I Left My Home For The Army Cadence

The screen door slammed behind me, a definitive 'thwack' that echoed the decision I'd just made. Socks, no shoes, and a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal abandoned on the kitchen table. I was going for a walk.

But not just any walk. This was a walk fueled by a primal urge, a rhythm that had burrowed deep into my subconscious. This was a walk led by Army Cadence.

The Call of the Wild (or at least the Suburban Wild)

It started innocently enough. A faint, distant echo drifting through the open window. "Ain't no use in going home…" a gruff voice sang. My head perked up.

Then the unmistakable reply: "Jody's got your gal and gone!" My feet started tapping. Something inside me stirred.

I tried to ignore it. I really did. Focused on the oatmeal, attempted to engage with the morning news. It was no use. The cadence was calling. My body, it seemed, knew what to do. I didn’t.

The Great Escape (from Breakfast)

I don’t know why it happened. Maybe it was the years of subconsciously absorbing the sounds of drill sergeants from war movies. Maybe it was the repetitive beat, a simple, yet strangely compelling rhythm.

Whatever the reason, I found myself outside, marching in time with the unseen soldiers. My neighbors must have thought I'd lost my mind.

And maybe I had, just a little. But there was something undeniably exhilarating about it. I felt…connected.

"Sound Off! 1, 2!"

As I walked, my cadence grew stronger, more confident. I started adding my own verses, much to the amusement (and slight consternation) of the local squirrels.

The words tumbled out of my mouth, a bizarre mix of everyday anxieties and imagined military bravado. It was strangely therapeutic.

I passed Mrs. Henderson tending to her prize-winning roses. She gave me a puzzled look, but I just smiled and kept marching. This was my mission now.

A New Kind of Community

The best part? I wasn't alone. As I rounded the corner, I saw him: Mr. Peterson, the retired mailman, swinging his arms in time with the same cadence.

He caught my eye and grinned. "Good mornin'!" he called out, his voice full of surprising energy. I realized I wasn't the only one answering the call of the cadence.

We walked together for a few blocks, our voices blending in a slightly off-key, but undeniably enthusiastic chorus. This was our Army Cadence community.

The Return Home

Eventually, the cadence faded, the unseen soldiers moved on, and Mr. Peterson and I parted ways with a knowing nod.

I returned home, the oatmeal cold and congealed. But something had changed. I felt lighter, more grounded.

Leaving my home for the Army Cadence wasn't about escaping. It was about finding something unexpected, something silly, and something surprisingly real.

Next Time, I'll Bring Shoes

I’ll be ready next time the cadence calls. Shoes, maybe. And definitely a thermos of coffee to share with Mr. Peterson. We've got a long march ahead of us.

After all, what else are you supposed to do when you hear, "I don't know but I've been told..."?

The answer, of course, is to answer back, loud and proud.