Col. Dennis Arinello, USMC, introduced me to Michael May of Houston, Texas. I have learn about Michael's wife Julia May and their Brave Warrior son Steve May, USMC. This is part one of Michael's heartfelt story written by Michael himself.

When my son started walking at the age of 7 months, his Mom and I knew we had a mission on our hands keeping up with him.  At the age of 9 months he walked up the slide in the back yard, lickity split. "WOW!" we said, along with some other carefully chosen expletives. During the ascending months from then on, till the age of 4, this young man was a handful beyond belief. We spent countless hours at the doctors offices, nursing wounds that brought many questions, and much attention from the doctors and nurses attending him, looking for signs of abusive behavior on our parts as parents. PEACHY !!

We managed to settle all those thoughts down, along about the time he was diagnosed with adhd. Although this explained a lot of open-questioned details everyone wanted to know, it was very difficult to fathom that there was any kind of a problem with this awesome kid.

Ritalin was the solution for the longest time , keeping the dosages on track was the key and Julia was a STAR in taking care of this young man all through that period. He excelled in studies (as long as he was challenged in proper manors) he hated to be the lime-lite of any conversations, and he was flat-out AWESOME in sports.

At the ripe-'Ol age of 4, he was seen and discovered by a neighbor across the street (who had a son himself about a year older than Steven. His sons name was Stephen, and became Steven's BEST FRIEND). The discovery was that Steven could kick a ball (any ball) and he could throw one as well.  Vuwalla ... a baseball player was born (along with basketball and soccer) Getting past the "No Attention" detail was a rough road to hoe, it was a head-trip to think of innovative ways to challenge him without him getting the urge to just go-away. I practiced pitching with him out on the front-lawn countless of days. The bonus of that was, as he went forward through the pitching years he was awesome! NoBody could touch him, if he didn't strike them out 123, he hit them in the box, and scared the "holy crap" out of them from then on. He had such a fast-ball, and control of it. He had monstrous movements on the ball. It really got funny to watch the batters just tremble at the box, poor kids !! The kids that weren't scared  took the ball over the fence (pissing this young man off royally)

Finally, he came to me one day and told me "No More Baseball" It took a lot of courage for him to tell me that. I was his Dad, and coach through this long period. We were untouchable as a team. There are still about 100, 1st and 2nd place trophies in his room to this day, but he had reservations that I wasn't aware of, ... namely  getting "HIT" by the ball at the plate. He knew that what he was doing to others in fear had come around and visited him the same way. "Baseball" was over right then.

Oh !! then there was "soccer" and he was a Goalie. Now remember, he doesn't like attention brought on to himself, yet, he was the Premier Goalie on the teams he was on. He had the 6th sense that most don't have He knew where the ball was going to be.  We never knew how he figured this out, just Divine Intervention, I'm guessing.

Out of those years and into the recent;

When he was 17 1/2, he started asking a lot of questions about, what it would take to be a "Navy Seal," or "Special Forces." He was a whiz at all the shoot-em-up, war-type video games. He had them all. There wasn't a level he couldn't master, ... who knew !?? Just about the time he graduated from high school, he ran down to the Marine Recruiters Office, and JOINED THE MARINES! He told us that fact after he had done it. He didn't want us to try to talk him out of it. Our boy had made the decision of entering MANHOOD (with a BANG!,) and showing the world he was ready to take on whatever anyone or anything had to throw at him.

As we sat waiting for him to go to PT training here at home. He waited for the next available opening in the recruit stage at MCRD San Diego. One day, Steven and I were watching a DVD of The National Treasure. Not knowing at the time how important this film was to this young man, along about the time that Nicholas Cage was reading off the "Declaration of Independence" word-by-word, when he got to the part of " Fighting for those whom can't fight or defend for themselves." Steven stopped the DVD right then, ... he looked me straight into the eyes, and he stated to me with all honesty and sincerity, "Dad, THAT IS the very reason I am doing what I am doing,  to FIGHT for those whom CAN'T FIGHT for themselves"

I was in "AWE" of my son. I knew at that moment, the young man, was on his mission in life. I was so damn proud of him, I almost cried in front of him but I managed not to. Whew, ... he hates that kind of mushy stuff!

Anyway,  he goes to San Diego at 4:00 AM one morning, not wanting either of us to take him to the recruiters office several miles away.  Julia and I  won that battle and we took him there. His mom did well in not losing it.  She stood brave, but trembling. We got there the next day at 4:00 AM as was instructed. The recruiters car swept by at 4:20 AM. There was dead silence, all those minutes, pure hell on us as parents. When the car came by, we could see a couple of other heads in the car. He wasn't to be alone on this trek to hell. He had company. Julia and I drove slowly away with them in the lead. However, they managed to speed away to oblivion ... then Julia began to break-down a bit, but, all-n-all she held stead-fast, with honor.

What I've told others about what a MARINE is and what it's all about.

When the Marines, as an establishment, get a hold of a striving individual, they strip them of EVERYTHING they ever thought they were or wanted to be. They take away everything! In return, the Marine Corps thoroughly  washes, waxes, and polishes every nook, cranny and aspect of a young person's soul. At the very same time, very intently and resourcefully The Marines manage to RE-INSTALL the PARTS they know to be "true to the corps," and insert many subtle extras, many of which takes years to come to the surface and be discovered by themselves or anyone looking on. Many of which are visible the very day these young warriors are returned to their respective families and friends. It is purely awesome as to how the Marine Corps does this. A mystery to be sought, but never revealed. It is their way it is the "Brotherhood" that they all come to know and respect, as their "OWN" and never to be lost --- EVER !

"Once a MARINE, always a MARINE " !!  "Marines Take Care of Marines" PERIOD !

And then, the day arrives, December 16th, Graduation Day! We couldn't have been more proud of our son,  our MARINE, ... all of those Marines graduating that day will follow me for the rest of my days.
 
"Ho-tel Companyyyyyyyyyyy!"  and the final "OOHRAH" !!! Ohhhh, the feelings that go through you when you hear that very end chant. The world STOPS for the entire time those covers (hats) are launched into flight! It can't have a deeper meaning or just-reward. Overwhelming feelings for all that are lucky and privileged to be present, all that were was alive in us that very day.

As training goes along, one gets lulled into a norm of close contact,  pick up the phone and call anytime, ... text him, ...he'll answer.  "He is awake, I'm sure" you say to yourself,...  he always is, and he always was. You find out  that's part of the training. "How could the Marines be so DAMN MEAN !!" you say to yourself. To save their lives is the very answer to that silly notion of a question.

The very privilege of being able to call him at anytime and hearing his voice was awesome. To find out that he is standing post, somewhere atop a "Big Hill" in the boonies somewhere in Pendleton with a hand-held radio doing check-ins every 5 minutes, with a rifle hung over his shoulder, with one round in the rifle. He had orders to shoot if necessary, but not advised without orders.

Hummmmmm, what a dilemma for a young warrior to have standing the post. No one around him (so he thinks)  to see things move in the darkness. Watching rocks and pebbles move across the ground, knowing he didn't kick them and knowing someone is watching him, yet he can't see SH##. 

He retreats to the light, standing right below it, not scared in the least but not knowing what exactly to do. In his mind he was just daring anyone to mess with him , knowing someone is out there playing with him. "Those damn Special Forces guys, ... they're mess'n with me," he says on the phone, ... gotta go! Click! He found out days later that he was right. One of Steven's buds was on a trail that very night, walking between check-points. He sat down to rest, fell asleep and was pretty much made an ass of afterward. The Special Forces gentlemen tied him up, taped his mouth, then called it in to the Sgt. on guard, (Steven) "Come get your Marine"!! a mistake that the lowly PFC will never forget, ... ever !

As the time progressed, no one really understands the meaning and feelings of anxiety. It is a grip on you that never lets go. It's a build-up to the inevitable. You know it is coming ... "DEPLOYMENT".