Hiatus

Due to the shithole that is my life, this blog will be on hiatus indefinitely.

Thanks for reading and hopefully I'll be up and blogging soon.

The BEST Christmas Gift EVER!

There was a question posed on a BRATs web page that asked us what our favorite Christmas gift of all time was.  Others spoke of bicycles and plane models and dolls.

I could answer that with one word (and I did): Daddy.

Let me explain.  In early 1986, Daddy was nearing his end of duty at Great Lakes RTC.  He was scheduled to go to Orlando for some mandatory training.  My parents had included my brother on the decision on whether or not we as a family joined him.  Why?  Because he was doing so well in school.  My parents taught us that when you make a promise, you keep it, no matter what.  They promised him that if he was doing well in school, come his senior year, Dad would live as a deployed bachelor. (I honestly, at 0749 can not recall what the actual title my mom used!!  If someone knows, feel free to correct me...but he was in Florida and we were in Illinois and the Navy still treated us as though he was still in Illinois...hard to explain, but BRATs sorta get it?!?!?!?!) 

Years later, I got to make the decision with my school, even though I was doing poorly, mine was because Daddy missed all but a year…close to…of my high school.  So totally different reasons!

My brother chose to stay and Dad went off to school.  While Daddy was there for my first day (which, oddly, I DON’T remember), he was in Florida for the rest of it.

There was never a doubt in my mind, come Christmas, that Daddy would be home.  He always found a way.  We were one of the lucky families.  But, I didn’t expect him to be there as soon as he was.

Living in Illinois, just a little under 5 hours from where Daddy grew up in Michigan, we would try to spend as much time there as possible.  We made every effort over the years to spend Christmas or Thanksgiving there.  I loved it.  Snow.  Sledding.  Gramma’s pies.

This year was no exception.  Mom, Brother, and I piled into our car, which was loaded with gifts.  I don’t remember  much about that drive, to be honest.

Even more so, I don’t remember much about that Christmas.  If it wasn’t for photos, I wouldn’t recall even one gift.

That’s because every other gift was eclipsed.

I had retreated to my Gramma’s room and was reading a John Denver song book.  Don’t ask because I don’t know why I had such a fascination with Gramma’s song books.  I just did.  And, they could ONLY be read in the dim light of her room.  (What type of child was I!?)

As I read the words to “Rocky Mountain High”, I heard my nickname.  That voice.  That tone.  I dropped the book as I looked up.  That smile.

I don’t remember a time when I moved so fast!  Even though I was 14, I leaped into Daddy’s arms.  “You’re the best gift ever!”

He hugged me tightly and said “Being here with family is the best gift ever.”

He handed me something…a gift from one of the ladies I knew and loved growing up, but don’t recall.  My mind says earrings, but don’t remember.

Military children know that holidays are rarely spent on the actual holidays. We get used to Mommy or Daddy being gone on those important days.  There are some of us who, despite knowing our parent would be home, were still overjoyed when we saw them.

Like I said: It never crossed my mind that Daddy wouldn’t be there.  I just never expected him to be there as soon as he was.  We were spending the week, up to New Year’s there.  And so was Daddy.

It was literally within the hour of us arriving, Auntie came in, having just picked Daddy up from the airport.

No matter how many Christmas gifts we get that are totally amazing, many of us can agree that having a deployed parent home on that day is the best gift ever.

Though, my Jim McMahon book was a very close second.  

The Military Child (A Poem by ME!)

I went to bed that night
Fighting back the tears
I knew it would do no good
To let Daddy see the fear

I wasn't sure when I'd see him
Or if he'd even make it home
All I knew was that night
Life as it was was now gone.

There'd be phone calls
And letters from overseas
Checking up on all of us
To see if we are as well as can be.

Every night was filled with darkness
And overwhelming dread
While nightmares were abundant,
Knocking pleasantries from my head.

I couldn't speak to friends at school
Because they wouldn't understand.
Every day they would go home
And hug and kiss their Dad.

So, a silent vigil alone I held
A yellow ribbon tied around my heart
Crying tears of depression
With Daddy and us a world apart

The days seemed to drag on
Turning hours into day
When would Daddy be home
And safe with us again.

I bore my misery alone
While trying to remain strong
For every night I heard the tears
That only came from my Mom.

I had to be there for her
Because no one else could
In a city full of civilians
Who else possibly understood?

So we held our heads up high
As we walk down the streets
Knowing Daddy was fighting
So that everyone could be free

It isn't easy being the child
Of one who has chosen to serve,
But one thing was certainly easy:
Being Daddy's Little Girl!

We talked as often as we could
Long distance on the phone
And in a very silly moment,
We even chose "Our Song"

"Somewhere Out There"
Was the start of that song
Every time I heard it play,
I knew that I was never alone.

So, until Daddy came home
I wished on every single star
Knowing that in he was doing the same
In country distant and far.

The military child sacrifices
More than we will ever tell
We too suffer from separation
And do our time in our own hell.

But there is not another life
That most of us would lead
Because it is a true honor
The child of a warrior to be.

So every military BRAT
Around the world unite
Let help those now
Whose parents for freedom fight.

For we know exactly
What they are going through
And it is OUR job to look after them
And to give them our strength too.

Military child of the present
You will not endure this journey alone
The rest of the military BRATs are behind you
One for all and all for one!

"You're Welcome"

This post isn't long.  It's about a small memory from when I was just about 4 years old.  It's one of my first memories as a BRAT.

There are no specifics that are kept in my mind.  All I know is I was maybe 4 years old and Vietnam had just BARELY ended.  The hatred for our fighting men and women in uniform still clouded the streets. To remember all the circumstances is difficult since it’s been so long and I was so young.

Why Daddy was in uniform, I am unable to recall.  What I do recall is looking up at him and feeling pride.  He looked sure of himself and confident.  While that was who Daddy was, in or out of uniform, there was something in how he walked and carried himself when he was in his uniform.

I can’t even remember what uniform he was wearing.  I always think it was his Cracker Jacks, but that’s because I thought he looked the most handsome in those.  But, honestly?  I don’t know.  I don’t even remember if it was summer, winter, fall, or spring. Those details are fuzzy at best.

We were walking (again, fuzzy on the details) and we passed a long haired FUBAR’d hippie.  I DO remember that because it stuck out to me.  I had never seen a man with long hair before and it made for quite the impression.

As he passed by us, he looked at Daddy and with complete venom in his voice said “Baby Killer!”

I looked at Daddy, who had stopped.  Intensity was in his blue eyes.  I wasn’t sure of what he was going to do.  I hid behind his leg, peeking over at the stranger.  Daddy turned around and simply yelled “You’re welcome!”

As we repositioned ourselves, the young man yelled back “For what?”

Once again, Daddy faced the young man.  And I will never forget his words.  In fact, I have used them myself.  He was staunch still and at attention.  Daddy’s voice, though soft, was tough and strong.  “You’re welcome because I put this uniform on.”  As the young man opened his mouth, Daddy held up a hand to stop him.  “You get to go home every night to your family, safe, because I don’t.  I go to fight a war so you don’t have to.  I put my country first so you can continue to have what you have.  I don’t raise my voice so that you can keep yours.  I go days without sleep so that you may.  I put myself in dangerous situations to keep you from them.  Whatever you may think of what I do or those who serve with me, we do it because of you.  And each one of us would raise our hands to repeat that oath again, even if it was just for you. So on behalf of the United States military, you’re welcome.  Don’t worry about fighting.  We got that.”

I looked up at the strange young man.  His face was softened and he had obviously been proverbially brought to his knees.  He had been schooled and he sensed it.  He just looked at my dad, defeat present in his eyes and walked away.

And we walked away.  At a young age, I understood (no matter how limited at that age) what sacrifices Daddy made for us…the flag…the United States.  That understanding would only grow as I did.

What It's Like Being A BRAT

Military BRATs have a saying: “Unless you live it, you won’t get it.”  And that’s true.

The past several weeks BRATs took on what seemed to be an impossible feat and claimed a small victory.  However, we are finding out that even those who serve don’t seem to get why we are so passionate about our name.

If your parent served long enough for you to move a billion times before you were three (I know…it’s an exaggeration, but it certainly felt that was the amount of moves!) and you got an ID card (Who couldn’t wait until they turned 10!  To military BRATs, that is a birthday that is bigger than Sweet 16 or even 21^st!), you are a BRAT.

There are some things that those who haven’t experienced this life won’t understand.  I’ll do my best, but I can only do so much to help you.

Unlike civilian kids, we don’t have a “hometown”.  I would estimate upwards towards 99% of those who are currently serving have a hometown they can return to when they leave the service…either by retirement or by end of enlistment. They can drive down streets and go “WOW!  That’s changed!  That wasn’t there last year!” etc…

They can go to their high school reunions (if they’re not deployed and can get the leave).  They can sleep in their childhood bedrooms (maybe their childhood bed?)

They can go to the park where they played as a child.  They still have the same friends as they did when they were three.  Okay…most of the time.  I’ll concede that point.

Nothing is closed to them.  Not the WalMart they grew up shopping in.  Not the McDonald’s they ate and played at as children.  Chances are they can still go to the same exact mall and Cineplex they did BEFORE they joined.

They can call an old friend and meet up at the coffee shop on “x” street and they’ll know exactly where it is because they’ve been there a billion times.  They probably even know the people working there.

They can drive down the streets they learned to drive on.  They don’t have any grocery store closed to them because they don’t have ID…unless it’s Sam’s Club/COSTCO/BiMart.

They have some place they can always return to.  They don’t have to stop and think about how to best answer “Where ya from?”  They can always answer “I’m from *this town* USA.” 

Chances are they didn't have to worry about threats to their lives because of what their parent did.

BRATs don’t have those luxuries.  When we turn 18 (unless we’re still in high school) or 21 if we attend college, the military ABANDONS us.  I use the  word “abandon” for good reason.  That’s how it feels.  We suddenly find ourselves in places unfamiliar.  We know we can adapt.  After all, we’ve spent our lives doing just that.

But, we’re scared.  We’re not sure what to do without our ID card…which a lot of us come to think of as an “extra limb”.  We find ourselves in a culture that we know NOTHING OF.

That’s not to say that there aren’t some BRATs, like me, who were raised in the “civilian world”.  Made it easier to adjust.

But for those who spent their lives inside the fortress, this is a scary time and a lot of us seriously contemplate joining just so we could maintain our military life. 

Veterans who leave the service have the support on adjusting back to civilian life. They even have the VA to help them with their healthcare.  BRATs don’t have that.  We are simply left…abandoned and alone, the words of our sponsors echoing in our heads: “Suck it up, buttercup.”

So, imagine, if you will, every military supporting company (USAA, USO, even the branch of service) choosing to support civilians who think they know our lives rather than support us.  Someone said it felt like betrayal.  And quite honestly, that is exactly what it was.

BRATs spend our lives, quietly in the shadows.  We don’t question moves or deployments.  That’s just how it is.  But, this?  We couldn’t sit and be quiet while we were being betrayed by those who were supposed to have our backs.

That’s what it’s like to be a BRAT.  Even as adults, we’re abandoned, betrayed by those we served.

And it is also why we are fighting to keep our moniker.  

An Unusual Homecoming

I had been at many a homecoming, but this one was different.  I wasn’t used to being a “civilian” standing on the shore, watching the ships come in, but that’s what today was.  I was on the shores of Fernadina Beach, just that.  I could see the signs across the St. John’s River, welcoming daddys, husbands, brothers, sons, home, but I wasn’t one of them.

I looked up at my dad, who stood tall and proud.  I can’t remember a time when my dad slouched when he stood (unless he was leaning on something).  He was always at attention.  As we had walked down to the river’s edge, many people stopped Dad because he had a USS Enterprise command cap on.  They talked to him about it.  “Tell your son ‘Thank you!’ for serving our nation.” 

One man noticed a small little ribbon pin on the cap and asked about it.  “I was in ‘Nam.” Dad said.  Even though I had known that fact, it still floored me to hear him say it.  It wasn’t spoken of in our house, but we all knew.

That man shook my dad’s hand and thanked him.  “Sorry we didn’t give you the proper homecoming the way we’s giving these men.”  There were a few others around that followed suit.  Until that moment, I had only seen my dad cry once and that was when we left a church.  He didn’t cry when Uncle Leonard or Great Gramma Borton died. 

But, now?  Gentle tears rolled down his face. I wasn’t sure what those tears meant.  But, I knew that he moved by something. And I felt my own tears form. 

As we made our way through the thankful crowd, cheering my dad as he walked, I saw no less than 50 American flags blowing.  Chants of “USA! USA!” filled my ears and my dad was shaking hand after hand, trying to not take away from the boys coming home.

A cheer to our right made us look.  There she was.  The gray aft of the USS Saratoga.  She was home.  And all I could think of was Jennifer and her family on the opposite shore, waving there banners, and wiping the grateful tears.

It would be later, in talking with Jennifer, that I found out that her dad faced where the civilians were.

As the Toga got closer, cheers grew louder and somewhere, a small voice started singing “God Bless America.”  Little by little every voice on that beach sang those words.

There was pride and patriotism on that beach.  Flags waved.

Jennifer told me that her father, and those men on the starboard side of the ship, had come off, wiping their eyes.  They had heard the cheers…the singing…and read the signs.  They were moved that people who didn’t know them personally would welcome them with all the love of a family.

Most of them had been in Vietnam and, like my dad, never received a homecoming like this.

Over 20 years later and this day still brings tears of pride.  I will never forget that die, no matter how old I get.

Just Random BRAT Thoughts...

I am one of them.

I am one of those BRATs who were AGAINST the REBRANDING of the BRATs name.  I will make no apologies for it either.

However, I will say this:

It has been played out like an old overly dramatic soap opera.  People will only take one side and not listen to the other.

Here was MY issue with the CHAMPs: As a BRAT, I AM NOT ENTITLED to be called a hero because my dad CHOSE to serve.  That was my one issue.  I was all for the babysitting portion, even though there was this sense of "How did they EVER manage to do this WITHOUT US?" feel to it.

I NEVER opposed the baby sitting.

I opposed making our military children feel like they are damaged because of the life they were born into.  There are children in the civilian world who will be FAR more "damaged" than military BRATs.

While I didn't like the parts of the book I read, which made it seem as though military children were weak and wimpy, I wouldn't have minded if the Finks had written a book on how civilians see the military life and then work with us to bridge whatever gap was there.

Instead, there was only a greater chasm created.

By BOTH BRATs and Finks.

Every attempt was made by 99% of BRATs to have a civil conversation about it and every attempt was met with blocking; nasty replies/emails; and a refusal to admit they had made a mistake...an honest one, I'm sure...but a mistake anyhow.

And there was that 1% of BRATs who were nasty back.

I'm sure that I may have allowed my feelings to guide some of my responses, and those are things I regret.  If I did, I am truly sorry.

I don't want to cut them a break, but I do believe in second chances.  If they want to help out, I'm okay with that.  While we all know that our military families will be fine, a little outside help isn't turned away.

But, what happens when the "novelty" of this wears off?  When we are no longer "at war"?

Civilians only wish to understand the military when we are at war, and even then, they don't make attempts to fully understand.  They only support the military when it's PC to do so.

That's the issue.  If the Finks/Operation CHAMPs really want to help, they would not have bailed on BRATs at the first sign of opposition.  That makes it seem as though it was about money, which, in the end, it's always all about.

If they CHOOSE to engage with ALL BRATs, not just those who are ages 5-12, I know 99% of all BRATs would be WILLING to help.  I know I would.

Just reach out and we'll reach back.  THAT'S how you "bridge the chasm".

Why Being A BRAT Means So Much To Me

Like most BRATs, I was given a challenge to write about WHY the moniker BRAT is so important to me.  I had several blogs in my head, all of which explained it perfectly, but, per usual, when I sat down to actually type why BRAT is so important to me, they vanished.

BRAT is not just a moniker.  It is WHO I am.  Like everything else in the military, it is NOT a word; it’s an ACRONYM!  While it varies on who you talk to, the consensus is that it stands for Bold, Resilient, Adaptable, Tough…all qualities BRATs past, present, and future have.

BRAT is community.  I told of a story from when I was a senior in high school.  Despite all the close friends Jennifer had, she reached out to me when she needed a fellow BRAT to talk to because I was the only one who would and could possibly understand.

We don’t always have to know each other or even like each other, but like we were taught, we always have the 6 of other BRATs, even if they are the last person on earth we want to be friends with.

Why?

Because we’re a “family”.  The BRATs of the Korean War knew what I endured as a BRAT in the 70s and 80s, even it times and technology were different.  BRATs who remember their dads being in VietNam (My dad fought in ‘Nam, but was home safe by the time I was born….) knew exactly how Jennifer felt (and the however thousands of BRATs felt) during Gulf 1.  And those of us who are Gulf 1 BRATs know exactly what Gulf 2 and Afghanistan BRATs are going through.

There isn’t a place on the path of BRATs that is completely un-understandable by any BRAT, from any generation.

Sure, today’s generation of BRATs don’t understand what the phrase “Undetermined Deployment” means and they have SKYPE and the internet to make it easier to talk to and see Mommy or Daddy (in some cases both). 

But that certainly doesn’t mean they have it easy either.

So, you ask yourself (or me, really) “What does that have to do with what BRAT means to you?”

EVERYTHING!

I am a force to be reckoned with (so I’ve been told) because when I want something (which honestly, isn’t very often) I don’t stop until it’s mine.  I have opinions and am unafraid to speak them, but with that comes the training mindset of “Win the battle, lose the war or lose the battle and win the war.”  I know when to speak up and when not to.

I am emotionally strong because I was taught at a very young age that life isn’t fair.  I can either let circumstances destroy me or I could get up, get over, and get on, defeating every challenge that comes my way.

It has taught me discipline. It has taught me work ethic.  It has taught me that it is better to be too early than even a half second late.

It has taught me to be tough.  When I was going through a divorce, my hero was dying of colon cancer at the same time. Both of those are HUGE life changers. Sure, I had my quiet moments of “THIS ISN’T FAIR!”, but I still got on with my life, refusing to let the man who raised me to be BRAVE see me as anything less than.

During this time, my mom told me that I was her rock during this time (My brother was still serving in the Navy) and she was going to heavily rely on me.  Everything that being raised a BRAT taught me, in this three month period, broke loose.

I never grieved my dad’s death.  I shed tears alone for him, but never really grieved him.

His having been in the Navy for 26 years and how many deployments allowed my mom and I to thoroughly take in his loss.  It was, for the first year, a deployment.  When the date came when he was “scheduled to return home” and he didn’t, that’s when my years of BRAT training helped my mom.

Being a BRAT isn’t being a dependent.  It’s not just going where the military sends your sponsor.  It’s more…MUCH MORE…than that.

It teaches us about life and death.  It helps us obtain the skills that we will need in order to survive in this war of life.  We don’t need to be coddled.  We don’t need to be understood.  We just need to be us…to be what we have always been…without choice…Military BRATs.

We possess traits that few, if any, civilians have.  We have the traits that I heard many civilian parent wish their child had.  We didn’t whine or cry over not getting our way without hearing the “lecture”.  When it was time to move, we bucked up and did it.  Sure, we cried.  We were leaving a life that we loved…but we always knew that a new life we would love was just around the bend.

I was told by my boss that I am respected at work and that I’m given so much responsibility because I can handle it.

That’s why being a BRAT is important to me.

BRAT Understanding

I can still remember that day as though it just happened.

It happened just at the start of Gulf War I.  Jennifer and I weren't friends.  To call us acquaintances was even pushing the envelope.  We had one class together and attended the same church, but that was it.  Nothing more.

I passed her at lunch one day and she was crying.  While I was sympathetic to her tears, I wasn't going to ask her what the matter was.  After all, she had friends for that.

I suddenly felt her grab my arm.  To say I was surprised would be the biggest understatement I have ever used.  "I need to talk to you."

"Why"

"You're the ONLY one who can possibly understand."

Jennifer and I both had fathers in the Navy.  Her dad was on sea duty while my dad, who was close to retirement, was on shore duty.  Our dads knew each other and to call them friends?  Yeah.  I guess you could. 

Jennifer knew this.  We sat down on the bench.  She wiped her eyes and looked at me, tears still flowing.  "We talked to Daddy last night."  *Hiccup cry* "The Sara is on deployment until further notice.  He won't be home for a long time."

I had known the Saratoga was deployed in the Gulf.  My brother's ship, the USS Enterprise, was scheduled for dry dock and they were put on alert for deployment until word came that the Sara was already in the Gulf so no need for further support.

I didn't know what to say.  What could I say?  My dad was home, safe and sound.  While he was prepared to fight if called, he was at base, sitting at his desk (or whatever Torpedomen do) and safe.

All I could think of was to hug her.  Tears started forming in my eyes. I didn't know how to comfort her.  I must have provided some comfort because she thanked me.  I also told her that if she wanted to call and talk, she could.  It was up to her.  Remember, we weren't friends.

Flash forward a few months:  Daddy and I are standing amidst civilians (I am sure there were other military, but don't quote me!) on Fernedina Beach.  The USS Saratoga and her fleet are heading back. 

The 100 day war is over.  Cheers are flowing.  Chants of USA! USA! are echoing across the river.  (I'll write more on this day in a separate entry).

At church, Jennifer pulls me aside and again says Thanks!  Even though she never called, she tells me that she couldn't have made it through without knowing that someone who understood her plight was right there, praying, and quietly supporting her.

While I don't know where she's at...and even her name...Jennifer isn't her real name (I think)...I still think of the bond that BRATs share simply because of the families we are born into.

And, in the end, we have created our own family.

The Unseen War

Every step I take in this world
I still feel I am all alone
And though I know where I am,
I don't recognize my home.

With every twist and every turn
I am unable to know this place
I cannot distinguish who I am
And I'm unable to remember my face.

I've done things of which I'm not proud
I did what I needed to do to survive
But while others are buried in the ground
I'm still here - healthy and alive.

But alive just doesn't feel quite right
And for me it's nothing but a word
And while others carry on day to day,
I'm stuck fighting an unseen war.

Though I'm in the present
I'm still always in the past
Trying to navigate a landscape
Of wilderness that is vast.

A sight...a sound...a smell...a touch
Anyone can instantly bring me back
To the war I fought so long ago
That was both furious and fast.

Every night I continue to fight
The battle over and over in my head
And every morning, covered in sweat
I struggle to climb out of bed.

I know you're judging me
Tell me how much I've changed
And I quietly ask if you believe
Fighting a war keeps one the same.

I've seen things that you haven't
I have done things you never will.
I have been in the situation
Where it was kill or be killed.

For better or for worse,
War always changes a man.
And there's nothing that I've been through
That you will understand.

Am I who I was before I left?
No. That person has longed passed away.
But, I'd barely changed what I endured
For it helped make me who I am today.

You're A Dandelion...

I wrote this because I had a dream where I was starring wtih Taylor Kitsch (just finished watching "Lone Survivor") and this was the "speech I gave my "son".  Please let me know what ya'll think! :)  Some of the speech is from an actual speech my mom gave me when we left Illinois and I didn't want to go.  I hope you all like and will comment...negative, positive, and everything in between!

TJ Allens sat alone on the bench at his favorite park, thinking.  His dad had just gotten orders and it was just before TJ was due to start high school.  He watched the other kids around him, playing and laughing as though nothing was changing.  That life, as he had known it, wasn’t being turned upside down.  He sighed as he saw his mom walking over to him.  He turned his music up a little louder in a poor attempt to discourage his mother from talking to him.

Harper Allens sat next to her son, holding a couple dandelions.  She plucked the earbuds out of his ears.  When he sighed heavily, she ignored it.  “Thought I’d find you here.  This is your favorite place to think about things.”

“Well,” TJ snapped back.  “I won’t ever get to get to come back here again, so may as well enjoy it while I can.”  He huffed as he stood up, but felt his mom grab his arm.  “WHAT?”

“I’m still your mother and you will still respect me.” Her tone, while calm, was demanding.

“Whatever.” He sat back down and put the ear buds back in and turned his music up.

Harper once again pulled the earbuds out, ignoring her son’s attitude and focused in on the dandelions in her hand.  “Dandelions are amazing, aren’t they?”

“Mom, I’m really not in the mood for a botanical lesson.”  He pleaded.

But, Harper continued on.  “They are stubborn.  They float on the breeze until they find a suitable place to put down roots.  And put down roots they do!  They will neither the submissive nor the dominant plant be, but they will thrive, side by side, in their surroundings.  The grass does not know the dandelion is there for it still receives its fair share of nutrients.  The dandelion lives in harmony – ”

“You said that –“

“—with all the other plants around it.”  She twirled the dandelions around gently in her hand.  “Once it places roots down, the dandelion thrives.  The roots that it puts down are so deep that they will, even once pulled, be hard to remove.  The dandelion roots will always be there.  People don’t even realize the dandelions have come until it is time for them to be plucked and wishes made, sending the seeds once again into the wind. Remember that even though the dandelion is no longer attached to its roots, its roots are still there, just waiting to welcome home another dandelion.  No one ever sees a dandelion blossom.  One day you look and there it is!”  She smiled. 

“Some see it as a beautiful floral addition to their yards and keep them.  Others try to get rid of the cursed weed! But, they will never see it grow.  They flourish in every environment, from the cold of Iceland to the heat of Hawai’i.  They are strong and sturdy plants.”  She turned to her son and handed him the dandelion.  He took it from her out of sheer sympathy.  “That’s you.  You and your sister.  You’re dandelions.”

TJ stared at his mom and the dandelion.  “I don’t get it. How are Kaeleigh and I dandelions?”

“You’re the children of a United States Marine.  You go where the Corps sends him.  You don’t ask questions.  You just go.  Much like the seeds in the dandelion.  They don’t ask questions of the breeze.  They just float along, waiting for the breeze to deposit them where it will.  Military BRATs, like you and your sister, flourish in whatever environment the Corps sends us.  You put down roots and people don’t even notice you are even there until you’re ready to move. “

“What if the dandelion doesn’t want to move?” TJ sarcastically asked.

“The dandelion has no choice.  The breeze will blow its seeds.”  She brushed his hair back off his face.  “I know that this is tough on you.  But, remember, while you still have…” she glanced at her watch. “23 hours and 15 minutes left of your pity party, that you’re not the only one that this move is affecting.”

“Right.” TJ huffed.

Harper sighed. “I know that you don’t think anyone else in the family is as affected by this as you.  You’re a teen.  The world is only unfair to you.  But, did you ever stop and think about your dad?  Do you know how much this affects him?  He spends his time worried that he’s not going to be home to watch your football games.  What if the men he’s in charge of don’t like him?  What if he can’t make friends?  What if he gets deployed?  What if he’s injured and can no longer provide for us like he used to?

“And Kaeleigh?  She’s getting ready to start junior high.  She’s worried that she won’t make friends.  What if she’s bullied at school?  What if no one likes her?  And me?  What if I can’t be the wife of a Gunny?  What if I fail?  What if the other wives hate me because of my hair cut or my clothes?  I know you’re leaving friends, TJ, but so are the rest of us.  This move affects each and every one of us.”

TJ looked intently at his mom.  “Dad worries like that?”

“Every move. Moves are hard on this entire family.”  She took the dandelion and blew it and looked back at her son.  “I remember his first deployment.  He tucked you into bed the night before.  He asked you to make him a promise.  Before he even said what he wanted you to promise him, you did.  You didn’t care what it was.  You just wanted to do what Daddy asked you.  He asked you to be the man of the house and to be brave while he was gone.  And you did.  I remember when Tata and PaPa came for a visit and we were talking about cleaning the gutters.  PaPa said he’d have to hire a man to do it and you came in, all of 4 years old, and looked at him. You pointed your finger at him and said ‘PaPa, I’M the man of the house.  I clean the gutters.’  And that day, you and PaPa cleaned those gutters.  You took your promise to your daddy very seriously. 

“You weren’t given that responsibility just because you’re the boy in the family nor were you given it lightly.  You were given that task because your dad knew you’d fulfill it.  He had every confidence in you.  You proved yourself worthy of keeping your word to him.  He wouldn’t have asked if you had not been so brave as to take on such a task for such a young age.  He knew…somehow he just knew…you’d be Brave, Responsible, Adaptable, and Tough enough to take it on.  And he’s never stopped asking that of you and you have never stopped fulfilling that promise to your father.” She stopped and looked softly at her son.  “TJ, do you ever question why your dad calls you ‘Gunny Son’?”

“I thought it was because I was the son of a Gunny.”  He tried to hide his smile of amusement.

Harper smiled back at him..  “Nope.  You have all the traits of a Gunny.  You’re a natural leader.  People respond to you.  You’re strong.  You’re tough.  You’re brave.  You will always take the blame, but hand out the credit.  It’s never just about TJ.  It always has been about others.  You would be the one laying down your life to save the lives of others.  That’s who you are and your father and I see that.  We are relying on you to be the one to help Kae through this.  She looks up to you and will follow your lead.  You have a choice her, son.  You can lie down and let life beat you up, constantly crying how unfair it is or you can get up, get over, and get on with life, thumbing your nose at every challenge.  How you respond is how Kae will.  Everyone is looking to you to be the leader that you are, ‘Chesty’.”

“That my new nickname now?” He smiled.  He wasn’t sure about the move, but as he looked at the dandelion in his hand, he felt better.  As he watched his mom start walking away, he yelled “MOM!”

Harper turned back.  “Yes son?”

“Thank you!”

BRAT Life

I was once asked to describe my life as a BRAT.    I stumbled for words because, after all, how do you explain a life of constant upheaval to a civilian without making it seem as though you’re looking for a “pity party” or like your life was one big FUBAR’d SNAFU after another.  We all have stories of moving mishaps that will make civilians roar in fear or laughter.

Most of them don’t really understand what it’s like.  It took me a long time to formulate the words. After all, I’m really *not* a writer.  How do I make people understand what they can’t understand?  How can I get them to at least see what life was like behind the curtain; inside the fortress.

Oh, how I thought and thought until I could thought no more.

Then it hit me.  I’ll tell them what it was really like.  And so I did.

How do I explain my life as a BRAT to you?  I know that you want to understand…that you long to understand, but I also know that, because you have not lived it, you will not understand.

I will, however, give it my best shot to give you a glimpse, no matter how small, into what my BRAT life was like.

Imagine going to bed on a Sunday night, knowing the next morning, your hero will be gone for an undetermined amount of time. As Daddy is tucking you in bed, he softly kisses your forehead. 'I need you to be brave for Mommy while Daddy's gone. Mommy will need that from you. Can you do that?' You see tears threatening to fall from his eyes and feel them form in yours. You nod 'yes' and hug him tightly. You know it's not brave to cry, so you choke the tears back. Once Daddy closes the door and your room is dark, you let your tears quietly fall. The next morning, you see Mommy, her eyes red and puffy from saying goodbye to Daddy. You hug her, remembering your promise to Daddy the night before. Even though you're young, you cry your tears quietly in the dark, alone so you can continue to be Brave for Mommy.

During Daddy's deployment, you hear people say things about him. Though Mommy tries to shield you from it, you still hear it. You hear words like 'Murderer', 'Baby Killer', 'Brainwashed', and 'Unwanted'. You don't understand what they mean, but you know they're not nice. Mommy explains what they mean and tells you to ignore them. 'Not everyone loves Daddy like we do.' And you ignore the bad comments about your daddy because you're Resilient. Resiliency becomes your way of life.

Because when Daddy comes home, it’s a time of great joy and of sorrow because he has his orders. ‘In three months, we’re moving to a new place.’ You’re excited and apprehensive, but you know that you’re going to be fine because you’re Adaptable.  The school you just attended is out for the summer, but your new school, at Daddy’s new duty station, has one month left.  Even though you’re scared of the new school and of your new teachers, who are less than understanding, you face the challenge head on because you’re Brave, Resilient, and Adaptable.

The challenges that you face don’t bother you because you’re Tough.  Mommy and Daddy taught you to be.  Despite how scare you may feel, you get up, get over, and get on with life.  Why? Because your Bravery, Resiliency, Adaptability, and Toughness helps you to.

You carry your Bravery, Resiliency, Adaptability, and Toughness from duty station to duty station.  BRAT doesn’t just define you as a child; it comes to define you as an adult.  There is nothing that you can’t face; no challenge you won’t take on because you are a BRAT!

I now you still may not fully understand my life, but I hope this helps you understand why I cherish…love…and cling to BRAT!I

In the past few weeks, I have seen my “family”…my entire BRAT family finally stand up to make our voices heard.  We have spent our lives in the shadows, quietly supporting our parent (or parents).  We have implemented everything they have ever taught us about warfare to keep our sacred moniker.

Today’s BRATs face many challenges that the BRATs of yesteryear never faced, but they are not facing anything that we BRATs of yesterday have.  I know to the civilian population, that may not make any sense, but in the BRAT community, that makes perfect sense.

We know their story because we lived it.  We lived in a time where war was always just around the corner.  They live in a time where peace is always just around the corner.  They live in a time of ISIS threats.  We lived in a time of USSR threats.

And like generations of BRATs before them, today’s BRATs will face each and every challenge laid before them in the very typical BRATtitude of “COME AT ME, BRO!”

And they will win just because they fought!

BRAT ON!

I am a dandelion-
I go wherever the breeze takes me
And I flourish wherever it is that I land.
I am a dandelion-
You may not always see me in your midst
But you always know that I am there.
I am a dandelion-
Some see me as a beautiful flower
Others see me simply as a weed.
I am still a dandelion-
Just waiting for the very next breeze.

What Do You Mean My Childhood Wasn't Normal?

A few years ago, some friends and I were talking about our childhood.  While they exchanged “Remember when we…”s with each other, I sat silent.  I was trying to imagine what life would have been like for me if I had friends that I could look at and say “Remember when” with.  They were laughing and then they asked me about my childhood.

It was no secret to them that my dad was in the Navy.  They knew that meant that I grew up in the Navy.  As I regaled them with a funny story of yet another move (dead of summer…middle of Texas…no air conditioner…a family jewel!), one of them asked me if I had ever wished that I had a ‘normal’ childhood.

I was taken aback.  Wasn’t my childhood normal?  What was so unusual about how I grew up?  I took a deep breath, knowing that they could never understand that I always thought my childhood was normal, simply replied “No.  My childhood is why I am how I am and has come to define me as an adult.”

Naturally, there were some skeptical looks.  As a BRAT, I don’t necessarily trust outsiders.  I don’t generally talk of my childhood because there is no one around that can possibly understand what growing up military is about; what it means to those of us who carry that badge…that title…that moniker of BRAT with pride and honor.  And it got me thinking of some of the funny moments…and not so funny moments of growing up in the Navy.

I will not say that I was always happy with my childhood.  Within one year, I had two major disappointments that I had to deal with.  My daddy missed most of my freshman year of high school.  “An American Tale”’s song “Somewhere Out There” became my daddy’s and my song.  I missed him.  He missed some important things in my life.  He missed the gymnastics meet where I got the highest score on vault in school history (to that point. I’m sure it’s long been passed by now.).  He missed our breakfast where we got our letters to put on our jackets (I didn’t get a high school letterman’s jacket because I knew I’d have a new high school to attend and didn’t want to waste the money.)

He missed us.  I knew that.  I could hear it in his voice when called.  I was so pleased to tell him of my accomplishment, but you could hear it in both our voices.  His voice was shaky when he said “I wish I could have been there.  I’m so proud of you.  I’m sure that I would have been the loudest cheerleader in the crowd!”

And I believed him.

And come June of that year, we spent the last few days of my brother’s senior of high school living out of a motel.  Our house had just sold and there’s a famous photo of my standing in the door of my old room, face red from crying.  It was taken to prove to people that, yes.  Our daughter actually does cry!  I was leaving friends again and for the first time, I wasn’t happy with the Navy.  Not because of the move, but because they changed my daddy’s orders.  I was expecting Scotland, but got South Carolina instead.

And my brubby was leaving for basic training…which leads to a funny story as well.  Daddy had just finished pushing recruits at Great Lakes Recruit Training Command and my brother had long hair.  It was made very clear that if he were to enter basic with that hair, he’d be labeled, wrongly, as a trouble maker and his Red Ropes wouldn’t give him a chance.  So, it was off to the base barber to get a haircut.

This was the days of film you had to drop off to be developed.  And my mom took photos of the entire process and has the entire story line in the photo album, explaining it all.  We got the before, during, and after.  To see him reach back to and feel for his hair…the expression was priceless.

When we went to see him pass in review, it was strange for us.  We had been so used to sitting with the Company Commanders, in nice cushy comfortable seats.  Now?  Nope.  We were in the stands with everyone else.  And I felt like “Don’t they know my Daddy’s a CHIEF!?  Don’t they know he’s NAVY!?”

Was my life full of deployments and disappointments? Yes. But did it make my childhood traumatic? Does it make me damaged as an adult? No.  Are there funny stories related to deployments and moves?  Of course.  Every military, DOD, Diplomatic, and Ambassador BRATs know that.  We each have the same funny story to tell about a move, and yet there are very different details.

My childhood was normal to me.  It wasn’t normal to me to spend your entire life in one city, living in the same house from birth to college.  It wasn’t normal to not move every three years (something I still struggle with.  My poor husband…)  It wasn’t normal to go to the movies and not have the National Anthem play before the movie.

It wasn’t normal to NOT stop at 1700 for retreat.  It wasn’t normal to not know the words or to act up when the Anthem was played.  It was normal to me to put hand over heart or salute.  To me, it’s normal for tears of pride to stream down my face as the Anthem is sung or played.  While the media makes fun of the NFL players who cry when it’s played, I smile in pride.  For me, that’s normal. 

It’s normal to take pride in your country.

So do I wish my life was as boring as my civilian friends?  Nope.  Not for one second.  While they only read of certain places in history books, I saw them.  BRATs have stood where Socrates taught philosophy and have stood in the Sistine Chapel, looking up at Michelangelo’s work.

They have stood on Omaha Beach in Normandy.  They have stood where real heroes have stood and fallen.

Does that make our lives not normal?  To civilians, maybe.  But I can’t think of one BRAT that would trade what they are living or lived for anything in the world.

A Day of Navy Memories

A few years ago, I wrote about how songs can inspire you and bring back memories that you stored away in your mind for when you need a smile. It's amazing, isn't it, that a song can bring you back to a time and a place?

This morning, as I drove to work, I popped in the TOP GUN Soundtrack and the first song that came over the speakers was Harold Faltermyers TOP GUN THEME. Suddenly, two memories flooded my mind: the floor routine I had for gymnastics to that song, and the Dependant's Day Cruise on my brother's ship.

Most people, even if you aren't in the Navy, might know that the U.S.S. Enterprise was the carrier used in TOP GUN. It is something that, 4 1/2 years after the movie's release, her crew was still extrememly proud of, even though few, if any, of the Sailors used as extras in the movie were still on board.

As the song grew in intensity, I remember walking up the gangway to the hangar and feeling instantly like I was at home. I don't know what it is about the ships in the Navy's fleet, but everytime I have seen one, or even boarded one, I have felt very much at home.

There was also a smell that is hard to define, but it wasn't necessarily a bad smell; just different. I think my brother told me that it was the JP-5 or something like that. At this point, I wasn't really listening to him. Honestly, I was looking around, trying to drink it all in so that I would NEVER forget (plus, let's not forget the gorgeous Sailors walking around!)

I was a little taken off guard, at first, as to why they had set the barbacue and eating area in the hangar, as those are usually reserved for the Steel Beach. I would find out why later. But, the mix of the barbacuing and the smell of whatever it was, made it a very unusual smell and I can, if I try hard enough, still smell it!

As we toured the ship, I began to feel more and more like I had been on the ship before and was right at home. I LOVE the 'Prise. She's such a beautiful ship and, even with the addition of the Reagan, remains the biggest carrier in the fleet.

These are her stats:
Power Plant - Eight nuclear reactors, four shafts
Length - overall: 1,101 feet 2 inches (335.64 meters)
Flight Deck Width - 252 feet (75.6 meters)
Beam - 133 feet (39.9 meters)
Displacement - 89,600 tons (80,640 metric tons) full load
Speed - 30+ knots (34.5 miles per hour)
Aircraft - 85
Crew - Ship's Company: 3,350 - Air Wing 2,480

Makes for an impression, doesn't it?

She is like a little city in herself. It was funny to watch the Sailors because, at times, they reminded me of ants scurrying here and there working, playing, giving tours. But, I loved it.

My brother gave us a fantastic tour, most of which, honestly, I don't remember. What I do remember is he took us the way that he had to get to his office if a plane or a helo was landing. My brother is an InterCommunications Man in the Navy. In other words, he works with televisions. You may have seen his work on TV. He helped with a national ad for Navy recruitment.

It wasn't an easy way to enter an office. I stand a mere five foot and the portal was at least two feet off the deck. While this was okay for my nearly six foot tall brother and my five four mother, it proved to be a hiliarious obstacle for me. I never knew I was that flexible!

We got to see his work station and, as if I didn't admire and stand in awe of my brother already, I was even more in awe as I saw what he had to work with. It's not complicated to those who work with it on a daily basis, but to someone who doesn't, it was pretty impressively complicated.

I don't know, to this day, why he had the ear covers that the flight deck hands use and goggles, but there's this absolutely funny picture running around our house of me in these things. I felt very Navy, but looked like an absolute idiot.

Fortunately, he took us out the easy way; the way they take if there are not planes or helos landing. Led right to the flight deck. I was pretty shocked, though I shouldn't have been, really, to see a destroyer and battle ship beside us and helo's flying overhead. This is the strike group. My brother explained that, because carriers are big, they are easy targets for the enemy, so therefore a carrier doesn't head out without a strike group, which consists of destroyers, submarines, helicopters, battleships and the tenders for the ships and subs. I guess that the fighter planes were also flying, but I don't remember seeing them until after lunch.

However, hearing years later that the USS Ronald Reagan, my brother's last ship, travelled from where she was built to her homeport unescorted, rather worried me. But, the Reagan, from my understanding is, when fully manned and machined, the deadliest carrier in the fleet.

I felt no movement of the ship below deck, so I was rather amazed to not see the Virginia shoreline. It was then it sunk in: I was on a cruise and I was loving every moment of it.

A tap on my shoulder brought me back from whatever world I was in. My brother was telling me we were grabbing some chow and down to the hangar, to that strange pleasant smell, for food. Have you ever had food on a carrier? Great chow. Guess it is the secret ingredient: JP-5. I know. Sounds odd, but with that many planes and helos and whatever else it's used for, it gets in the food. Best damn hot dogs I ever had and Mom swears it was the best cup of coffee she ever had.

Lunch was too quick, but the best was yet to come. We all gathered (when I say "WE" I mean all who were on board and could fit) gathered on the flight deck for a demonstration of take offs and landings. AHA! THIS is why the barbacue wasn't on the Steel Beach!

I don't remember a time when I was more in awe of our Navy. To see the coordination so that the jets could take off and land without crashing or killing, was awe-inspiring. Things like that just thrill me to the core. I LOVE planes and ships and the military in general.

The planes, quite obviously, were extremely loud, hence the head sets that do a pretty excellent job of shutting out ALL noise. When I say ALL noise, I mean ALL noise! However, you still wore earplugs with them. The earplugs by themselves were okay...which is what most of us wore. Kept the sound to a low noise (but you could still tell they were jets!)

The most amazing part of the showcase was to see a 14 do a fly over. (At least I think that's what it's called. Navy pilots?) This is where the pilot doesn't either feel comfortable with how the plane is acting for a landing or he somehow misses the tailhook. To see that...All of a sudden, in my mind, I can hear GOOSE and MAVERICK laughing and the CO's coffee spilling all over his uniform.

The tour continued and we were going towards the Marines' area and there was this...well, odd...smell. Like the first smell that greeted me, it wasn't awful, just an odd mix of mint, flowers, and God only knows what else. I guess it was the game the Marines and Sailors had trying to rid the jarheads area free of squid germs. Though, I must admit, I was a little disappointed to not see any Marines.

But, as I approached my turn for the train, I found myself laughing in memory and how I'll never forget that day. And I haven't.

The Amazing Dandelion

The great thing about dandelions is that, even though they are considered a "weed", they do not take nutrients from their surroundings.  Dandelions do not dare to be the submissive plant, nor the dominant plant. They live as equals in their surroundings. Look at the grass around the dandelion.  Is it not just as green as it was before? The grass and the dandelion live side by side.  When a dandelion is plucked and a wish is made as the seeds are tenderly blown, the seeds float on the wind, finding a new home. There, the seeds find a new home and flourish, living side by side with their new neighbors. Only a dandelion can understand another dandelion and the journey the dandelion has been on.

That is the military BRAT. And it is why we adopted the dandelion as the official flower of BRATs and why we are standing up against a civilian mother and daughter duo who wish to rebrand us. Only BRATs know what other BRATs endure and feel. Only BRATs understand. No matter how many degrees a civilian holds,  the BRAT life us one that one MUST live...MUST experience to fully understand.

BRATs will, like we are trained, help other BRATs...unnoticed and unheralded.  After all, it is our "job".