Once A Chicken.....

…..Always a chicken!

I won’t lie. I’ve been toying with the idea of joining the National Guard for a little over a month now. And I haven’t found the nerve to drag my sorry ass into the recruiter’s office to ask the ten thousand questions on my mind. I haven’t dared even stop in the parking lot, or make eye contact with the door. It just freaks me out.

But I have this weird, new need in me to serve, or at least do something good and worthwhile with my life (or, you know, some of my life). And nearly everyone knows how much I love our military. Every Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day, I do my best to remind those around me how blessed we are. How awesome would it be to join the ranks of those I admire so much?

But I’m a such a chicken! I just don’t dare sign up!

Serving the country isn’t the only reason the Guard appeals to me. I have much shallower motives, too. If you’ve ever had more than one beer with me, you know about my insanely huge military fetish. Camo turns me on. Boys in fatigues, flight suits, ACU’s, full dress uniform, MAN, that does it for me. What can I say? I love a guy with his last name plastered to his chest. It just rocks. I can’t even imagine being surrounded by amazing people like on a regular basis. Or having my own last name splattered on my own chest (which might look funny, given the small size of my chest and the length of PETERSON).

Who am I kidding? I’m not ever going to join the National Guard. It’s time to stop fooling myself. I think I’d better just jerk myself back to reality. Find a rewarding job as an editor or writer or marketer, and then spend my extra time volunteering. I spent time as a volunteer in Price and loved it.

So, that’s the game plan of a chicken. No military, doing something that would actually make me admire myself, but a volunteer, doing something that would almost make me admire myself a little. Almost.