Air Force Brat
I am an air force brat. Growing up, I hated that term because I thought it meant spoiled brat. We were anything but spoiled.
We lived in different countries which sounds exotic to other people, but really means you don't have anyone but the 4 of you. It really means you aren't "home." It really means people outside the military base don't even speak your language (unless you are stationed in England like we were!). It really means your dad is enlisted and amazing at his job and works crazy hours, especially during the war, but makes next to nothing. So your parents work 5 jobs between them so we could afford a bike or Nintendo. My parents sacrificed a lot to give us all the extras they never had as kids, but we still weren't spoiled.
Everyone in the US was celebrating new years when the ball dropped in NYC, but we were waking up the next morning by then. Everyone in the US was going to county fairs and state fairs. I've yet to go to one. We grew up without traditions like apple picking each fall because the country we lived in may not have had apple season at that time - and we certainly wouldn't be there every year of my childhood to do it again. We'd be somewhere else. We didn't spend birthdays or holidays with family because we couldn't afford the plane tickets to visit. That's why traditions don't mean much to me - and why my sister clings to them. And why she wants a closer relationship with extended family.
Now that I'm older, I've decided air force brat has to mean something positive. It has to.
I grew up mostly overseas, and mostly staying on the air force bases. I believe I was 13 before I even met someone who wasn't in the military or directly related to someone who is. That's a lot of military in my formative years.
I was taught respect.
I respect the flag - I shudder at the flag being out in the rain or dark. I can't believe some of the things Americans do to the flag.
I was taught to obey the rules. There are a lot of rules growing up on a military base, and I was comforted by them. I knew what was expected of me and appreciated living by them.
I felt protected by guns. I know it's a controversial topic these days, but during the Gulf War in the early 90s, we were much closer to the war than the US was, and our base was guarded by tanks with GIANT guns in them. You couldn't enter our base without driving by them and being approved to enter at the gate. I was safe. We were so safe.
I was taught America is the best country in the world. While this is a fallen world, and certainly a fallen country, it's the best there is and I should be grateful to be an American. Even when I was sad when I was little because a British kid made fun of me for my accent. Even at a point in my life when I'd spent more time overseas than actually in America.
I was taught actions have consequences. Growing up on a military base was like growing up in a small town. And everything I did came back to and reflected on my dad, who was in the Air Force. I thought about that before I decided to do something stupid because I didn't want to embarrass my dad or disappoint him or his boss.
I respected the National Anthem. Every day (I can't remember what time - noon? 4:00?) the national anthem would play over loud speakers over the whole base in England. No matter what you were doing, you stopped, found a flag to look at, and put your hand on your heart. You DO NOT speak. You even stop your car. Everyone stopped, took those few minutes out of every day, to appreciate our nation. Even though we didn't live in it. When people talk or don't put their hand on their heart or *gasp* leave their hat on during the national anthem, it's like nails on a chalkboard to me.
I was taught new friends come and go all the time. While I said goodbye to many, many friends, I said hello to new friends. I met people I never would have before. This painfully shy girl became outgoing because I was ALWAYS the new girl. But I lived in places where everyone else was used to being the new kid all the time and made a point to be fast friends. We had no cliques. No group of people lived there at the same time long enough to form one.
I learned home is where the heart is. We had to do our best to make a very plain and standard house a home. My parents were very good at this. We couldn't paint the walls any color other than plain white (hmm, homey), so they hung decorative rugs on the wall, or large paintings of wooded scenes. They made it feel like home because they were there. In a place where we knew no one but each other, we felt like we were home because we HAD each other.
I don't pretend to know what it's like to serve in the military. I don't think I'll ever know what it's like. The brotherhood, the sacrifice of a "normal" life, the sense of family that only people who have gone through it understand. But, I think there is a subset of people who are important - their families. Wives and kids who live wherever the military tells them to. Spouses and kids who don't see their military family members because they are out to sea for months, away fighting at war, or just working overtime because there is a war going on. I remember growing up with a friend who would cry sometimes because her Daddy was away at war and she didn't know when/if she'd see him again. In a day before the internet, she had to settle for writing letters, and you know how reliable those were during the war. Spouses and kids who never can be close with grandparents and cousins because they are oceans away. Spouses and kids who understand, no matter what, without a doubt, that Daddy's career comes first. And we're happy to do it. Because he is serving in the military. And we are so proud of him for that.
The point of all this is how we are so happy to support our veterans, however we can.
Thank you all Veterans who are serving in the military and who have served. It takes such selflessness to do that (because you certainly aren't in it for the money!) and you are so appreciated. Thank you for doing what you do.
(And a special tiny thank you to the families that support you veterans.)
We lived in different countries which sounds exotic to other people, but really means you don't have anyone but the 4 of you. It really means you aren't "home." It really means people outside the military base don't even speak your language (unless you are stationed in England like we were!). It really means your dad is enlisted and amazing at his job and works crazy hours, especially during the war, but makes next to nothing. So your parents work 5 jobs between them so we could afford a bike or Nintendo. My parents sacrificed a lot to give us all the extras they never had as kids, but we still weren't spoiled.
Everyone in the US was celebrating new years when the ball dropped in NYC, but we were waking up the next morning by then. Everyone in the US was going to county fairs and state fairs. I've yet to go to one. We grew up without traditions like apple picking each fall because the country we lived in may not have had apple season at that time - and we certainly wouldn't be there every year of my childhood to do it again. We'd be somewhere else. We didn't spend birthdays or holidays with family because we couldn't afford the plane tickets to visit. That's why traditions don't mean much to me - and why my sister clings to them. And why she wants a closer relationship with extended family.
Now that I'm older, I've decided air force brat has to mean something positive. It has to.
I grew up mostly overseas, and mostly staying on the air force bases. I believe I was 13 before I even met someone who wasn't in the military or directly related to someone who is. That's a lot of military in my formative years.
I was taught respect.
I respect the flag - I shudder at the flag being out in the rain or dark. I can't believe some of the things Americans do to the flag.
I was taught to obey the rules. There are a lot of rules growing up on a military base, and I was comforted by them. I knew what was expected of me and appreciated living by them.
I felt protected by guns. I know it's a controversial topic these days, but during the Gulf War in the early 90s, we were much closer to the war than the US was, and our base was guarded by tanks with GIANT guns in them. You couldn't enter our base without driving by them and being approved to enter at the gate. I was safe. We were so safe.
I was taught America is the best country in the world. While this is a fallen world, and certainly a fallen country, it's the best there is and I should be grateful to be an American. Even when I was sad when I was little because a British kid made fun of me for my accent. Even at a point in my life when I'd spent more time overseas than actually in America.
I was taught actions have consequences. Growing up on a military base was like growing up in a small town. And everything I did came back to and reflected on my dad, who was in the Air Force. I thought about that before I decided to do something stupid because I didn't want to embarrass my dad or disappoint him or his boss.
I respected the National Anthem. Every day (I can't remember what time - noon? 4:00?) the national anthem would play over loud speakers over the whole base in England. No matter what you were doing, you stopped, found a flag to look at, and put your hand on your heart. You DO NOT speak. You even stop your car. Everyone stopped, took those few minutes out of every day, to appreciate our nation. Even though we didn't live in it. When people talk or don't put their hand on their heart or *gasp* leave their hat on during the national anthem, it's like nails on a chalkboard to me.
I was taught new friends come and go all the time. While I said goodbye to many, many friends, I said hello to new friends. I met people I never would have before. This painfully shy girl became outgoing because I was ALWAYS the new girl. But I lived in places where everyone else was used to being the new kid all the time and made a point to be fast friends. We had no cliques. No group of people lived there at the same time long enough to form one.
I learned home is where the heart is. We had to do our best to make a very plain and standard house a home. My parents were very good at this. We couldn't paint the walls any color other than plain white (hmm, homey), so they hung decorative rugs on the wall, or large paintings of wooded scenes. They made it feel like home because they were there. In a place where we knew no one but each other, we felt like we were home because we HAD each other.
I don't pretend to know what it's like to serve in the military. I don't think I'll ever know what it's like. The brotherhood, the sacrifice of a "normal" life, the sense of family that only people who have gone through it understand. But, I think there is a subset of people who are important - their families. Wives and kids who live wherever the military tells them to. Spouses and kids who don't see their military family members because they are out to sea for months, away fighting at war, or just working overtime because there is a war going on. I remember growing up with a friend who would cry sometimes because her Daddy was away at war and she didn't know when/if she'd see him again. In a day before the internet, she had to settle for writing letters, and you know how reliable those were during the war. Spouses and kids who never can be close with grandparents and cousins because they are oceans away. Spouses and kids who understand, no matter what, without a doubt, that Daddy's career comes first. And we're happy to do it. Because he is serving in the military. And we are so proud of him for that.
The point of all this is how we are so happy to support our veterans, however we can.
Thank you all Veterans who are serving in the military and who have served. It takes such selflessness to do that (because you certainly aren't in it for the money!) and you are so appreciated. Thank you for doing what you do.
(And a special tiny thank you to the families that support you veterans.)
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