Humor in Uniform

by Editors of Reader's Digest

  — ROBERT WIDO

  A Matter of Wits If not Wisps

  How do you stop a thief? This was the question that vexed my brother-in-law, a rugged Marine. Every morning he picked up coffee from Starbucks, and every morning that cup of coffee mysteriously disappeared from his desk. Although he never caught the bandit, he did resolve the matter. One morning, when all personnel were gathered for a staff meeting, he popped out the partial plate from his mouth and swished it around in his coffee before placing it back. His coffee was never stolen again.

  — JEAN SHORT

  A senior in the high school class I taught was always in trouble, both at home and at school, and he was getting fed up. “That’s it! I’m tired of people telling me what to do,” he announced one day. “As soon as I graduate, I’m joining the Marines.”

  — DENNIS BRESNAHAN

  While delivering a motivational lecture to a group of young Navy men, I spoke in great detail about why I joined the military and how much it meant to me. Finishing my story, I pointed to a young, sharp-looking sailor and asked him why he decided to go to sea. “Well, Chief,” he said, “When my old man put lights on the tractor, I knew it was time to leave the farm.”

  — BILL CROCKETT

  My husband, a U.S. Coast Guard pilot, was on an exchange tour with the Royal Navy in England. Everyone who drove through the base’s gates was required to hold an official ID card up to the windshield for inspection by the guards. As a friendly competition, my husband’s squadron started flashing different forms of ID, such as a driver’s license, just to see how far they could go to fool the busy guards. The winner? The fellow who breezed past waving a piece of toast.

  — ELIZABETH M. LANGE

  I served with a guy who did a strange thing: He bounced an imaginary basketball wherever he went. Eventually, a psychiatrist labeled him unfit for duty, which led to a medical discharge. After the proceedings, he addressed the officer in charge. “Sir, may I approach?” With permission granted, he went through the motion of putting something on the officer’s desk. “What is this?” asked the officer. “My basketball. I don’t need it anymore.”

  — SOURCE UNKNOWN

  When a ship enters a port, special permission must be given for sailors to begin their liberty early. My friend had a good reason for getting a head start. “I have to go to the bus station,” he told a superior officer. “I have a one-armed uncle coming to town with two suitcases.” Permission was granted.

  — N. U. TURPEN

  One of the fighter pilots at my base in England, tired of being kidded about his baldness, tried one worthless miracle cure after another. Finally he settled for growing his remaining hair long and combing it over the top of his head. The taunts continued, however, until the day they were overheard by a visiting general. Walking up to the pilot, the general soberly commended him for adopting the official Air Force solution to his problem. Then, turning to the tormentors, the general removed his hat to reveal three wispy strands of hair carefully combed over an otherwise bald pate. “This, gentlemen,” he said with a smile, “is what we call tactical redeployment of available forces.”

  — FRANCESCA BARTHOLOMEW

  I was talking on the phone with my son, who was stationed in Hawaii with the Air Force. He was explaining how the troops were learning to scuba dive. They used the buddy system, he said, and occasionally dived into shark-infested waters. Listening on the extension, my daughter asked, “What do you do when you see a shark?” Said my son, “Swim faster than my buddy.”

  — JOAN NOZKOWSKI

  All in the Family

  My husband was a Navy chaplain deployed to the Persian Gulf at the end of Desert Storm. I did everything possible to ensure that our three young children wouldn’t be worried about their father being in danger. It wasn’t always easy, but I knew I’d succeeded when someone at church asked our three-year-old where his dad was. My son replied, “He’s in Persia, golfing.”

  — MARSHA HANSEN

  When I tell people that I am an explosive ordinance disposal technician, I usually need to go into further detail about what I do. Once I was with my eight-year-old son when I was explaining my job to someone. “I defuse live bombs,” I said. “Yeah,” my son added. “If you see him running, you’d better catch up!”

  — THOMAS LIGON

  I knew I had been in the military too long when my five-year-old daughter sang her version of “Silent Night.” It went like this: “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright, Round yon virgin mother and child, Holy infantry, tender and mild. . . . ”

  — MIKE ADAMS

  Since I grew up in the civilian world, I knew my daughter’s childhood as a military brat would be drastically different from my own. This became quite apparent one day when a playmate arrived and asked my daughter, “Wanna play commissary?”

  — LORI A. BURDETTE

  One day while stationed at Fort Stewart, Ga., I drove onto the base with my five-year-old son, Michael. It was approaching 5:00 P.M., and traffic came to a halt because it was time for taps. We stopped right in front of the field where the flag ceremony was taking place. The bugler played, the cannon boomed and the flag came down. “Mom,” Michael said with surprise, “the only way they can get the flag down is to shoot it?”

  — CRYSTAL D. FRANQUEZ

  As a woman in the Marines, I often don’t feel as feminine as when I had a civilian job in which I wore dresses and left my hair down. One day I was feeling especially depressed about this and couldn’t wait to get home to change. When I arrived, I found that my friend and her 18-month-old daughter had been waiting for me. My friend is married to a Marine, and my worries about appearing less than feminine only increased when her little girl glanced up at me and yelled happily, “Daddy’s home!”

  — TIFFANY EVANS

  * * *

  Just before I was deployed to Iraq, I sat my eight-year-old son down and broke the news to him.

  “I’m going to be away for a long time,” I told him.

  “I’m going to Iraq.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Don’t you know there’s a war going on over there?”

  — THOMAS CIOPPA

  * * *

  “Not bad kid, but you’d be vulnerable to attacks here and here.”

  Teaching second graders at our base school, I showed photos of Greek ruins, including the Acropolis, Mycenae and Corinth. “Any questions?” I asked afterward. One boy raised his hand. “Who bombed them?”

  — KATHLEEN CORMACK

  One day a fellow Coast Guard Auxiliary member delivered a water-safety speech to a group of Brownies. Having served a career in the Air Force before joining the auxiliary, he wore a chestful of award ribbons. After his talk a little girl in the front row raised her hand and asked him how he had gotten so many medals. My friend pointed to the top half and said, “The Air Force gave me these.” Then he pointed to the lower half and said, “The Coast Guard gave me these.” The little girl paused, frowned and replied, “In the Brownies, we have to earn them.”

  — SOURCE UNKNOWN

  From the Peanut Gallery

  My son-in-law, Carlos, stationed at March AFB in California, was deployed to Saudi Arabia for three months. Before leaving his wife and three young children, he sat down with four-year-old Andrew. “I’m going to be gone a long time, he said. “While I’m away, you’re going to have to be the man in the family. You’ll have to take care of your younger brother and sister. There are lots of things you can do around the house.” The more he talked, the bigger Andrew’s eyes got. Finally Andrew turned to his mother and said, “You’ll have to help.”

  — JOSEPH P. MCPARLAN

  We had just moved to an Army post from an Air Force base and my young son, an avid fan of GI Joe toys, was excited to see the troops marching in cadence. An even bigger thrill came when h
e passed the motor pool with its tanks, jeeps and trucks. “Look!” he squealed with delight. “They have the whole collection!”

  — JEREMY THORNTON

  An Army intelligence officer, I took my four-year-old daughter into the office, and before long she spotted a man whose uniform was covered in ribbons, badges and medals. “Is he a general?” my daughter asked. “No, honey,” I replied. “He’s the first sergeant.” With a quizzical look she asked, “Ever?”

  — ROBERT H. MILLER

  My seven-year-old grandson from New York was in New Orleans visiting when he noticed a photo of me from World War II in a Navy WAVES uniform. He later remarked to my daughter that he was impressed I had served during the war, but was sorry that my side lost. “What do you mean?” my daughter asked. “Well,” my grandson replied, “Isn’t she from the South?”

  — VIOLET Y. WALSH

  Our 15-year-old daughter, Melanie, had to write a report for school about World War II, specifically D-Day and the invasion of the Normandy beaches. “Isn’t there a movie about that?” she asked me. I told her there was, but that I couldn’t think of the name. Then it came to her. “Oh, I remember,” she said. “Isn’t it something like ‘Finding Private Nemo’?”

  — REBECCA DEMAURO

  While my husband was stationed at Fort Sill, Okla., our children attended a private school. One day my daughter came home with enrollment papers that needed to be filled out for the following school year. “Dad,” she announced proudly as she handed over the forms, “here are my re-enlistment papers.”

  — SANDIE WEBSTER

  When I re-enlisted as a Marine, my family came to the ceremony, in which I stood face to face with a lieutenant colonel, our right hands raised. A few weeks later, as I was showing photographs of the big day to my children, my nine-year-old daughter was unimpressed. “Look at Dad,” she said. “He thinks he’s so cool giving this guy a high-five.”

  — MICHAEL N. RUSSELL

  Parental Pride

  I overheard my father telling a family friend about my newly assigned mission in the U.S. Coast Guard. I work on a cutter that escorts all cruise ships and international vessels under the bridges in California’s Bay Area. But what my father told his friend was, “She’s involved in some sort of an escort service.”

  — ADRIENNE BLODGETT

  As a public-affairs officer in the Air Force, I accompany members of the media while they pursue stories at area bases. But I realized I hadn’t explained my job clearly enough to my mother when I overheard her tell a friend, “My daughter provides escort service to television reporters.”

  — JAMIE S. ROACH

  A distraught driver was grateful when our Marine son, Jim, stopped to help put out a fire in her car. “I prayed ‘please let the next car stop,’ and it was you,” the woman gushed. Jim’s mother was also pleased when she heard the story. “Who would have thought,” she told him, “that you would be the answer to any girl’s prayers?”

  — RICHARD BELL

  When my son, Tom, came home from the Army medical school at Fort Sam Houston on his first leave, I proudly watched him disembark from the plane. He looked so much more mature with his close haircut and immaculate uniform, and I was very impressed that he was carrying a briefcase. I gave Tom a big hug, and, pointing to the briefcase, I asked if he had much studying to do. “No, Dad,” Tom replied. “This is my Sony PlayStation!”

  — THOMAS W. TOBIN

  Family Matters

  During the Persian Gulf War, I was assigned to go to Saudi Arabia. As I was saying good-bye to my family, my three-year-old son, Christopher, was holding on to my leg and pleading with me not to leave. “No, Daddy, please don’t go!” he kept repeating. We were beginning to make a scene when my wife, desperate to calm him, said, “Let Daddy go and I’ll take you to get pizza.” Immediately, Christopher loosened his death grip, stepped back and in a calm voice said, “‘Bye, Daddy.”

  — CRAIG S. KUNISHIGE

  While conducting inspection one morning, I entered the quarters of a young enlisted man. His room was spotless, but I knew something wasn’t right. Then I noticed his pants were cuffed, not hanging straight as service regulations demand. “Airman,” I snapped, “have you decided to change the Air Force dress code?” “No, sir,” he replied. “My mother did. She thought the uniform looked better this way.”

  — COL. RON COX (RET.)

  Sixteen years is a long time. That’s how far the photo of my husband—looking slim and fit in his Marine Reserve uniform—goes back. Today, he’s about 100 pounds heavier, so it was understandable when my friend’s son asked who it was. “That’s my father,” my daughter told him. Looking at my husband, then at the photo, he asked, “Your first father?”

  — MELE KOLOKIHAKAUFISI

  When my brother, Jarrett, was trying to decide which branch of the military to join, he sought advice from our two uncles, one an Air Force reservist, the other a Marine. After Jarrett had decided on the Corps and left for boot camp, my Air Force uncle told a friend, “I must not be a very good salesman.” “I guess not,” replied his friend. “But I bet right now you’re his favorite uncle.”

  — AMANDA YOUNG

  I was leaving the grocery store with my three young sons when I spotted an Army tank loaded onto a flatbed truck with soldiers standing nearby. Knowing how my boys love anything that has to do with the military, I remarked, “Ooohhh, soldiers!” One of the men gave me a sheepish but somewhat flirtatious grin. Only then did I realize I was standing there alone. My boys had stopped at the gumball machine inside the store.

  — TINA COOMES

  Soon after we arrived at my husband’s new duty station in Groton, Conn., I took our young son to the base hospital to take care of our health records. A Marine wearing a green, brown and black camouflage uniform, along with heavy combat boots, sat at his keyboard, entering our information. My son stared at him in awe, then turned to me and asked, “Mommy, does he think he’s hiding?”

  — CAROL KING

  At his first parade as a Naval Academy midshipman, my brother, A.J., and the others drilled for hours. Finally, they lined up in columns and were assigned commanders who issued further orders. Many of the mids were anxious and repeatedly made mistakes. But my brother seemed confident and never missed a beat. “Mister,” his commander asked, “have you any previous experience?” “Yes, ma’am,” A.J. replied. “I have three older sisters!”

  — JAYME BARDIN

  Service Adjustments

  Just after my father, who was a career Air Force NCO, passed away, all my brothers and sisters returned home to be with Mom. As we reminisced about my dad, we found ourselves floating from sorrow to laughter as we brought up fond memories of our nomadic military lifestyle. One morning we were discussing what music should be played at the funeral and several hymns were suggested. “But, Mom,” my older sister said, “since Daddy was in the Air Force, shouldn’t we request the Air Force song?” “No, dear,” my mother said with a smile. “We are not playing a song with the words ‘Off we go into the wild blue yonder’ at your father’s funeral!”

  — JOHN H. WILLIAM

  Some friends were hoping their second child would be a girl, and they even had a name picked out. The ultrasound didn’t reveal the baby’s sex, though, and since the expectant father had orders from the Navy to ship out before the due date, he told his wife, “We’d better pick out a boy’s name, just in case.” But when it was time for him to report for duty, they still hadn’t decided. At sea a few weeks later, he got notification that his son, Justin Kase, had been born.

  — RICH ELKINS

  When my husband joined the Coast Guard, I knew there would be some adjustments. Not only did I have to get accustomed to his short haircut, but also to his new sailor lingo. I eventually got used to him saying aye instead of yes, but nothing prepared me for the nigh
t when I was seven months pregnant and trying to roll over in bed. In his sleep, with a very military-sounding voice, my husband shouted at the top of his lungs, “She’s comin’ in on the port side!”

  — CHRISTINE BERG

  When I worked for the credit union at Fort Sill, Okla., a woman came in twice a month to cash her husband’s paycheck, with four boys in tow. The kids didn’t misbehave, but they kept their mother busy. One rainy payday, as the woman came with her brood, she dropped a piece of paper. I went over and picked it up for her. “On a day like today,” I said, “you should’ve gotten your husband to take care of this.” “Oh, he couldn’t,” the young mother replied. “He’s on vacation in Korea.”

  — MARI COUCH

  At a reception following my son Mark’s graduation from basic training, he was given the duty of manning a small lemonade stand. A box was placed nearby to collect donations, and a scattering of dollar bills lay at the bottom. After one man put in a $50 bill, Mark sought him out and offered to return the money, convinced the man had put the large bill there by mistake. “Son,” the man replied, “my grandson has a job and short hair, and he just called me ‘sir.’ That’s worth fifty bucks any day.”

  — KATIE NYE

  “When you say ‘quagmire with no exit strategy,’ you’re talking about our relationship, right?”

  After our son, Vincent, left for a year’s stint with the Air Force in Korea, we decided to send him a string of letters from friends and family taped together to form a banner. Vincent’s grandmother had done the same when her brother was in World War II, and she was proud that the banner she’d sent off had measured 18 feet long. My husband and I were determined to match that length, so we feverishly sought out friends and relatives to contribute to the chain. Weeks later we had the banner finished, but it was barely 17 feet long. Still, we sent it off to Korea, happy with our efforts, although a little disappointed that we didn’t quite measure up. Shortly afterward my son called to say he had received the banner. “I can’t believe how long it is!” he said excitedly. “But why didn’t you two write?”