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.