Tuesday, June 16, 2015

No Real Title...Just A Small Simple Thought...

When I started this blog, I envisioned something grand...grand writing...grand story telling...loads of readers and then an eventual movie, playing opposite of Bradley Cooper (who would obviously spend the entire movie shirtless...)

None of that has panned out.  Though I will say I'm only disappointed to not be starring opposite of a shirtless Bradley Cooper!

But in all seriousness...this has been such a release.  I don't know if people read it or not.  I have been able to get out some of my stories of growing up as a BRAT...and use experiences from my fellow BRATs to write other stories...twisting each into one...seems that we all experience the same thing, just in different manners.

I know there are other BRATs out there that are far better blogger/writers.  I'm not one of them.

But...I'm proud of my simple little blog! :)

Friday, June 5, 2015

What Is Home?

Home.  What is HOME?  "Home" has many different meanings to many different people.  But, me?

What does home mean to me?

Here's what "HOME" means to me:

Home was no where and every where.

Home was never in the same place, but it always had three bedrooms, a backyard and a place to park the car.  It always had a kitchen filled with delicious, drool-inducing scents of whatever Mommy was cooking or baking.  Home was home cooked meals around a dining room table that never really fit quite right.  Home was stories and laughter about deployments and Officers, Petty Officers, and Navy jokes.

Home, no matter its size, always had a Christmas tree in the living room and crowded Thanksgiving meals -- sometimes with strange faces who were called family -- either blood or Navy.  Home was always wall to wall love, even if the house was tiny and designed strangely.

Home was a family room full of toys and two kids playing (sometimes, though rarely, quietly) playing.  Home was sitting on a 6' mustard gold couch, snuggling while Mommy read us stories.

Home was decks and ladders; barbecues on steel beaches, under the ever watchful eyes of deck guns and fighter jets.  Home was walking up a gangway to meet Daddy for supper. Home was bringing him dinner on the nights that he was on duty and couldn't make it home.

Home was that sticker on the windshield or bumper of the car.  Home was gated, with sentries standing at the gates, letting only those of us with those stickers in.

Home was the odd coloured yellow laminated piece of paper that you got when you were 10 (OH THE JOY!) and carried with you always...even to the point of not wanting to surrender it...even for a new one! Home was flashing that laminated picture to get into what you always called a "Secret Club".  Home is holding on to that last piece of HOME.

Home was tying yellow ribbons to the trees in your yard and on your heart.  Home was counting the days...the minutes...the seconds...since the last letter or phone call...until the day Daddy came home.  Home was trying to find the perfect homecoming poem, and upon failing, writing it yourself, and sharing with the others on the block whose Daddies were ALSO on the ship coming home.  Home was getting the perfect new outfit and hair cut for that day...and home was endless moments waiting.

Home was the smell of the dock and the sounds of others talking..waiting.  Home was seeing the fore of the ship, white or black uniforms standing at parade rest.  Home was recognizing that in that moment, it would be a too long and too short of a wait to greet Daddy.

Home was hand over heart, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance or singing the National Anthem, tears of pride in your eyes...pride and love of America in your heart.

Home was a 1974 Ford Mustang with a trunk packed so tightly that not even an atom could fit, but could be packed or unpacked in ten minutes or less, and a car filled with two kids and two parents, watching the United States pass on the other side of the windows.

Home was the Johnny Cashes...the Cracker Jacks...the Khakis...the Chokers...the uniforms.  Home was where Daddy hung his cover.  Home was where the Navy sent us.

Others may say "Home is where your heart is."  If so, than the world is my home!

But then the realization:  As I watched the Navy send in three ships from her fleet this past couple days, I realized that HOME is no more.  No more can I go back to where I was safe and warm.  No more can I go HOME.  HOME is gone.  I can only look at home from the outside in and I hurt...I cry. 

Homesickness overwhelms my very core and the pain and the hurt of being rejected by home flows out of my eyes as I remember what was and what can never be again.

Others may not understand the tears I shed, but I can not go home again...until I close my eyes and dream of the HOME I grew up in.

And, still, despite the pain of not being allowed back HOME, I would NOT trade it for a home that never shuts me out.  I LOVED the HOME I grew up in and that is all I need to cling to.