Life...is but a dream. Desperate, fleeting butterflies of dreams.

Uncle Sam's Desperation -- and a Recruit's
By Brian Ford
The Washington Post
Saturday, March 25, 2006; Page A19

"Can you give a psychological clearance for someone who wants to go into the military?" asked the caller, in a crisp, authoritative voice.

Having heard so much about the military's recent recruiting difficulties, I was intrigued. "Sure, assuming the person's okay."

"Now, I'm only authorized to pay for one session, but we don't want you to do psychoanalysis. You just need to say that this kid is okay to rejoin the Army."

"Rejoin?"

"He signed up three years ago, but then he got homesick and depressed, didn't feel comfortable handling weapons or with all the violence. He was generally discharged."

To my knowledge, a general discharge was both negative and not that easy to get. The kid must have been in pretty bad shape. "Why would he be any different now?"

"Says he sees the opportunity he gave up and now he wants to make the Army his career. We'd like to help him do that." "Help him" seemed to hang in the air, like a hawk above some oblivious fledgling.

"Honestly," the recruiter said, "we didn't used to consider someone like this, but we're under lots of pressure these days."

I thought back to my hospital emergency room days and the many patients I'd seen whose first psychiatric problems had emerged while they were in the military. They might have arisen anyway, but the stress of military service had always seemed a contributing factor.

"Maybe you'd like to see his discharge report?"

A grainy fax soon arrived. "Serious symptoms of anxiety and depression," the evaluator had written, "likely to get worse if subject remains in military." Also attached was the kid's own handwritten statement. "I hate this 'kill, kill, kill' all the time. Maybe the army is great, but it's not for me."

The plaintive tone was even more compelling than the evaluator's. Could the kid's attitude possibly have changed that much? Still, I tried to be open-minded when Juan arrived next morning in a worn gray sweatshirt and jeans. He was so short, maybe 5-3, that I wondered if the Army had any sort of height requirement.

I ran through the standard questions about hallucinations, delusions, substance abuse, suicidal or violent thoughts, suppressing an ironic smile at this last query. Juan said nothing remarkable.

"I've got your discharge evaluation," I told him finally, plucking the document from my desk, "but maybe it would be better if you just tell me what happened back then."

Juan took a deep breath. "Bad timing," he said. "I signed up between my junior and senior years in high school, but by the time I had to go I was married and had a son. My wife kept writing saying how much she missed me, how I wasn't seeing my baby grow up. That really got me. She's all for it now," he quickly added. "She's thinking of joining herself once she gets her GED."

"You had a hard time with all the violence."

Juan ducked his head sheepishly. "I made that up. It wasn't like I loved the Army or anything, but back then I didn't know what life was about. As soon as I left I wanted to go back, but you have to wait two years to reapply after a general discharge."

"What have you done since then?"

"Worked at a warehouse till it closed, McDonald's, Wal-Mart. I'm temping now since my family's been in the shelter."

"The shelter."

"Couldn't pay the rent. It's kind of funny, the building is right across the street from the recruiting center." Juan smiled at this evident transparency. "But that's why I want to enlist -- put a roof over my family's head."

Maybe with more sessions we could have explored whether this was what he really wanted. But that wasn't our task. "If you get in, I guess you could wind up in Iraq."

"They tell us 70 percent."

"How do you feel about possibly getting wounded or even killed?"

"I just keep my mind on the paycheck, health insurance, even the uniform. I think of my son looking at me and saying, 'Wow! A soldier.' "

I looked at him. Was it a facade or had he accurately calculated that this truly was the most promising of his potential life paths? I didn't know which was worse.

"So what do you think?" he asked.

"You seem fine now. I'm concerned how you'll manage if you get back in."

"No one knows that."

"We have to consider past history."

"Even though I'm saying I made it all up?"

"Yes."

He looked crushed, as though seeing life's opportunities lost to one youthful indiscretion. "But really, I'm all right now."

The recruiter called after he left. "Do you have to write that you're not sure how he'll manage?"

"Yes."

"The kid really wants this." He sounded like a realtor or a car salesman making one last pitch to a prospect.

"I know."

Juan came by next morning to pick up his evaluation. "If this doesn't work out, what will you do?" I asked.

"Just keep trying," He tucked the letter in his pocket. "This is my dream."

The writer is a psychotherapist who practices in Metuchen, N.J., and New York City.