When I was 12, I got a part-time job on a dairy farm, milking cows. We milked 65 cows twice a day. One day, I complained to my father about having to go milk those cows, saying it was tiring. He said, you know, boy, to work is a blessing. I looked at the men who'd worked harder. I had a feeling I had been told something really important, but it took many years before it sank in.  Back then, going to college was a rare privilege. My father told me if I'd picked something to study that I liked doing, I'd always look forward to my work. But he also added, even having a job you hate is better than not having a job at all. I wanted to be a farmer, but I joined a military program to help pay for college. And what started out as an obligation to the Army became a way of life that I had been devoted to for 37 years. In the late 1980s, during a visit to Bangladesh, I saw a woman with her baby on her back, breaking bricks with a hammer. I asked a local officer why they weren't using a machine to make the work easier. He told me a machine would put that lady out of work. And as bad as that woman's job was, it was enough to keep a small family alive. It reminded me of my father's words: to work is a blessing.  After seeing a lot of people like that woman in Bangladesh, I've come to believe that people without jobs are not free. They're victims of crime, poor health, and depression. People who have jobs can have a home, send their kids to school, develop a sense of pride, contribute to the good of the community and even help others. When we can work, we are free. We are blessed. The writer joined a military program because   _  .
he could travel abroad with the army he intended to find a lifetime job his parents forced him to do so he couldn't afford his college education