Never Step on the Butterflies

After 6 years I was about to leave active duty and had a 2 year commitment left, just in case Uncle Sam decided my skills as a living breathing target were ever needed. By that point I was crossing my fingers and crossing my eyes hoping that my flesh and blood was no longer of interest to anyone in the military. Don't get me wrong, it was a learning experience, just not one I cared to improve on. Anyway there I was 23 years old with some college credits but no work record to speak of. Putting on your resume that you were a good shot and could mostly avoid IEDs and ambushes doesn't translate well to that many civilian jobs. There were a couple of ways to look at my situation. Either I was somewhat screwed or I was in really good shape because every type of job or career choice was wide open to me. All I had to do was figure out what I wanted to do and get myself back in school. Before that I had to figure out a way to pick up the pieces of my life. Life had taken a couple sharp turns for me since as a seventeen year old boy I walked out of my parents' house to head to basic training. When I was eighteen I made it back to visit the folks while on leave and that was the last time I ever saw them alive.