After Billet Night, I feel many different emotions. I am the happiest I have ever been, but some parts of me feel bad. I feel bad for Duby because he’s going to his first unit without me after giving up his chance for flight school because of me. Duby is genuinely happy for me, but I still feel guilty. I also feel bad for the people who deserved flight school more than I did and weren’t given the chance they deserved. I know that’s not fair. More than anything, I am afraid. I have imposter syndrome, and deep down, I know I don’t deserve to go to flight school and that everyone else who got selected is better than me. I have been given this amazing opportunity to prove everyone else right, but I still need to prove something to myself. There is a lot of pressure and a lot of doubt, and it almost feels like the world called my bluff. I put in for flight school knowing I wouldn’t get it, and now that I have, I’m panicked because I have to perform.
If I fail now, I can’t blame anyone but myself.

The other question everyone else is asking is how I got selected. What happened?

I start by asking my Company Officer, and he only tells me that he wrote the best possible recommendation he could for flight school. I thank him repeatedly and will forever be grateful for believing in me, but I know there must be more to the story.

Eventually, I find the Aviation Company Officer who was on the board and ask her what she knows. Surprisingly, I aced the ASTB and got one of the highest scores of the applicants. I will have to thank my tutor. Next, she tells me that in the post-interview discussion, Captain Pettitt said, “I don’t know about all of you, but he is my top pick for flight school.” Considering he is basically in charge of flight school, I was picked. I am also surprised by this. She tells me that my interview was absolutely amazing and that despite all my struggles and how low my class ranking was, I came off as sincere, honest, and someone who would do whatever it takes to be a pilot. She explains that Coast Guard aviation is a very tight community, and they wanted to select people they would want to fly with, people who weren’t afraid to admit when they made mistakes, and people who wouldn’t give up when things were tough.

I feel overwhelmed by all the people who helped me and believed in me. Most of my life, I had this attitude that it was me against the world, but it turns out there are a lot of people who want to see me live my dreams. I will never feel like I deserve the opportunity I am given, but I am ready to spend the rest of my life trying to earn it.

The rest of my first-class year is a blur. I am surprised to find that the Academy, a place that almost destroyed me and that I hated for so long, is a place I am going to miss. I never realized how lucky I am that I can walk down the passageway and see every one of my best friends. Friends who supported me through tough times, believed in me, laughed and cried with me, and became the best friends I may ever have. In a few short months, we will be scattered all over the country and sailing all over the world.

Graduation week is here before we know it. President George W. Bush is coming to commission our class, so there is a tremendous amount of hubbub. I am proud because one of my responsibilities as Company Commander is leading ALFA Company onto the parade field for the last time with my class. For four long years, I have hated marching on this parade field in a hot uniform, carrying a rifle and sword, but as I step onto the parade field for one last time with my family watching, I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Once we are all in position, I salute with my sword and scream as loud as I can, “ALFA Company, all present and accounted for,” and as an entire Corps of Cadets, we do the manual of arms in unison. I can’t help but think about how far I’ve come. When I was a fourth-class cadet, someone accidentally gave me a flat tire walking out onto the field, and my shoe was so loose it fell right off. I had to do the entire rest of the drill in a sock, looking like trash. Now I am out in front, about to go to flight school. It’s still hard to believe, and I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t deserve any of this.

A couple of days later, we are in full dress whites and march onto Cadet Memorial Field for Commencement. We stand at attention as President George W. Bush walks onto the stage and remain there as the national anthem is played. Commandant Admiral Allen delivers a short speech and then welcomes the President onto the stage for his commencement address.
President Bush makes a couple of jokes and then says, “More than 6,000 young Americans applied to join the Coast Guard Academy Class of 2007, and today just 228 will walk across this stage to receive your diploma and commission. You’re a select few, and each of you worked really hard to get to this moment: survived R-Day, Swab Summer, and Friday morning drill practice with a kind and gentle soul, Chief Dillmann. You learned to brace up, do orderlies, square meals, and eat ‘hamsters’ with your eyes in the boat. You arrived on this campus as swabs, and today you will leave as proud officers of the United States Coast Guard. Your teachers are proud; your parents are thrilled; and your Commander in Chief is grateful for your devotion to duty. Congratulations to you all.”

I am sweating in my dress uniform with the sun beating down on me as everything starts to set in. The President of the United States is here to congratulate our class. It feels surreal, like I might wake up any minute. I think back to R-Day, sweating through my business casual outfit. I remember quitting during Swab Summer. I remember all the times I thought I would never make it to this moment.

The President continues with an assessment of current threats to the nation and the continued military action in Iraq and Afghanistan. He finishes by saying, “You leave this Academy strong and resolved to be worthy of the traditions of commissioned officers in the United States Coast Guard. I respect your passion for service and the courage of your choice. Your country is grateful and proud of each of you. Congratulations. God bless. Semper Paratus.”

After the President’s speech, we all stand at attention, raise our right hands, and recite the oath of office led by Admiral Allen. Following our oath, we are called up on stage in order. I wait anxiously as I watch my classmates walk proudly across the stage and wave to their loved ones. As my name is called, I walk slowly up to Admiral Burhoe, and he hands me my diploma. Then, across the stage, I see my dad in his full dress whites, smiling ear to ear while standing next to President Bush. It seems like a fever dream, but the Academy allows a military family member to present the commission on behalf of the President. My dad gives me my commissioning certificate and then turns to the President and says, “We’ve got three Georges on stage here.” President Bush just nods, confused, and tells us to wave to our family in the crowd. I shake President Bush’s hand, he smiles, and he congratulates me on becoming a Coast Guard officer.

A few minutes later, when everyone has their commissioning certificates, we get ready with our cadet combination covers. Then, as we hear the formation of Coast Guard aircraft approaching, the master of ceremonies announces, “Ensigns of the Class of 2007, you may now divest yourselves of all symbols of cadet life.” We cheer while throwing our covers skyward as the Coast Guard planes and helicopters I’ve spent my life dreaming about soar directly overhead.
We fall out of formation and find our families. My mom and dad remove my cadet shoulder boards and put on my new ensign shoulder boards along with my new officer combination cover. I am approached by a good friend of mine, James, who enlisted in the Marine Corps immediately after high school and has been fighting in the Middle East ever since. He pops to attention, and I am saluted for the first time. It is a salute so crisp that it could only come from a seasoned Marine. I salute him back, present him with a silver dollar, and we hug.

I am congratulated by all of my friends and family, and we celebrate. I spend time with all my best friends together for the last time and savor every bit of it. I enjoy a brief sense of accomplishment and reflect on how far I have come these past four years, but part of me is terrified. I know I still have another, much bigger mountain to climb.

The last thing President Bush says in his address is the Coast Guard’s motto,  “Semper Paratus,” always ready. As I stand at the base of that next mountain, I know I am not ready.

Not Paratus.