Army: Left, two, three - NO!

The military is not my troop. Not at all. I only like the dry military biscuits. And the brave men deployed in the chaos of the forest after a storm or when a moraine falls. But otherwise? No, I personally think the weapons thing is a big rubbish. Unnecessary. If you carry a weapon to defend yourself and others, you have to use it. In the worst case, kill someone with it. And in the very worst case scenario, they might even be killed themselves. That's terrible. No mum or dad ever wants to have to experience that.
We brought up our son (and our daughter, who was interested in other things anyway) without toy weapons. At least for the time being. He and his little sister preferred to pile Lego bricks on top of each other until one day Playmobil moved into the nursery. At some point, it was no longer ponies and farms, but knights and castles. Batons and catapults. Later, robbers and policemen.

We provide the next soldiers from our ranks, the tough ones come from our garden.

At about the same time, he helped himself to the wooden spoons from the kitchen. «Bang, bang!» I heard him shout, the wooden spoons at the ready, «you're dead!». And bang, the neighbouring boy was lying flat. Only to get up again shortly afterwards and shoot our boy down with his shiny silver plastic Colt. And so it went back and forth, heavier and heavier artillery was deployed. When my son then took off across the garden with the hoover pipe, I thought, yes, the Swiss army will be happy. We'll recruit the next soldiers from our ranks, the tough ones will come from our garden.

Shooting in front of the screen

The hunting fever has now subsided somewhat. People still shoot, but not as often as before. And certainly no longer outside in the fresh air, but rather in the stuffy, darkened room. The consoles are glowing, the atmosphere is heated, then mum bursts into the room with an envelope from the Swiss army: the call-up for the information day is here!
The topic of the army also comes up with the grandparents: «The military has never done anyone any harm,» the grandfather explains to his grandson, «on the contrary, it teaches you to take orders and to stick to your guns, which can be very useful later on!» I disagree, I don't see my son going to recruit school, let alone making a career in the army.
But at this moment, our son sees himself 1:1 in Battlefield, the rifle pointed at the bad guy and bang, there's a Swiss hero on the border. Ideally together with his school friends, all troop heroes.
The info day is approaching, the anticipation is growing. My boy really wants to become a soldier? I shudder. At six in the morning, he salutes me at the breakfast table, ready for the big day in the military. His gardening friend arrives half an hour later, a little more relaxed about the event. He's clear that he wants to be a civilian and brushes his curls behind his ears.

Four fruits? Cursed!

Distraught, the boy returned home in the evening. The club was not at all to his liking. The experienced instructor in combat fatigues, who wants to get the pubescent milksops excited about the military, praises the weapons, the magazines, explains that the enemy can be killed with just a few shots so that as many as possible can be shot with a magazine of 20 cartridges. Bang, bang 2.0! Reach the game boys with the right message, he says to himself, the boys will be thrilled.
But wait, that's where the fun ends. Because - as the 18-year-old boys realised on this information day - this is not about a game, but about real life. And death is anything but funny. Sometimes you just need another voice than just the mum-dad echo.
I'm mighty proud of our son: civilian service yes, army no! It almost sounds like an order that now has to be swallowed by his grandfather. But I'm sure he'll get his head round it too.
Picture: Pexels

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