We were in Saudi Arabia and one day we're standing outside our bunker waiting for planes to launch out or come back or both. Lugo asked Gunny Davis what medals or ribbons we'd be eligible to get for participating in the Gulf War. I didn't hear the answer, I turned away and walked somewhere else.
A lot of the guys saw getting a medal for war service as a means to get a piece of ass when they went home on leave. Or free beer. Maybe a free meal at a nice restaurant. I didn't see it as anything. I didn't want to be there. I was doing the same job I'd been doing except I was in a desert on the other side of the world, camped outside an unused stadium with the possibility of a chemical agent dropping from the sky to eat away at my guts. Plus I'd been assigned mess duty for a month of the war. It was a joke, it was stupid. All at the same time.
My indifference towards decorations was strengthened when we got back to Cherry Point. I heard complaints about not being able to buy the medals and ribbons at the PX or the 7-day store because they were sold out. It turned out that they had been bought by military personnel who had remained in the States during the whole thing. Apparently you were eligible for war decorations if you were in the service when it happened, you didn't have to be anywhere near the thing.
I didn't try to get my medal or ribbon. Three months after arriving back in the States I was honorably discharged.
Ten years later, I hardly know what I'm allowed to get. I have a good conduct medal and ribbon, which everyone eventually gets, in an unused shaving bag on the top shelf of a closet.
My mother and my wife want me to get my decorations so I can have something to look back on or show the kids when they're older. To them, it's important.
They don't realize that it's not important to me.