Honor Thy Son

I was a Marine officer, a lifer—or so I thought. Then came Patrick

- RAY KIMBRELL

I'd been on plenty of marches in my time as a Marine, but never anything like this. My platoon today was undisciplined, stopping to kick at twigs, talking and laughing as we hiked through the woods, no one paying attention to the sound of rushing water ahead. Then again, I would expect that from a bunch of 10-year-olds. I was about as far from the battlefield as I could get, accompanying my son, Patrick, and his fifth-grade class on a three-day field trip at Camp Classen, in the Arbuckle Mountains of southern Oklahoma. I looked down at Patrick, sitting in the three-wheel jogger I pushed in front of me. My son has cerebral palsy. Ten years ago, doctors didn't think someone with his brain damage would live, much less be hitting the trail with his classmates.

Before Patrick, the biggest challenge I had was achieving my dream: becoming a Marine officer. My dad was a Navy man, and I knew I wanted to serve in the military. In college at The Citadel, I chose the Marines. To me, there was no greater honor than leading the most elite fighting force on earth. First, I had to go through officer candidate school, or OCS-two courses, six weeks each, of the most grueling physical and mental tests I'd ever faced, including the Confidence Course, a race through 11 obstacles with names like Slide for Life and Jacob's Ladder. I scaled tall barriers and swung from monkey bars high above the ground. Our commanders urged us on. Nothing was beyond our capabilities, they said.