I would like to share an excerpt from my mother's memoir. She has always been a story teller and has recently taken to writing her own life story.
As a single parent with little education she had to struggle and endure many hardships in life. In an effort to bring us out of poverty she made an extremely bold and selfless decision;
she enlisted in the Canadian Forces Army.
At the time, I was 12 years old and had very little understanding of the sacrifices and challenges we would come to endure as a family. As I write this I am currently the mother of a toddler and 8 months pregnant with our second child, and her words inspire and ignite a new spirit of gratitude with in me.
Mom, thank you for all you've done for our family, and for your country.
Boot Camp
"l was already sweating profusely and very uncomfortable when l got off the bus. It was a hot, suffocating August day in 1992.
Dressed in a long sleeve white, cotton blouse, black pants and the most unsuitable dress shoes for walking, l began the awkward hike up a steep hill to the guard house at CFB Cornwallis in Nova Scotia. After identifying myself to the officer on duty, he called for the appropriate personal to escort me to the barracks. Unknown to me at that particular time the base was getting ready to be closed within the year and there were no platoons training. That day of my arrival the camp stood in solemn silence.
l had to wait for some time so l looked out over the base at the numerous old H-buildings built in 1942. The deteriorated wooden barracks sat in peaceful tranquility that ruminated of a time long ago. I imagined back in the 1940‘s when you could smell the recent cut timber of the newly built constructions mingling with the odour of fresh paint. Clamorous noises of sergeants yelling orders and the pounding thump of marching platoons. The passionate recruits filled with fear and excitement, training to fight to their inconceivable death, serving their country in World War II.
Such was the purity of their hearts, unaware of the horror of war and the ultimate price that they would pay in order to defeat the horrific Nazi’s. If they lived there would be a deeper sacrifice, the loss of innocence and the loss of the person they once were. They would suffer beyond imagination and be changed forever. I can’t imagine the horror of having to kill my fellow human brothers and sisters. I can’t imagine living with the guilt and regret always trying to believe that it was a necessary evil.
As l reflected on the past in the hushed quietness of the camp my present day snapped back as a military vehicle pulled up beside me. From the driver’s seat the Master Corporal sat staring at me with a scowl on his face.
I said, “Hi!”
The Master Corporal said is a gruff voice, “Do not speak until spoken to. Are you Private Boutilier?”
I gave a sharp confident, “Yes”.
He barked back at me, “Yes, Master Corporal.” Emphasizing the Master Corporal and that l was to address him as such.
I raised my voice a little, “Yes, Master Corporal.”
I figured the message was pretty clear, I’m in the army now. No more polite, ‘How do you do?’. It was straight to the boot camp. I was now a recruit in the army, and all the pleasantries of civilian life flew out the window. Time to cast off the polite sensibilities of civilian society and assume the tough, hard core military association.
At that time in the 1990’s the military environment was still struggling to overcome gender, age and ethnic prejudices. When I entered the armed forces I had three strikes against me: female, thirty-five years of age, indigenous heritage.
You may ask, why was l doing this? Why would l put myself through all this? My answer is that l was a single parent and this was a chance at a better life for me and my twelve-year-old daughter. I was willing to face combat training with a ‘do or die’ attitude. They’d have to kick me out or fail me because I wasn’t quitting, no matter what! I was determined to give it my all. I had to leave my daughter behind with my sister, which was heartbreaking, but this was an opportunity of a lifetime.
The first week of training we were still wearing our civilian clothing. My white cotton blouse turned yellow with sweat stains and had chaffed my arm pit’s raw. Finally we received our proper military attire.
I remember one time we were out on a very long run, my body ached all over and my lungs felt like they were going to collapse. I was in pain, panting hard, trying to catch my breath and l thought for sure l was going to pass out.
The master corporal, a large, fit man, ran up along-side of me with a sneer on his face yelling, “HEY! YOU! Do you want to quit? Come on, you know you want to quit. Look at you, you’re the slowest moving slug l ever saw, my five-year-old son could run faster than you! You’re pathetic! You don‘t belong here!” I glanced at him with a frown knowing full well he was trying to push my buttons and see if l would give up. Supposedly this was a method to weed out the weak and feeble. Also the military believe that yelling and using deprecating language was an efficient way to teach recruits to deal with stress and not complain. I had already learned that from my mother, thank you very much.
I entered boot camp wearing a white blouse, black pants with dress shoes and left donning a camouflaged Canadian armed forces uniform and combat boots. All the training and all the soul searching had brought me to another place in my mind. I learned so much more than l had imagined. Joining the military meant signing away a big part of my individual freedoms but, in turn, l had joined the company of all those self sacrificing people that had stood and are today standing on guard for our country, for us, Canada."
