Or, how I navigated the transition to college
Leaving the service to attend university full-time was one of the oddest experiences of my life. A blessing when I stop and think about it, though, because of the post 9/11 G.I. Bill allowing me to focus on school, mostly. But I find this period of transition from one parochial institution to another mind blowing, especially when I did so at age 35. I noticed two major issues when I got to school — the age spectrum and concomitant systems in place, and veteran identities.
The stereotypical veteran to college student seems to be 22–24ish with just a few year’s service. Or an officer doing a graduate degree. Rare (it seems) is the career NCO with a gray beard in an undergraduate classroom. As such the G.I. Bill — even the post 9/11 version with housing allowance — seemed paltry for a married man with children. I thank my lucky stars that my university was generous with grants, so I was able to afford a decent life while attending school. But the finances are only a small part of the equation. But it was clear when I got to campus that the entire system was not set up with someone like me in mind. I realized this when I tried to use my Saturday to study at the library, only to find out I could not park anywhere on campus because of a home football game.
Another part of the experience that gets under my skin is the seeming veteran identity crisis. Why does every veteran on campus seem to need to stand out? I never understood this. Maybe it’s a micro-generational difference. Many veterans I went to school with were much younger, I was probably the only one who entered the service before September 11th. I had always been raised on being a quiet professional — let your actions speak for you — and not to seek the limelight. So seeing obvious markers of past service is anathema to my entire being.
An increasing gap between civilians and military personnel exacerbated by the all-volunteer force and a military and VA culture that imbues each with the idea that they are a “warrior” which is a separate class that exists outside of society. I always saw myself as a citizen-soldier, even on active duty. I firmly believe in the Cincinnatus ideal of picking up the sword when needed and laying it down when my time was done.
For some that’s an entire war, for others in this age of twenty-year conflicts, it is not. The current moment seems to have created an entirely separate warrior class, something I saw in droves on college campuses. From boots under jeans, to camouflage hats bearing the American flag (secured by Velcro of course), and the ubiquitous beard, the signs of veteran culture are everywhere. Between the warriorization of the military and the subsequent dumping of veterans on college campuses with minimal effort at reintegration, we are creating not just a separate warrior class, but a concomitant veteran class.
Veterans consistently eat their own, and as such it seems the need to demonstrate just how awesome one was when in the service contributes to this problem. And let me be clear, this is mostly a gendered issue. Because men veterans are more common, and certainly more visible — beards — it is mostly men who are “peacocking” and jockeying for prestige through outward displays of veteran identity.
Me? I tried to blend in as much as possible. My identity played a binary role for me as I transitioned to school. On the one hand, the work ethic and resilience instilled in me from fifteen years as an infantry leader, three combat tours, and my work as a jumpmaster propelled me through potentially stressful situations. On the other hand, I faced some latent ageism and tried to shuck the stereotype of the combat veteran.
Every time I walked into a new class at the beginning of a semester, I could tell that most students assumed I was either the Teacher’s Assistant or possibly the Professor. I never had the heart to play up their mistake for any length of time. I even dyed my beard so it wasn’t quite so gray in a desperate attempt to avoid standing out as “the old guy.” I was afraid of being distinct from my fellow students.
Perhaps years of military training taught me to want to blend into the crowd. Whatever it was, I did not want to be looked at any differently and certainly did not want to be treated differently. Rather than wearing an old army assault pack, I bought the most nondescript black North Face backpack I could find. Of course, these attempts weren’t always successful.
The veteran community I stepped into was also critical to my relative success there. Fellow student veterans, some staff members, and even some professors find real joy in helping veterans adjust to college. Helping veterans navigate the academic bureaucracy is something I think academia for the undergraduate student veteran is a real positive. While coming from a place of genuine interest in student veteran success, veteran specific programs can sometimes often place veterans on a pedestal, which may have latent negative effects that continue to exacerbate the civilian-military divide and lead many veterans to believe they’re better than those around them.
The cultural differences between a college campus and a military base are profound, but not insurmountable. When I was an undergraduate, I began to feel more and more comfortable, not because I stayed in a cocoon of veteran groups but because I was encouraged to become part of the broader campus community. I helped coach the men’s club rugby team and made other friends outside of veteran circles. More than anything, this engagement helped me become whole again after a lifetime in the army.
Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts or your story about going to college in the comments below!
