“Sir‚ name and rank‚ sir.”

That was my most frequently used phrase ­during my first month in the United States at the Culver Military Academy. I was a second-class man (junior) but also a new cadet.

As a Chinese student who had never been to America ­before, it was painstaking to memorize the names and ranks of the “old men” (branch-qualified cadets).

“Sir, good morning, uh – uh – First Ser – Ser, uh, ­Sergeant uh – Puc, uh, Puccia, sir.” It took me forever to greet them in the hallway.

Feeling embarrassed, I wrote down the names and ranks of all 47 “old men” in my unit and sat on my bed for hours each day, reading my list and whispering, “Lance Corporal ­Turner, Color Corporal Weber ….”

“Tuck in your shirt! Don’t talk in the hallway! Square your corners when you march!” they would always bark at me.

Waking at 5:30 each morning, I put on my uniform, shined my shoes, swept the floor, and made my bed so there were absolutely no wrinkles. Then I stood outside my room, waiting for inspection. That was the reality of my ­career as a new cadet.

Because of my superior performance, I was the first cadet invited to Boards, the rigorous testing and inspection for a new cadet to become a branch-qualified “old man.”

The most important part of the process was the room preparation, so I needed to thoroughly clean my room and make sure every nook and cranny was spotless. I woke up at 6 a.m. that Saturday and got to work. To eliminate the dust bunnies hiding in the corners, I bought two bottles of Lemon Pledge. I pulled out the drawers of my desk and crawled underneath. Lying on my back, I sprayed and wiped every inch of the desk, including the underside, the drawer slides, and the legs. I did the same to my wardrobe, bed, and lamp; I even polished my room key.

The hardest part of the preparation was the floor. Dragging, pulling, hauling, pushing, I moved everything out of my room and into the hallway. Piles of dust hidden for years lay where my desk, bed, and wardrobe had stood.

After I had swept up the dust and mopped the floor twice, I opened my second bottle of Pledge. On my hands and knees, I polished the floor one section at a time. By the time I had backed into the hallway, my shirt was wet, my knees were numb, and sweat dripped down my cheeks faster than I could wipe it away. But the floor shone, almost too much. I soon realized how smooth, even slippery, my floor was – I had cleaned it with furniture polish.

“Hey, what’s up, Wu?” a friend asked as he stepped into my room. “When are you– aagh!” His feet flew out and
he fell flat on his back. I can hardly remember how many other boys fell. In a while, my room was filled with cadets in socks spinning like ice skaters.

I lay on my back in the hallway outside my room. “One‚ two‚ three … Go!” Jason pushed my feet and I glided into the room, staring up as the ceiling sped by. Wham! My head slammed into the heater.

Back to work, I shined my shoes until I could see my teeth in them. I folded shirts for five hours, kneeling on the floor with a steel straight-edge: “No, it’s still not exactly 8 by 10 inches.” I folded them, unfolded them, folded them again.

I spent 17 hours cleaning my room. I passed Boards.

I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straight-edge on my desk to remind me of that day. When I face huge academic and emotional pressures, the sight of the bottles keeps me motivated; when I feel contented and ­sated, I turn to the steel straight-edge, which inspires me to seek perfection. I bring this motivation and perfectionism with me as a member of Squadron Staff, supervising 138 cadets, leading my unit to be the best in the regiment, and getting straight A’s.

I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straight-edge in my room to remind me that I can accomplish great feats. .