THE REUNION

We landed in San Diego at about 3:30 Pacific Time, Wednesday October 13th.

As we taxied to the terminal I saw it.

MCRD - Marine Corps Recruit Depot - the place where Blake had spent most of the 13 weeks that comprise boot camp.

Lots of yellow buildings with red roofs.

And in one of those buildings - or around it, at least - my boy was probably hearing our plane land.

How strange it was, to be yards away from his temporary home and yet be unable to see him until the next day.

How odd to catch a shuttle to our hotel, meet up with my in-laws, eat an amazing Mexican dinner and walk around Old Town without him, knowing that he was just a few minutes away by car.

I was a six-year-old on Christmas eve; wondering if sleep would ever come - if the magic of that long awaited gift would ever arrive.

On Thursday morning we all loaded into a shuttle bus and took a quick ride to the Depot where we would wait around for our sons to do their final run - The Moto (motivational) Run.

As we mingled around the parking lot waiting for instructions - but being careful NOT TO STEP ON THE PARADE DECK!!! (for we all had been told in no uncertain terms to stay off that hallowed ground) we noticed a platoon drilling on said parade deck.

Well, that was something we all wanted to see - a platoon of new Marines drilling in their Service Utilities (cammies)before their moto run. But I noticed something extremely exciting for our family. I noticed the Platoon flag.

2108.

It was Blake's platoon.

And they were marching right toward us.

I began snapping photos (which I will post later) as they got closer and closer.

And then I stopped snapping because I didn't want to take any chance of missing my son's face.

Here is where I will make a confession. I did not easily recognize my son while he was in formation. Throughout the whole weekend, from a distance, I could not pick him out of the line up. Because when the Marines say they make everybody the same, they mean it.

So as they march past me, my mind quickly went through a checklist of what I needed to look for:

I knew he was Caucasian.
I knew what little hair was visible would be red.
I knew he was about 5'11".

And then it clicked: GLASSES!!! He's wearing glasses - contacts aren't allowed at boot camp.

And that realization saved me for out of 76 platoon mates only about 15 were wearing 'port holes' (the nickname given to military eye wear because they are so large) They are also known as BCGs or Birth Control Glasses because they are NOT attractive. But they are UNBREAKABLE. Blake said they proved this because one recruit spent an evening trying to break his and they simply. would. not. break.

Anyway, my boy marched right past me - mere inches from me. He did not look at me but I saw him.

"I saw him!" "I saw him!" I continued to whisper to my family (for there's something about being around a drilling platoon that brings on a reverent feeling), as my hands went to my face to cover the ugly cry.

{It was kind of like that day some 19 years ago when I was lying in an operating room saying "it's a boy! It's a boy!" after a c-section.}

And a gentleman who had ridden the shuttle with us walked over to me and said "you saw your son, didn't you? I could tell by your face. I'm happy for you." His boy was in another platoon and he would have to wait a while longer to see his new Marine.

But that's what the whole weekend was - just families and loved ones who were starving for the sights and sounds of our boys - pulling for each other - allowing others' happiness to be our happiness for the time being.

Next up? The Moto run. Seeing my Marine in his PT clothing is when I realized just how huge he'd become (well, huge compared to when he left) The Marines had taken a drinking straw and turned him into a tree trunk simply by adding 25 pounds of new muscle.