I remember exactly where I was when I learned I'd be able to join the Marine Corps. It was a little after 7 a.m. on a Saturday in the winter of 2007. I was 17 years old, picking cabbage at one of the many seasonal Southern California farm jobs I used to work in order to help my family pay the bills. When my phone rang, I picked it up and put down the knife I was carrying.
It was my recruiter. “Great news,” I remember her saying. “We secured you a spot in training…” She trailed off.
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