When I was five years old I had my own Marine. His name was George but I called him Zorro. I am, after all, a child of the television age and he seemed like a Zorro to me.
He was my brother-in-law's brother (did I ever mention I was born 15 years after my eldest sister?) and he was a frequent visitor at my parent's house. He was there as often as my sister and b-i-l were and sometimes even when they weren't. George liked us. George liked me. No, he wasn't a child molester. It's one of the few bad things he wasn't.