It was the day of his discharge

It was the day of his discharge, and he was starting to feel that his Commanding officer was taking just a little too much time explaining what he could have been, if only he had been a little more respectful to senior officers. Eddie had first encountered him as a sprog officer, fresh out Sandhurst and full of himself swaggering about the Clonard Mill, in West Belfast under his brand new maroon beret. This was over twenty-two years ago on the Falls road and nothing about him had changed.

After ten minutes of a patronising one-way conversation, by someone who didn’t know him from a hole in a wall, apart from what he had read between the covers of a manila folder. Eddies parting comment much to the disgust of the acting Regimental Sergent major was brief and to the point.
“Sir, I like who, and what I am, if you don’t, that’s more of a problem for you than it is for me. Sir.”
He put just a little too much emphasis on the ‘Sir’, accompanied by an over exaggerated salute, it would be the last time he would use either again.