Fiction

During my visit to Lackland AFB to witness the graduation of my son-in-law from Air Force Basic Training, I observed a thought-provoking scene.

It was the hot, humid Friday afternoon following the Graduation. We walked with Dan across the famous “Gateway” bridge to the training side of the base.

We turned left on to a road used for the movement of trainees in formation. The road has been sealed off by three large, cement planters on either end and is no longer used by vehicles. The painted lines have worn away over the years, and it is a street only in the sense that it was once.

There are no sidewalks paralleling the thoroughfare, just a raised curbing of asphalt roughly twelve feet from the edge of the grass. We walked inside that curbed area.

Out in front of us was another fresh, young Airman with a shiny, new ribbon indicating he was an Honor Graduate. He walked with what appear to be his parents and a sweetheart. Behind us were small groups of Trainees, and other Graduates and their families.

A Training Flight appeared to the left, and marched into the curbed area under the direction of grim-faced Military Training Instructor (MTI) yelling commands that kept them in step. They stopped at a “cross-street” in front of us, sent out “road-guards” to stop “traffic” and began crossing the intersection.

While the flight passed across the intersection we all began move so we would not impede the flight. We naturally looked left, and since there was no traffic, began to move over and into the “street.”

The MTI signaled that we should move onto the grass at the right, and we quickly imitated the Trainees who lined up at attention on the grass to allow the flight to pass. But the unfortunate Honor Graduate and his family had moved too far to the left to respond to the sudden and angry flailing of the MTI.

After the flight passed, the MTI stopped and at full volume began to dress-down the hapless Honor Graduate. My first thought was that the Air Force may have learned a lot about the need for positive PR but that knowledge has not filtered down to the MTI Corps.

Next, I realized that particular MTI did not understand the psychology of the process he was involved in or he would have handled it very differently.

I chuckled as the explosive MTI reminded me that no one can make a mountain range out of an ant hill like an MTI, a Mother or an English Teacher.

The MTI instructed the Honor Grad that he should have obeyed “the law of the jungle and move[d] over for the larger animal.” Then he informed the embarrassed lad that he would recommend he be recycled a week of training for his blatant “safety violation.”

It then dawned on me that the “safety violation” was nothing more than a fiction. With no rational expectation of any vehicle traffic there was, in fact, no danger other than the angry outburst of an MTI.

The fiction had been created to teach Trainees road safety and control them when they marched. The fiction served its purpose for exactly 6 ½ weeks per trainee. The fiction then became an impediment to good sense.

The human brain has the remarkable ability to build a world of its own. We often build fictitious stories or images to feign control, to escape, or to maintain our self-respect.

So since then I have asked myself:

* What fictions have I developed to allow me false control, to escape, or to maintain my self-respect in the face of poor habits?

* What fictions are causing me to yield and line up at attention while someone, or something, passes me by?

* What fictions keep me from seeing reality as clearly as I saw the fiction of a dangerous street for the large troop walk it truly was?

I’ve always thought I matured more in my six weeks at Lackland than I did on an LDS mission or in college, and once more my visit there left me with new personal growth.