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.