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Samuel Reddick

UWRT

Dr. Kashtan

September 19, 2016

Learning How to Type After Learning How to Learn

In the modern age where electronic correspondence and digital work have long been the

primary means of success and are rapidly becoming the only means, it must be highly unusual to

find people under the age of 30 who can’t type. Today students are taught this skill early on and

even my seven year old cousin is already taking typing classes. The nature of technology is that

it either makes your life easier if you can keep up or harder when you have to compete against

the former group. The inner-city school system that I spent most of my early education in was

under-funded, strained by a cultural lack of vision, and poorly suited to the task of making

successful people or even defining success in a modern age. While I was that young I had no

idea how poorly suited it was until I transferred to a new, much better school. So much better

was the second system that I almost might as well have skipped a grade going there, and more

importantly this system used computers for education in ways I hadn’t seen before.

By now you might be able to gather what one of my main problems was at this new

school. I could read, I could write, and I could improvise enough in math to pass but I could not

type. Suddenly a skill that I had previously thought of as trivial became incredibly useful for

those who possessed it. I didn’t even have a computer for the first couple of years which meant

that the assignments that I had to type had to be typed at school or the library for some time.

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Typing was a slow tedious process;

so slow that I usually wrote on paper before

I typed my assignments into a computer.

This led to difficulties that I could see

weren’t shared by my classmates. I was

illiterate for the twenty-first century and

that meant that I faced uneven challenges. This period led me to dislike computer technology in

general. It was something that claimed to make life easier, but only succeeded in making mine

more inconvenient. Eventually my dad ended up buying me a laptop which must have been a big

deal to him. Growing up in the sixties he certainly hadn’t needed a laptop. I was surprised that he

was able to see a computer less as a luxury and more as a necessity for someone my age since, it

had taken me some time to come to this conclusion.

Even with my new tool I still didn’t learn how to type. By now I was good enough at

poking keys and writing in general to finish typed papers in a reasonable amount of time.

Besides, by now I was set on going into the military and knew that I wouldn’t need typing skills

there. For the most part I didn’t even try that hard in school once I began making arrangements

to go into the service. In my mind there was no need to waste the effort. I’ve always been proud,

and struggling harder than my classmates helped to result in underperformance. Not doing as

well as my classmates made me self-conscious and made me question my own intelligence. I

hated school and I hated technology as one.

In the Marine Corps I never needed to type. I had to be cold some days. Other days I had

to be hot. Some days I would have to be wet and others I would have to be plagued by flies

buzzing in by ears. One thing that I was safe from though was the inequality of technology. If I

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was cold, hot, soaked, or covered in flies there was a platoon in the same situation as me. When I

lost sleep so did they and when we had it easy everyone did. There was no need to feel

inefficient because there would always be someone worse than me. In other words, I was

comfortable.

For the first couple of years in the Marines I stayed comfortable. That’s not to say that a

lot of negative things didn’t happen. Sometimes I was miserable, but my intelligence was rarely

challenged or in question. I wasn’t physically comfortable as much as I was intellectually

comfortable. However, I did not

succeed in fully avoiding technology.

The job that I ended up with was Light

Armored Vehicle (LAV) crewman. An

LAV-25 is an eight wheeled

reconnaissance vehicle built to carry

three crewman, six infantry scouts, two

machine guns, and one 25 millimeter main gun. Like most US military vehicles it is loaded with

complex technology requiring hours of maintenance and troubleshooting for proper operation. At

first as a contract infantryman, I just thought that the LAV was a good way to avoid having to

walk everywhere while at the same time wielding some serious firepower. The training school

was not difficult at all which led me to believe that the MOS (Military Occupational Specialty or

job) was going to be easy as a whole.

When I graduated and went to my unit I quickly learned that the knowledge I was given

in the school was only the tip of the iceberg. The unit had deployed as a battalion and only the

“turds” (bad Marines) as I was told, were left behind in the states. This meant two things: one,

An LAV-25 firing its main gun on a range

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those of us who just showed up were responsible for the maintenance of a large amount of

vehicles, and two, the Marines who we first served with either knew little about how to fulfill

this task or did not care to teach us. We had to hit the ground learning by trial and error with an

emphasis on error. I found myself actually looking thing up in the school’s textbook and the

technical manual (TM). In the Marines you were expected to know and perform. More required

guidance meant to some extent a bad Marine. In my aforementioned pride I could not let that

happen.

I began as an LAV driver because that is the lowest billet (job) on the vehicle. While I

was comfortable being a Marine in general, I was definitely uncomfortable being a driver. The

driver’s job was to maintain the vehicle as a whole, work with the mechanics to solve any issues

(this actually meant doing the unfavorable physical tasks like disconnecting bolts hidden behind

panels, moving the heavy batteries, and draining the fluids under the vehicle as all mechanics

study religiously the technicalities of which tasks they don’t have to do), and taking care of the

day to day maintenance and record keeping of the vehicles. In short, the driver actually had to do

the most work on the vehicle overall as the gunner was usually only busy when the vehicle was

firing, the scouts slept until they had to jump out the back (then they would argue they had more

to do), and the vehicle commander’s job was the more mental strain of organizing movements.

I despised my billet and decided that I was going to be promoted to a gunner as soon as

possible. This meant further study on top of my previous ones. Not only did I look for

information that would save me from extra work, but I legitimately wanted to know everything

about the technology that went into my vehicle. By now the battalion had returned from its

deployment and had begun deploying by companies (a battalion can be over 1,000 people while

a company is usually less than 200) and I was part of a line platoon set to deploy for the

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Okinawa, Japan. When our platoon* (see table below) was first brought together I wanted to be a

gunner, but I was just too junior. I knew I would have to complete at least one deployment as a

driver, but I wouldn’t let it be more than one.

By the time we made it to Okinawa I knew more than the average driver and still wasn’t

satisfied. I had to know more than the gunners if my promotion was to be a sure thing. Random

drunken nights in the barracks for others turned into study nights for me until I was satisfied that

I knew what I was doing and was ready for practical application. Finally I got my chance on our

last shooting range before going home. This range was too basic for any experienced gunner so

the company and platoon leadership decided to make it a range for the drivers. Unlike some, I

was not even slightly nervous loading and firing the complex weapon system for the first time. I

didn’t even have questions. I had spent a lot of time learning and now it paid off.

So the first couple of years in the Marines were comfortable. I learned when I was not

challenged to learn and technology was not a tool out of my reach. I had mastered the technology

and performed better than my peers. This fed my pride in a

positive way and gave me a feeling that I didn’t want to lose. My

learning continued and by the next deployment I had basically

become an uncertified expert. I knew far more than I was

supposed to and, when a Sergeant couldn’t make the trip, I was

selected as one of two subject matter experts from the platoon

(regular infantry platoons are between 30 and 40 people but

Light Armored Reconnaissance platoons are closer to 20) to fly to the Philippines and train with

their LAV Marines.

A Filipino Marine and myself in Luzon Province

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So now my learning ability was validated. I knew that I could put in the hours just out of

sheer curiosity. I also knew that I was smart enough to pick up on things quickly and could retain

information. However, as the months went on my comfort in the Marines was dying out. After

my first deployment I decided that I wanted to reenlist, but after a few months back in the states I

began to like the idea less and less. What would I do here for twenty years? What else could I

evolve into? I remember two different days in particular that shook my resolve for reenlistment.

The first was one of the nights that I had duty with an officer. Now the main difference between

officers and enlisted personnel in the military is a college degree. Not all enlisted people are

without a degree, but having one for an officer is a prerequisite. There I sat on duty with this

college graduate and I couldn’t help but notice how stupid he seemed to put it rudely. He was

just not sharp at all. Surely if this guy could go to school I could as well. The other day was

when I was going on a meritorious board for promotion and I had to collect some information for

my profile. My platoon sergeant was the one putting the package together, so I came to see him.

The package had to be put together on the computer and he couldn’t type, so I was going to have

to type up portions of the package (which is by no means long). I struggled, the platoon sergeant

struggled, and all of the other staff NCO’s (noncommissioned officers) struggled daily with their

paperwork or had some tech-savvy low-ranking private do it all for them. Career Marines were

left behind the wave of technology that had come to define the world. I did not want to be this

person when I got out after twenty years. How would I cope with civilian life after twenty more

years of not being able to type? Not being one that enjoys dependency I decided that I would

learn to type once and for all.

It was difficult at first. I spent many frustrated hours in my room on typing websites and

typing tests. I looked like a fool in front of my roommates which is what I hated the most, but I

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had gained something in those years of learning my job. I had gained resolve. I was done being

deterred by my pride and determined to learn and grow. After a few weeks I could type forty

words per minute and this is where I started to enjoy typing more. It was a fun challenge that I

was beginning to master. I would try to find things just to type them which led to me writing

more and enjoying it. Inevitably this meant that I was more comfortable with the idea of going to

school. In my third year of the Marine Corps I began to apply for school on active duty. I

registered for two classes because I wanted to test myself before believing that I was ready to

attend college, but one of them got cancelled and the other I had to miss for a month long

training period. After that I was deploying and soon after was my EAS (end of active service). I

missed my chances for college prep, but I was able to convince myself that school the next time

around would be different. I had gotten used to hours of study for subjects I would never be

tested for. I learned all about radios and radio procedures. I learned (and forgot) how to call in

close air support; something advanced for my pay grade. I learned about the ballistics of the

25mm and learned of its inner workings, and now, I knew how to type.

Typing was absolutely essential to learning in the next stage. I knew how to type so I

tried my hand at basic excel. I learned how to use excel spreadsheet and I decided to learn a bit

of programming. I played around with Python over the summer and became comfortable

focusing on computer science as my intended degree plan. Knowing how to type had opened a

gate to the technology that wrote off in my school days. My military background helped me learn

how to learn and with a basic understanding of computers. I have quickly expanded my

knowledge and have begun to dream of things that I previously thought beyond me. Now I am on

line with technology.

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Today I feel bad for any student without the technology needed to keep up. I can’t

imagine how my life would be if I didn’t know how to type at this stage. I haven’t changed my

opinion of technology and I still think that it is all but an equalizer. Those who wield this power

are destined to succeed if they only will it while those who don’t face intense challenges. Typing

is the literacy of the twenty-first century. Without this basic skill one could be cast into a class

that they could never escape. In the age of email, Facebook, and even canvass technological

literacy is almost the only way to attain the American dream in this age.

*Organization table for your convenience. I was in

First Platoon, Delta Company.

3d LARBattalion

Comanche Company

Blackfoot Company

Dragoons Company

Huron (HQ) Company

Apache Company

1st (Red) Platoon

2nd (White) Platoon

3rd (Blue) Platoon

Weapons Platoon

HQ (Black) Platoon