One Saturday after Drill weekend, I’m relaxing at a picnic table just outside the armory, drinking beers and talking with a small group of enlisted men. It's after the duty-day, so everyone’s out of uniform, relaxing. Young Sergeant Espinoza is seated at my table lamenting how difficult it is to claim education benefits through the military and is considering dropping out.

Master Sergeant Jackson, an older veteran seated with us, spoke gravely, “My grandfather fought for any bit of education back in the day. After the schools integrated, he faced down hatred every day just to finish grade school. My dads was the first in our family to finish high school and I'm the first to go to real college." His somber words were extra impactful, normally he's easygoing and a bit of a jokester after hours. "It took me twice as long as it should have ‘cause I deployed three times while doin’ it!” He laughs. “But it’s worth it… just as the Cap'n” he says, shifting the conversation to me. "He just finished grad school."

“It sure is.” I said. “Every bit is worth it.”

“Yeah!" The young private sitting next to me interjects, "Plus, if you get your PhD in ANYTHING you can make people call you Doctor!”

I laughed, “Sure, if you wanna be an asshole.”

Espinoza ponders a moment then asks, “Why don’t they do that for other degrees?”

“What do you mean?” Jackson asks.

“Well… I call my BJJ instructor ‘sensei’ and he ain’t got a degree. You got a Bachelors, why don’t we call you ‘Bachelor Jackson’?”

I spoke before he could reply, “I’d really like that. ‘Master Chimay’ has a nice ring to it. I’d feel like Batman talking to Alfred every day.” I sipped my beer. “I wonder why we don’t do that.”

Jackson stood up then hunched over a bit with his hat in his hand. In his best Uncle Remus voice he said, “Why-a yessuh Massa Chimay, dat sho’ do soun good. I bechu’d like dat right-propper talk, all dem folks callin you Massa Chimay.”

tl;dr, absent minded musings made me look racist.