Whenever we hold up the critical mirror of consciousness to do a self-check, I sometimes wish it came with a warning sticker to the effect: “The idiot in mirror might be a larger ass than they appear.“

The following post is a painful acknowledgment that I am not as funny as I think I am, and maybe I should seek professional help. As painful as the following confession is to read, I promise you, it was a thousand times harder to write and admit to.

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I am a veteran. This means, among other things, that I should know better the hardships that any recruit faces while going through basic training and that I would respect boundaries and rules.

I am also a person who relies on humor to get me through the tough times. Cracking jokes, finding funny memes, doing silly things to get a laugh is kind of a default setting. In the ordinary world, this can probably be shrugged off as me just being the middle-child, drama queen (e.g. attention-seeking whore) that I am at heart. However, sometimes, I take the joke too far. And someone gets hurt. This is one of those confessions. And, because my ridiculous behavior was no laughing matter on a large scale for someone, I feel a public apology (and personal humiliation) is the least I owe them. So here goes.

Every time I wrote a letter or packaged something up, I tried to include inspirational or humorous cartoons or weird free-association based on whatever card I had picked up and mutated for basic training. If I had only put these inspirational messages on the inside of the letter, maybe you wouldn’t have been hazed so badly.

But no. I think I’m funny and the whole world should know it. So, I wrote something on the outside of every parcel, postcard, or letter.

I am so very sorry that I thought the following mail would ‘cheer you up’ because you would ‘get a laugh’ out of them. I was wrong…very, very wrong, and I am extremely sorry.

Some were banal:

Some were more inventive:

Other missives crossed over the Border to Crazy Town and beyond into Psychoville. The attack of the Giant Laser Kitties from Space was one:

And just in case you were curious about the message I sent along with the Laser Kitty postcard…here it is:

The sad truth is, I had a ball writing each and every single letter or silly poem. [The limerick dedicated to a Drill Sergeant who was quite handy with his privates, while totally innocent, probably did not sound that way out loud. I’m cringing to think how many push-ups that cost the unit.)

But I suspect I truly crossed the line when I spent about five hours creating a poster that marked the 70 days of basic training with little cartoons and humorous insights to mark-off each day until basic ended. I worked really hard on it, but I should have stopped long enough to recognize, it was probably funnier looking back on basic training 35-years later than while actually going through it.

Here are a few of the observations I made–maybe you can decide for yourself:

Truthfully, I do care about the wellbeing of any soldier who goes off to basic. Enduring one of the most intensive training cycles you can do is no laughing matter. I was a highly unlikely recruit myself. I struggled to pass every single obstacle put in front of me. I cried when I hit a breaking point. It was the kindness of my fellow recruits that got me through. I was a chubby, glasses wearing, near-sighted emotional mess. And despite my utter lack of physical prowess, I managed to pass basic training. Even though I never turned out to be soldier material, I served and got out with an honorable discharge. I’ve always been proud to have served. But I am not proud to have caused anguish to someone who did not deserve it–all in pursuit of a laugh. It was never meant to be at his expense, but that is no excuse. Hopefully I will be forgiven–in time.

Sending mail that caused anxiety and pain–that was a dick move. And I am heartily sorry. I should have paid attention to my own words of wisdom:

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You read this far bonus:

I can only hope a certain soldier is reading this someday, and that he knows how sorry I truly am. And would he please retract the curse that caused not one, but two camping disasters!?

I can only assume you prayed for the plague of insects to eat me alive, for my air mattress to deflate and for the rain to pour into the tent at 4:00 a.m. I may have to reconsider my agnostic stance as I think God heard you. Or at the very least, the universe felt compelled to get revenge on your behalf.