At my Army Basic Training at Ft. Jackson, SC, the privilege of calling home was a big deal.

If you have read any of my other memories on this site of boot camp, you know I was quite homesick. If memory serves, I was allowed to call homtwice or three times in my 11 weeks at Ft. Jackson. Now this was in 1993, so I am not sure how this compares to other eras.

So with my calling card, a pay phone and a lot of patience, I called my mom. The line was easily 15 deep for the one phone. We each had five minutes. Trust me. You did not have to keep track. Every soldier behind you loudly and rudely counted down and let you know the millisecond your time was up.

One of the times I was talking with my mom. I must have gone over the one millisecond. The African American girl behind me said, "what Robinson (my maiden name)you think because you're white you get to talk longer?". I was aghast. That was the first time anyone accused me of something like that. I told her what I thought of that comment. She later apologized.

It was crazy how rude people became. I guess a chance for a connection to back home made girls temporarily lose their minds, and their manners.