High Price

take a few orders and stay physically fit. They explained how in the military—unlike in college—not only could I play ball; I could get nearly free college tuition, too. They praised my intelligence and my skills and kept the focus on what was in it for me.
    As I saw it, my only other alternative was to apply for financial aid, but I had no idea how I’d be able to raise the rest of the money to pay for the full tuition and room and board. The idea of continuing to be dependent on my mother distressed me. And I knew I couldn’t stay home and face the disappointment of my sisters and Big Mama, who had cheered on my athletic career and encouraged me to stick with school. I certainly couldn’t handle the smirks of my rivals if I didn’t leave Miami to play college basketball somewhere. And so, before long, I found myself no longer considering whether to sign up but trying to decide whether the air force or the army was the better option.
    Again, a random choice—one that might seem completely unlikely—put me on the path to my future. I met several times with each recruiter. The army recruiter was a brother. He tried to sell me on his branch of the armed services by demonstrating how cool he was and by extension, how cool I could be if I joined the army. As you know by now, this normally would have sealed the deal with me, but I didn’t buy it from him. I felt that he was trying too hard. His behavior wasn’t authentic; he seemed like a fraud to me.
    In contrast, the air force recruiter was a classic white dork. He made no attempt to be cool or to pretend that he was anything like me. Instead he was straightforward and made a plainspoken pitch. He understood intuitively that he’d never be able to impress me by trying to be something he so obviously was not—and that in itself made an impression. It made him seem trustworthy.
    Still, I kept considering both branches of the military. I may have inadvertently fallen for one of the oldest behavioral tricks there is. That is, being presented with two options when I’d initially wanted none of them, but then seeing my choice as one of those two and forgetting any other possibilities. At one moment, I found myself staring at the army green uniform and thinking, I can’t do that, can’t do that. That shit’s not for me. It offended my sense of style, somehow. I couldn’t picture myself dressed that way, ever. Then I’d think about basketball and scholarships and think, Maybe.
    Later, at one meeting with the army recruiter and his superior officer, I actually fell asleep because I’d been out so late the night before with a girl. Falling asleep in class wasn’t uncommon for me, but that was the first time I’d done it in a small meeting. The guy started pressuring me because he said my napping had embarrassed him in front of his boss, so I should sign up to make it right. But then I started thinking again about the horrible green uniform and what the air force might be like instead.
    Finally, I went back to the air force recruiter. I had come to associate the army with some of the less intelligent brothers I knew: that was the branch of the service they seemed to join. The air force had an advantage here, especially since I remained flattered that I’d attained the higher intelligence score needed to join. Their uniform wasn’t entirely intolerable, certainly not as awful as that army green.
    The airmen were sharper, in both mind and dress. It sounds a bit weird thinking back on it, but again, another not-totally-considered choice—preferring the blue of the air force to the army green; wanting to be part of a service that required a higher IQ—put me on the path to science.
    Because I was still only seventeen, my mother had to sign off on my enlistment as well. It was an ironic moment for me. MH was sitting at a table at Grandmama’s house, with all the paperwork in front of her. The air force recruiter was there, showing us how to fill out the paperwork. Suddenly, she paused. She looked up at me before she finished signing and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?” Remembering all the times she hadn’t been there when I needed guidance, I thought to myself, Oh, now you wanna play mommy? Just sign the fucking papers. I felt as though she was only feigning maternal behavior to impress the recruiter.

CHAPTER 8
    Basic Training
    Don’t try to change yourself; change your environment.
    — B. F. SKINNER
    T he military has its indoctrination