Now, some people say that encampment's been getting easier and easier every year, that Senior Members are sticking their greedy little hands into every facet of life and making it compatible with the 21st century's youth: Liberal, undisciplined cadets. Constantly I'm hearing "It ain't tough enough" or "Compared to encampment '99, it sux". All of this is after I attended encampment in the corps of cadets.

There probably have been significant changes that have made encampment easier; there most likely have been. But it’s still a pain in the ass. Not a full out asskicking, don't get me wrong. Only one cadet cried in my flight throughout the entire week: Provost started crying the first or second day. It was tough, but it was mostly the endurance that made it so. A week of waking up there gets to you after a while.

This isn't 100% chronological or complete, and there are probably a ton of large gaps throughout it. I have a terrible memory and sense of time. I wasn't taking a journal. I can't even remember the dates. But this essentially hits the high and low points for a cadet at Massachusetts Wing Encampment 2005. All of it happened during that week in August that I spent living in the barracks with Delta Flight, 192d Cadet Training Squadron, 190th Cadet Training Group on the Massachusetts Military Reservation.

I live in Holland, which is in the western, central part of Massachusetts. I had a large, green duffle bag in the back of my trunk that I had crammed full of my gear the previous night, and my blues uniform on a hanger. Encampment had achieved some sort of golden quality about it back at Phoenix Bay-path Composite Squadron. The very first day I joined was also the first time I had heard of it. They were moving to another building, with heavy filing cabinets and computers that still needed to be brought to the new place. I showed up wearing my plaid, green striped jacket, jeans, and my upper body strength. Lt Tremblay, Erica's mom, gave me the lowdown on what CAP is about, how it works, what cadets get to do, and that cadets go to a sort of boot camp over the summer. Encampment, she called it. By the end of the day, after hauling filing cabinets with Stonebarger and Powell, I decided to come back the following week. That time they came with their uniforms and it was more like a regular class. Two weeks later, Captain Baird gave me my BDU's and four months later I'm going to the Massachusetts Military Reservation, with about 20 minutes alone with Erica as my entire marching experience. As my mom drove her van by the guard house, down into the reservation, and into the parking lot, we were greeted by a scene that would shortly become familiar: people running around in BDU's saluting, hauling stuff, and yelling. We pulled in and I opened my door and got out, and a short person of the female variety wearing aviator glasses and an unhappy look on her face appeared a foot away from me.

"You're going to go in through that door, take a right and sign in at the office with the water jugs in front of it, then go to medical and check in your medication. After that you're going to come back here, say good-bye to your family, and then get back inside. Do you understand?"

I had the misfortune of being a complete and utter dumbass that morning. "Yup," I replied.

Instantly I wanted to kick myself at my sheer stupidity. Even though I couldn't kick myself, the person in front of me could.

"What?" she asked, her stare going stony.

"Er, um, yes ma'am," I said, instantly learning my lesson.

The stony stare held fast, the mirrored aviator glasses unwavering. "I'm a sergeant."

Another imposed awkward moment. Finally, I say, "Yes, sergeant." More stare on her part (still stony), finally a confused "what the hell?" look on my part and she turns around and walks away.

I move on, a nearby officer saying "Yup?" loud enough for me to hear it.

Signing in was just walking, except with a Cadet Weaver biting at my heels, sarcastically encouraging the semi-stupid, gawky cadet with glasses. Eventually, I stand at attention in front of two desks, answering 'no' to all the health questions and being issued my new best friend: the MAWG Cadet Encampment 2005 Basic Cadet Operating Instruction – Mr. OI. He was a small, blue, pocket-sized manual makes it clear that your initial impression was right: dudethisisgonnasuck!

Cadet Weaver, being his helpful self, points me in the right direction leaving Medical ("Are you an idiot? What does that sign say? Exit!") Outside, I kiss my momma goodbye, and grab all my stuff.

Behind me, I hear "Cadet Symonds! No salute?" I drop all my stuff, turn around, and salute whoever it is just to get on with my life. I don't remember if I waited for his return salute, and I didn't really care, either. He made me put my crap down. Only later did I find out he wasn't supposed to do that.

Upstairs, I go to the room written on my OI. Someone tells me to put all my stuff out on my bed from my tightly packed duffel bag and then sit at the foot of my bed to read my OI. As I begin to take stuff out, the kid already in there looks at me and urgently whispers, "Just dump it!" Not a bad idea. I do, and then sit down and start reading. Every now and again someone would get us out to stand in the hall (which they called a 'bay'), yell at us for eyeballing, then send us back into our rooms to sit and read.

Delta flight's flight sergeant was Sergeant Benton. He was somewhat short. That's my best memory of Benton; he was short and probably younger than me by two years, but he had a deep command voice. Our flight commander was Lieutenant Hickman, who was the exact opposite of Benton: tall, and menacing with a sharp command voice (though that view quickly disappeared: he was extremely patient and soft spoken, and, in short, awesome). He was enrolled in Army ROTC.

At one point while standing in the 'bay', a short, red headed, pleasantly plump Cadet ran down the hall carrying a suitcase bigger than him. He was red in the face, almost hyperventilating and a medic was called. Where did they go? Needless to say, my room. Yippie-ki-yay, my other room mate had arrived.

For the rest of the day, we were force fed marching, formation, and our OI's; holding them in our faces at the position of parade rest with our arms off at a 90 degree angle. It was hot out, so we were pouring water down our throats. I had two canteens, while most people had the hydration systems. Throughout the week, however, those would constantly break, leak, or just not work. Canteens are nice and simple.

Somehow I, the lowest ranked Cadet in the flight, was made the guide. What did guidon mean? There ain't nothing thicker than the skull of a volunteer, eh? It turned out that I was the one with the pretty flag that needed to be marched and posted a special way. That and apparently the flight was meant to set the pace and movement, not the guide. It was all beyond me.

Lt Liu, my squadron commander, took me and the other guidon bearers aside to teach us how to march with them. He tried to teach us, and I tried to listen, but I was almost no better off later. After marching on the black top for a couple hours, dinner time was spent with either our food or OI's in our faces. As guidon bearer, I had to stand out side for the first half until someone came out and relieved me. Then a failed game of ultimate Frisbee that obtained fubar status within half an hour. Then cleaning time (though the staff called it 'personal time'), and then bed.

To be continued....