It's kind of hard getting old all at once. Take it from me. It just happened.

As you may/may not know I wrote the army for the return of my birthday which my First Sergeant took away from me as a hokey disciplinary action.

I just went from 22 years old all the way to 63 in a single second as the clock hit midnight a few days back. I was actually asleep when it happened. I went to bed 22 years old and woke up 63.



A couple weeks before my birthday I got an email from what later proved to be an army sergeant. He wanted my phone number and a time he could call me. Normally I would have ignored it but it came with a 'Happy non-birthday' comment and I figured it just HAD to be a GI.

Several hours after I sent the email back to him I got a call. Apparently the request I made to Army G-1 stirred up a kettle of worms. The form and attached statement got passed around and some understood it, and some didn't. The sergeant told me of one bird colonel that read it and looked confused.

"How could this guy possibly have children that are older than he is?" the confused colonel asked the sergeant as he read the attachment that I wrote that accompanied my form 4187.

The final disposition of my request was supposedly passed on to the JAG office, showing me what a litigous age we live in. The good sergeant opined it would die there. They don't like touching things like that wth a ten-foot pole.

When I told him that a few months after I had heard nothing from the S-1 shop I called my old outfit and got the First Sergeant to reinstate my birthday he howled gleefully and commented that most likely it is what I should have done in the first place. 

I'm grateful to a sergeant with a sense of humor that would make the effort to track me down and share humor with me. I very well may be risking his career.



Some of you people out there know what happened to me but some don't. I'll have to start at the beginning.

Back when I was a PFC I was walking by a Coke machine. It was big, bright red and said 'Have a Coke' on it in big white letters. I decided to cough up the princely sum of twenty-five cents and have a Coke. I reached into my pockets to fish out a quarter and heard a mousy pipsqueak voice start chewing me out for having my hands in my pockets. I turned to see who my tormentor was this time and found myself facing a 97 pound weakling straight out of a Charles Atlas comic book ad wearing the gold oak leaves of a major.

When I saw the leaves I popped to, saluted and said nothing but I suppose my face held the look of contempt and scorn. He ranted and raved a bit and demanded to see my ID card. I briefly thought of telling him I had lost it in a crap game but decided not to. I was hoping for the best here and decided not to fight it. He took my ID and wrote my name and asked my unit. I gave it to him and hoped for the best.

I did notice my brand new platoon leader in the distance watching the entire show and saying nothing. I prayed my BnXO would appear out of nowhere because he looked out for us. Had he shown up the BnXO would have heard my side of the story and probably offered to kick the hell out of the little dweeb major. I'd seen him offer to do it before. The BnXO was one hell of a soldier.

Instead after I got an earful and the major left my shiny new platoon leader, a second lieutenant straight out of West Point showed up and told me he had seen the entire thing and would stick up for me if I got hauled in to my First Sergeant.

A couple of hours later I was told to report to Top. When I did I saw the Lieutenant standing there and he proved good to his word.

"Don't bother telling me what happened," said Top. "The Lieutenant saw it all. What we are here to do is to figure out how to deal with it."

"Top, I could probably bring the major up on charges of conduct unbecoming," I said. "The Lieutenant is a credible witness and I'd bet we could make it stick."

Both of them looked sharply at me when I said that. The lieutenant looked uneasy.

"Let's not let it come to that," said Top, evenly. "I hope you're not serious. Besides if you did you'd have every officer in the Battalion gunning for you."

He turned to the Lieutenant. "Here's what we do. We punish this man appropriately and report that he has been appropriately punished and that will likely end it."

He turned to me. "When's your birthday?" he asked. I told him and he turned to the calendar, grabbed a bottle of White-Out and lifted the leaves until he came to my birthday and then he whited it out.

"Sir, I have taken away this man's birthday," he said."Do you have anything to add?"

"Yes, Top. How about some extra duty," said the Lieutenant. "Maybe make him empty your wastbasket and the BCs for good measure."

"So ordered, Sir," grinned the First Shirt. He turned to me. "This isn't a joke. It is nothing to run around laughing about. You will keep this under your hat and I meat it. I know what happened and it was wrong. In the future please try be a little more aware of your surroundings. Now beat it."

As I was clearing the door he called out to me and I returned to his desk.

"That school you requested and we need you to have came through. Haddad at the S-3 shop called. There's a hitch. You gotta be either a senior E-4 with a waiver or an E-5 to get in. We're making you a Sp/4 next week and immediately after that you will become an acting sergeant. We're hoping they won't notice."

I looked at Top wide eyed.

He continued. "You are not to pin on either until you report to that school and when you do you will enter the class wearing sergeant's stripes. Do not let us down."

"Thank you, Top." I said. "I won't."

I left and hung around outside and overheard Top tell the Lieutenant, "He's going to screw the S-3 shop. He's going to bust his ass to be first in his class and then when he does they'll see what Haddad did to get him in there when they check his record."

"Probably. Hey, Top. Is his loss of birthday a temporary or permanent thing," asked the Lieutenant. "I mean what's he going to do in forty or fifty years and he's still only in his twenties. How's he going to be able to apply for retirement if he's still only in his twenties?"

I heard Top snarf. He must have been drinking coffee. "You know something Lieutenant? I'm already beginning to like the way you think. The only difference I can see between the two of us is you have a West Point education. I think you're going to work out very well, Sir. Let's make it permanent."

They both laughed and the Lieutenant told Top he was flattered to hear that from the old soldier.

I took off at this point. I knew the Lieutenant was leaving and didn't want to get caught evesdropping.

When I got home I told my wife and she laughed. She offered to have two birthdays every year and give me one of them. I laughed but refused. Forty years later I was glad I did.


Forty some odd years later:

I met a Sergeant First Class in an airport. We were both waiting for the same flight and we started gabbing. He amused me with the things he has to deal with while running a platoon. Foolish privates and the like. Some things never change in the life on an NCO. You can still put two privates in a room with three bowling balls and orders to leave them alone and when you return you will find one missing, one snapped cllean in two and the third one pregnant.

I told him about the time my First Sergeant took away my birthday and he laughed. Then he suggested I submit paperwork and try and get it back. I thought about it and later posted that I wondered how to go about this on an internet forum I'm on all the time.

A GI sent me an IM, we swapped emails and he sent me the proper forms to fill out and I sent them into the Pentagon and waited. If I recall  correctly the GI that sent me the forms was a field grade officer with a pretty good sense of humor.

After a couple of months with no answer I suspected the Sp/4 mafia had pitched the forms so I decided to see what I could do with another route. I looked up my old outfit and found the First Sergeant's number and gave him a call.

I introduced myself by name and former rank and simply asked him if he could reinstate my birthday which was taken away from me back when I served in the outfit. 

"What? Someone took away your birthday?" he asked. "I'm confused"

So I proceeded to tell him about the major and the Coke machine and my platoon leader and so on as he listened laughing like hell. He said he had to put me on hold a minute and when he got back to me I realized I was likely now on speaker phone. By that time he had regained his composure although he truly did sound amused.

"What was your First Sergeant like back then?" He asked.

"Quite lacking in formal education but a man with immense native wisdom," I replied. "He was a Mississippi sharecroppers son and damned good NCO. He also had one attribute necessary for the times."

"What was that," asked the First Sergeant.

"He could beat the living dogsnot out of every single man in the battery," I answered and heard laughter in the background.

"So what makes you think I'm just going to give you your birthday back just like that?" He asked in an amused official sounding voice. When I heard that in that tone I knew my hands were going to be full. I was now back in the day and I knew how the game was played. I was going to have to fight like hell for what I wanted.

I was also aware that in this day and age First Sergeants are never addressed as 'Top' anymore but I figured it would be OK because most First Sergeants know it was common practice back in the day. They are generally aware that Old School First Shirts were pretty proud of that title. It originated as 'Top Sergeant', meaning senior NCO of a company sized unit. I could tell from this guy's voice he wouldn't object one single bit.

I knew he was a character and was enjoying himself.

"C'mon, Top, cut me a huss," I whined. It was a jab. we were feeling each other out.

"No!  Cut me a huss? You ARE a old soldier. I haven't heard that one since I was a PFC! I ought to quit right now." He laughed.

"You can't quit now! You're a first sergeant in the United States Army!" I shot back. "Besides I'm getting to the good part!"

He laughed. "You have a point there...now where were we?

"Awww Jeez, Top! You don't know what it's like having kids that are older than you!" I jabbed again. "How will I be able to collect Social Security? They won't give it to a 22 year old."

"No! It's your own fault! You shouldn't have put your hands in your pockets to begin with!" he parried.

"Awwww, pleeeeeease! Do it for my wife. She's a 62 year old woman married to a 22 year old man. She's tired of all my nieces and nephews calling her a cougar, Top. Do it for her!" I threw a decent one with that. "When he took away my birthday my wife offered to have two so I could have one but I didn't let her otherwise I'd now be a 22 year old guy married to a 102 year old woman and that would just plain be wrong! Please, Top!"

I could hear him put his hand over his mouth to laugh when I hit him with that one. I figured it was now time to switch from the begging and pleading to veiled threats. While most threats never seemed to work, there is one that generally gets their attention. They don't necessarily succumb to it but they kind of listen.

"Top,  I've had to hide this from my mother for over forty years. Is she ever found out I'm still only 22 years old there's no telling what she'd do. She'd likely come right over the the battery and there would be hell to pay," I said.

"Your mother doesn't know the United States Army," he countered.

"Top, the army doesn't know my 91 year old mother!" I shot back. 

"Hmmm. Good point," he said. "Birthday reinstated. Next time keep your hands out of your pockets!"

"Thanks, Top! You're a real pal!"

We both broke up laughing. 

"Why did you decide to call me?" he asked.

"I sent a form 4187 into S-1 in the pentagon and after a couple months they didn't answer," I said.

"You didn't!" he shot back, laughing.

"Yeah, Top, I did. Those chairwarming bastards didn't  answer so I decided to go on line and look up the old outfit. When I saw they took away the guns and turned you into a training outfit I figured a job as a First Sergeant in a unit full of kids needed a little help. I was hoping your'd enjoy this. Besides, when you want something done go straight to a senior NCO. That hasn't changed."

"You sure made my day... my week, actually." he said. "And I was lucky enough to get the old man and a couple of other NCOs to hear this. They wouldn't have believed it otherwise."

"Actually, Top, two things," I said. "I was in Headquarters battery and there isn't one here any more. I picked your battery after I did my homework."

"Homework?" he asked.

"Yeah. I called Battalion and asked around for a couple of Sp/4s and sergeants about which First Sergeant to ask and they to a man recommended you. They said you were the man for the job. They steered me clear of the Sergeant Major."

"Wow! I'm really flattered," he said. "I suppose they did you quite a service steering you clear of him. Hey, thanks for calling. It's been fun! How old are you, anyway?"

"Still only 22," I replied. "But on a couple of months I'll turn 63."

"Have a happy birthday. Glad I could have helped!"


To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY