But I'm a soldier

It’s Veteran’s Day, 2025, and it’s cold here in Ohio. The yards and fields in the suburban landscape where I live are covered with about four inches of snow. The weather on this day takes me back to the 1980s and Ft Leonard Wood, Missouri, when I was a much younger man than I am today, going through Army basic training.

Now, this was 40 years ago, so I don’t remember every last detail about all my experiences during that time. I can say that the important lessons I learned about duty, honor, and commitment stuck with me and helped shape me into the man I am today. But I’ve never forgotten four little words said by our company commander during a December bivouac in single-digit temperatures in the middle of a Missouri forest.

We were all freezing. I remember one of my buddies told me that he heard it was only 7 degrees. It felt much colder, even shielded by the trees from the biting wind blowing down from the north. On the first day, we put up our shelter halves (two-man tents), then the drill sergeants made us put up several 20 x 30 MASH tents, where they set up small woodstoves. Those tents were where we bed down at night, about 16 men per tent, on the ground, cocooned in our sleeping bags. I didn’t sleep much.

If my memory serves, we were scheduled to stay out in the woods for a week. Other than building tents and hauling wood, the most important things we learned were how to stay warm and how to keep from getting frostbite. We did what we were told to do, but we were all pretty miserable. I remember thinking how much I wanted to get out of there, even doubting my decision to enlist in the Army in the first place.

On day three, our company commander showed up. A captain, he was tall, fit, much younger than our battle-hardened NCO drill instructors, and on the fast track from West Point. The drill sergeants called the entire Bravo 3-3 company to muster behind the flatbed of a “Deuce and a half” truck, where our captain stood waiting to address us. Again, it was 40 years ago, so I’m paraphrasing. The gist of his message was this:

I know you’re cold. I know you’re tired and hungry, wondering what the hell you’re doing out here. Some of you are probably wishing you had never signed up for the United States Army.

Believe it or not, I’ve been where you are, thinking those same thoughts. More than anything, I wished I were home, with my family, where it’s warm and safe. And then I told myself, “But I’m a soldier.”

But I’m a soldier, and with the right training, attitude, and will to succeed, I can do anything. I want you all to think about that, and tell yourself those words whenever you’re faced with less-than-ideal conditions or insurmountable obstacles, and all you want to do is quit.

“But I’m a soldier.”

I used those words to inspire me during my time in the military, but I kept coming back to them whenever I faced something difficult later in life, during many of my jobs throughout my professional career. Be it the cold, the heat, or intense physical labor, long hours without adequate sleep, or horrible bosses who could never be pleased.

I told myself, “Yeah, this is bad, but...”

And I drove on, like a soldier.

I don’t know what happened to that captain. I hope he became a good leader. He did okay by me that day in the frozen forest of the Ozarks.

I have to say that nothing I ever did in any of my careers after military service can compare to what the men and women in uniform do, and I wonder how many of them have used those words, or words related to their respective branches (Air Force, Space Force, Navy, Marines, Coast Guard), to get themselves through the day, or to reach an objective, so they can go home to their families, where it’s warm and safe?  

Probably more than I can count.

I hate to think about the ones who never made it home, but I do, because they deserve to be honored and remembered.

Happy Veterans Day to all veterans, past and present, with a special shout-out to my son, Technical Sergeant Ryan Clyburn, U.S. Air Force, and my father, Sergeant Arnold Clyburn, U.S. Army, WWII, may he rest in peace.