No tassles, but still…
Graduation day is upon us. For three weeks, men and women from all walks of life and regions of the country came together at Fort Meade to endeavor toward learning the business of a public affairs NCO. I wasn’t sure what to expect from BNCOC phase two (I did phase one back at Hood, remember?). The Hood aspect of the course was…how should we say…underwhelming.
This iteration of education ended up being a little harder than I had anticipated. We had to do quite a bit of studying to complete all assignments—a far, far cry from what most people laud as “Beer-NOC,” that meaning a course that is pretty much a formality and a waste of time.
Competition was stiff for the number one through three spots. These would be our “honor graduates,” which gets you a couple of pats on the back and a few more trinkets. It looks good on the records, and is generally good grease for the wheels when dealing with commanders and first sergeants.
I was knocked out of the race early with a paltry 92 on our first exam. Remember, most of us journalist types are pretty sharp tacks, as Army folk go. Full 100s and high 90s were the norm.
Sure as sh*t, Uber Peep Finch was our number one graduate. He’s come a long way from where he thought he was back at Fort Knox. I’m proud of the guy and wanted to give him some blog love. He got a plaque for God’s sake, etched and all!
The rest of us still graduated, so there were elated faces all around, but Finch’s strut was that much more pimped out. Congrats, brutha.
So now I’ll head back to Fort Hood. Can’t say I’m that enthused. Still, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I can see an end to my tenure there and that makes me walk a little lighter.
Three weeks ago when I was packing up to get here, I was dreading it a bit. I didn’t want to leave my routine, but was looking forward to the break. I had no idea that God had a way out of my Texas prison, primed and ready to go. A couple of handshakes and conversations later, I’m on my way to being an instructor, tucked away in a pretty sweet spot near Washington D.C. and Baltimore.
Holla’ at your boy.