From Tree-Forts to Global Service: My Conversation with U.S. Army Major “G”

I still remember how it all started: two scrappy little kids itching to build the world’s greatest tree-fort, except neither of us had any idea what we were doing. Picture a rickety structure some 30 feet up, held together by a questionable rope and the sheer willpower only ten-year-olds can muster. At one point, my friend “G” literally fell off the edge—and dangled in midair until I grabbed him like my life depended on it (I guess it did for him!). It’s impressive how such a near-disaster can become one of my fondest memories. Maybe it was foreshadowing: he’d always value risk, rescue, and readiness in service to others. And me? Well, I’m just grateful the universe ignored our subpar construction skills.

Now, fast-forward a few decades. “G” is all grown up and forging a path in the U.S. Army, with near-thirty years of friendship tucked underneath his uniform belt. Meanwhile, I’m here telling jokes that deserve to be pinned under the “dad joke” category.

As kids, we were “latchkey” types running around, testing every boundary, and occasionally building booby traps out of fireworks. Allegedly. But “G” was always different in the sense that he wore every hat imaginable even before middle school. He DJed dances, did manual labor, and hustled for opportunities. That early passion grew into a career path many of us never expected—armed service. He’d been deeply involved with the police Explorers program, learning the ropes of law enforcement. His plan was to join the force. Then the economy crashed in 2007, turning his future upside down.

Faced with a shrinking job market and ongoing desire to serve, “G” enlisted in the Army. He set his sights on intelligence work at first—thinking it’d give him a solid skill set should he eventually return to law enforcement. But as with most significant life decisions, the path rarely stays simple. Next thing he knew, he was studying Russian, traveling across the globe, and learning that specialized missions and vital support sometimes don’t look anything like the action movies we grew up watching.

One of the more pivotal moments for “G” came when he joined Special Operations, aligning himself with missions that emphasize region-specific tasks. He found himself immersed in Eastern Europe, deploying language skills and forging bonds with local nonprofits. One such experience was working alongside a youth movement in Bosnia called “Citizens Against Terrorism.” He helped put on a conference where 60 youths learned how to empower each other, teach next-generation leaders, and find better opportunities in challenging environments. It was as if his childhood knack for building “forts” had morphed into a grown-up version of constructing safe spaces for an entire community.

While “G” was acquiring new skills that aligned with his public service calling, he was also reacquainted with an even darker side of global issues: child trafficking. Through connections with recognized counter-terrorism veterans, he found himself in Poland right after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, assisting orphanages and rescuing kids from the illegal networks that see children merely as commodities. And in that moment, “G” found his deeper mission beyond the Army: working with the Sentinel Foundation. The organization focuses on rescuing trafficked children, providing crisis support, and stepping into internally displaced or war-torn areas. When he’s finished with his 20-year career, “G” hopes to transition fully into supporting this vital cause. Because, let’s be honest, child trafficking is about as evil as it gets. It’s that universal, soul-wrenching problem we can’t ignore. (edited) 

And there’s a good reason we’re shining a spotlight on it. As “G” explained, many major events morph into hotbeds of human trafficking. The Super Bowl and popular golf tournaments, for example, are infamous for the ballooning market in commercial exploitation. Just when I thought playing 18 holes was hazardous enough, “G” shared how the “Waste Management Open” in Arizona sees a surge in this issue each year—most of us never even notice. So how do we help? Well, more than anything, it’s about vigilance. Staying alert if something seems off, and trusting your instincts rather than shrugging it off. (Snitches may get stitches, but at least they might save a child’s life in the process.)

Speaking of life-saving: the weird thing about “G” is that, through all his serious missions, he’s a man who thrives on new challenges. Whether it’s picking up goose-hunting on weekends, training with firearms, or diving into survival techniques, the man doesn’t slow down. (I suspect in any zombie apocalypse scenario, I’d end up sharing a bunker with “G” if I know what’s good for me. Because if smartphones fail, at least he’ll know how to keep water drinkable and me out of trouble—hopefully.) As an entrepreneur, “G” channeled those skills into launching “Mission Box,” a business that prepares 72-hour survival kits for families. He realized that not everyone grew up building questionable tree-forts or completing a series of sear schools. Some folks barely know how to toast bread. So Mission Box focuses on providing curated gear and essentials to last in emergencies—be it natural disasters, power outages, or other crises that cut us off from crucial resources.

For instance, the large kit might include a Starlink device so you can communicate if the grid collapses. It’ll have American-made products “G” tested himself, along with premium first-aid items that certain companies vow to replace for free if you ever have to use them in a real-life emergency. He also offers training classes: you can learn how to filter water properly, set up shelter, or handle a fire source. Basically, it’s the difference between panic and preparedness if you ever find yourself in the path of a hurricane, wildfire, or prolonged power outage.

Now, you might think, “Oh, just build your own kit. That’s easy.” I used to think so too—until I realized I once tried to push a ‘four-person’ tent onto actual full-sized humans, only to end up practically nose-to-nose with my older brothers hypnotized by their snoring. Let’s just say we redefined “family bonding.” With Mission Box, you can skip that buyer’s remorse and let an actual professional handle the details. “G” is proof that yes, all this super-practical knowledge is second nature for him, but not so much for the rest of us.

When I look back over our near-30 years of friendship—starting with questionable bets about who could toss rocks the farthest, spanning into his life orchestrating rescue ops—I’m struck by the simplicity of “G”’s worldview: it’s always about service. Whether that means volunteer time at local organizations, wearing the nation’s uniform, or creating survival kits for families, “G”s anchor is, “How do I help?” And I think that’s a question worth asking ourselves when we’re sifting through how to spend time, money, and energy.

Anyway, I hope “G”s story reminds you that service can take many forms. Maybe it’s stepping into a field of work that might terrify you—like child advocacy. Maybe you discover you’re the kind of person who finds local volunteering more your speed. Or you’re the entrepreneurial type who wants to build something with your own two hands (preferably less dangerous than our childhood forts). As “G” loves to say: “Pay it forward.” Trust me, it feels a whole lot safer than trusting in the single piece of rope that used to keep him from plunging to death from that tree. 

If you want to learn more about “G”s nonprofit work, check out the Sentinel Foundation—they’re doing truly heroic missions to help kids who’ve been trafficked. Or, if you’re thinking, “I can’t even open a can of tuna without risking life and limb,” maybe Mission Box is for you. “G”’s got a variety of pre-made kits or custom orders so you and your loved ones can weather a crisis.

Find him online or fire questions my way directly, and I’ll happily forward them along. Whether you’re leaning into child-protection initiatives or learning how to set up camp for the first time, remember: we can all play a part. And if you ever catch yourself perched 30 feet above ground, looking at nothing but old rope and questionable plywood, just remind yourself that small steps in the right direction beat a giant fall—every time.