blessed to survive.  Then we moved on to the next chapter.

I support all my pals doing the “22 a Day” push-ups, because pals.  It’s not reality for us though.  It’s not a popular opinion.  Like OB and I talked about when we spoke of Glaze’s passing today, we don’t accept that he did it on purpose.  He loved his son, he loved life, he loved his homies.  After so many of our brothers have passed in the states, we grow tired of hearing “he was a veteran, so that’s why he did it.” 

No.

We are a very different breed.  We love our country.  We found ourselves during combat.  We miss that adrenaline.  We may never know the exact reason why he did the deed, but we do refuse to accept the stereotype.  Maybe my man had the conviction of feeling like he’d never have that feeling again that made us all feel so alive, free and above ourselves.  Maybe it was something else.  We’ll never know.  We just feel more detached in missing Glaze.  He’s an all-time great, a legend in the scout community.  I look forward to telling his son how his father was a fighter, a proud Texan, a proud American and how he would have proudly laid his life down for his brethren in Bronco Troop.  A lot of men talk of sacrifice… but we all know there’s only one Brett Glaze. 

 

Your laugh, your love of life and your dedication to your service to the United States of America… I’ll drink to that this ‘Merica Day Weekend brother.

 

Recon Forever!