Egghead or Jarhead?

I remember being an adolescent and finding great joy in throwing raw eggs at factory workers from the rooftop adjacent to my backyard in my childhood home. Every now and then the idea would come to us, purely out of boredom, to ruin the day of an unsuspecting, most often Asian, sweat-shop employee. Sure, I've come a long way from that yoke-hurling ingrate to a more refined version, a twenty-something who is now aware of just how much money a carton of eggs costs. Oh yeah, and assaulting people from above is rude, too.

I guess what I loved about doing such things was that in every other situation, I was a goody-two-shoes, star student, performer, and all around kiss-ass. It was during those brief flashes of mischief that I felt like I was a part of the subsect of society that often did that sort of thing, the bad-boys, the delinquents. As I continued reading Jarhead, one of the minor characters with whom I sympathized, and not necessarily agreed with, was Fowler. He was a soldier, a self-proclaimed master marksman who never really got to display his prowess but on the likes of innocent camels trotting helplessly through the blistering dunes.

He had an opportunity to do something great, and sure, to most people serving in the Marines and coming home safely is enough. For others, like Fowler, he was deeply saddened by his lack of excitement and experience and therefore, fabricated heroic tales of war; civilians saved by his own American hands, a example for all.

I guess the reason why I understand where he was coming from is because when I look back on those shell-slamming days of my youth, I realize how boredom affected who I was as a person. A kid with nothing to do has an easy time finding countless ways to waste away an afternoon, but for a soldier who carries a weapon and ammunition and never has the opportunity to use it, that must be the pits. It's no wonder to me he used those poor camels as target practice, although I don't agree with murder being the only source of release.

As I read Jarhead, I realize how much free time these poor guys had and I'm fully aware of the insane thoughts that can run through one's mind when there is plenty of time for them to sneak in (i.e., my summer of hating myself). Fowler was a loser, and it takes one to know one. Egghead.