The Anthony Reeves Experience

I don’t know when it actually happened, but when I turned 16 in 1985, I started to realize that if I wanted to go to college, it was going to be on me. My mom never directly said it, but I was an only child in a single-parent household. My mother was a schoolteacher, and I just knew that if college was going to happen, I’d have to figure out how to make it happen myself. As I entered my junior year of high school, I started thinking about my options. One serious idea I considered was going on active duty in the military to qualify for the G.I. Bill. I figured that if I gave the military a couple of years, I could get some clarity on what I wanted to do — maybe go in as a medical specialist, get some experience, and see if the medical field was for me. But my father talked me out of taking a break. That pretty much killed the active-duty plan. Then I had a chance encounter with a recruiter who opened my eyes to another option: joining the military reserves. I could go to drill one we...

Introduction Joining the military was always in the cards for me. With a family legacy of service—my grandfather in World War II, my uncle in Vietnam, and my mother’s four brothers split between enlisted and officer ranks—it seemed like a natural progression. But while my early training experiences were familiar and predictable, it wasn’t until I became an active-duty officer in the Navy that I truly began to understand the weight of my role. This blog reflects on the pivotal moments in my military journey, from ROTC to becoming a young black officer navigating a unique culture, and how those experiences shaped me both personally and professionally. The Natural Choice Growing up surrounded by military service, enlisting felt like a foregone conclusion. ROTC in high school and college, boot camp between semesters, and even jumping out of a plane during advanced training—all of it felt like a continuation of my family’s legacy. By the time I was commissioned as an Army Reserve offi...

Turning 29 felt like a year of reckoning. It was supposed to be my final victory lap of my 20s, but a close friend’s blunt honesty shattered that illusion. She insisted I wasn’t in my 20s anymore—even though I clung to the number as proof of my youth. Her reasoning? At 29, or any age ending in a 9, you’re at the tail end of a chapter, standing on the threshold of the next. She challenged me to reflect: Was I really moving the same way I had earlier in my 20s? Initially, her words irritated me. I wasn’t ready to let go of the carefree identity I associated with my 20s. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she had a point. Looking back on the decade between 19 and 29, my life had been a whirlwind of transformation. I left home in Arkansas, graduated from college and grad school, served as both an Army Reserve and active-duty Naval officer, and partied and planned events like there was no tomorrow. By 29, I was at another crossroads—resigning my commission in the Navy to ...

  Introduction Life often forces us to pause and take stock. For me, that moment came in 1991, shortly after I graduated from college and was commissioned as a U.S. Army Reserve officer. What followed was a journey of unexpected twists that ultimately reshaped my career and outlook on life. The Build-Up: A Life Full of Plans May 4th, 1991, was a momentous day. I walked across the stage to receive my diploma in front of family and friends, celebrating my commission as an Army officer. My future seemed clear—graduate, attend Officer Basic Course, and transition to active duty. But on May 5th, the quiet after the celebrations set in. It was just me, an empty dorm floor, and the realization that not all plans go as intended. The Reset: Ft. McClellan and New Realizations By September, I was at Ft. McClellan, ready to prove myself and earn an active-duty position. However, a new policy change eliminated the very program I was relying on. My dream of active duty was no longer an opti...

Someone recently asked me what motivated or inspired me to join the military. It was a profound question that made me pause and reflect. No one had ever asked me that before, and truthfully, I’d never taken the time to consider what drew me to military service. If I’m honest, the answer lies in the people I admired most while growing up. As an only child raised in a single-parent household, I was fortunate to be surrounded by strong, positive Black men—many of whom had served in the military. What stands out is that none of them ever pushed me to serve. They didn’t tell war stories, wear their service as a badge of honor, or suggest I follow in their footsteps. Yet, their quiet example spoke volumes. My dad’s brother served in Vietnam. My grandfather fought in World War II, enduring the Battle of the Bulge. Four of my uncles on my mother’s side served across various branches of the military. While none of them openly discussed their time in service, their presence and legacy were un...