Bone-chilling wind and rain. April at Naval Training Center Great Lakes, a teeth-rattling shuttle ride from Chicago's O'Hare Airport.

On cold, gum-encrusted bleacher seats we got to know a few of the 3,000 parents and other relatives of the 709 boot-camp graduates to be. We had three hours to scout through the crowd, relish Sousa marches and, finally, try to find son Daniel who pretty much looked like everybody else. Gotta love the military.

We also glimpsed stern-faced sailors trekking the narrow lines of sailors-to-be standing at attention.  Every so often, way too often actually, they helped a staggering man or woman off the event center floor to some recuperation area -- sometimes four sailors carrying one unconscious colleague.

When ceremonies concluded, we went looking for Dan. His Mom had spotted him earlier, recognizing him by a notch in his ear. But there was no celebration moment of hugs and digital flashes among the milling throng. There was no Dan.

Hours later when we hooked up with him and strolled the Gurnee Mills Mall, we learned about "body snatchers" -- and even bumped into the young man who grabbed Dan before he passed out.  Locking your knees in place can compromise blood flow after a while.  And, no matter how many warnings recruits are given, bearing and posture sometimes outpace putting wisdom to use. Thus, "body snatchers" are designated at every graduation.

Dan's a lot skinnier, taller, more thoughtful and focused than he was on entering boot camp two months back. And he's moving on to his next level of Navy schooling.  To him and to the "body snatchers," his Mom and I say: Bravo Zulu!  (Navy talk for "well done.")