San Diego. Fabled land. Where you stuck out a young, bronzed hand. To be awarded, for all to see. The paper passed, from him to me. Weeks of training, it had been fun. Most had pride. Some had none. The paper hangs framed, on the living room wall. Remembrance of a youth, who once stood tall. In front of men from around the land. Young men all, an honored band. You were their chosen, their leader by lot, With them always, in cold wind or hot. A time in your life, the best of the best.