The extraordinary transformation of societal attitudes that culminated in the inauguration today of President Barack Obama began in our sector of American society: the United States military. << MORE >>

I was blindsided, speechless and unable to defend myself. I even felt guilty. Of course, in those days, not long removed from my particular military family, I had a strong tendency to feel guilty about absolutely everything. It must be my fault. I may not have known it was wrong, but it was still wrong, and I did it. I am guilty. I should be punished. << MORE >>

As cultures go, it is truly bizarre: No geographic center. No defining ethnicity or religion. No language of its own. (Unless it’s…Acronymish?) And to top it off, it is a culture that by and large is carried by the children but not by their parents, the vast majority of whom did not grow up in the military themselves.<< MORE >>

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The fact is, if my father hadn’t royally pissed off his commanding general in the twilight of his career, I would never have discovered—some 40 years later--the surpassing weirdness of the giant orange tabby cat now stretched massively across the expanse of books and file folders next to my computer.
 

I promise that by the end of this entry, you will understand what that means. 

You ...<< MORE >>

A childhood set against a backdrop of transience may be the key factor in a compromised ability later on to project the future for ourselves.<< MORE >>

Today I’m hurting for our warriors and their loved ones, and I know you are as well. But hurting, passively and silently, is not helping those who need help.<< MORE >>

I tend to think that for us brats it was more the unspoken instruction, the perceived expectations that had the insidious effects—especially, it must be said, in the context of the exacting environment of the Fortress itself: every inch of it polished, trimmed, whitewashed, and aligned, with perfect right angles, and inhabited by beings who were starched, pressed, buttoned-up and spit-shined, every one of them. You have to admit, that was different from the civilian world. << MORE >>

Maybe that's the difference right there. Rooted folks get to live in four dimensions, while we transients are limited to three. << MORE >>

We are natural actors, disappearing into a new role, then shrugging it off like a discarded silk caftan pooling in iridescent folds about our feet, already forgotten, as we reach for a completely different garment in which to lose ourselves.<< MORE >>

It’s very hard to describe, but the closest similar sensation I could think of was the feeling you get when you ‘re exploring a city and suddenly realize you’re all turned around; you’ve confused north and south, east and west, and can’t seem to snap out of it and get your bearings. Looking at a map almost confuses you more. << MORE >>

Happy? Yes, I was happy—I was going home. And home for me was the comfortable familiarity of constant change and an uncharted future. For me, a modern American Bedouin, life on the open road, destination unknown, was as delicious as a long drink of cool water in the searing desert. It was freedom.<< MORE >>

There are brats—I even know a couple--who have planted themselves in a given spot and proclaim they have no desire to move ever again. In their sanity and wisdom they have decided to grow where they’re planted. They allow their lives to roll forward one day at a time, steadily building their histories and their networks in their chosen place. Plainly, this commentary is not about them.<< MORE >>

“It’s right up there with childbirth,” one woman told me, her eyes glistening with tears. I thought, Holy Smokes! Childbirth?? That could go either way!, until she added, “Right up there with weddings, with the best, most dramatic life experiences. I’ve been crying nonstop.” << MORE >>

I found the photograph as I rummaged through an old footlocker, where I came upon a number of things I had never seen before. It’s an activity I highly recommend. My own excavations produced a tattered article that gave me a piece of information I’d long sought—a window into what my father did in World War II. Other military brats will know what I’m talking about here. Very few of our fathers would consent to speak of their wartime service. Many of us grew up knowing it was wiser not to ask the question which could provoke bad moods, dark reveries, screaming nightmares, or binges with the bottle.<< MORE >>

In addition, we remember, and honor, those who returned from war but, as a result of what they experienced there, wound up sacrificing their lives in other ways: Their health. Their sanity. Their sobriety. Their ability to thrive in family and community. Every one of those men and women made a decision at some point that amounted to a blank check drawn on their own blood, their own future, for the sake of something larger. What more can any person give?<< MORE >>

It occurs to me that a good place to start in considering brat culture might be to think about how we've been portrayed in movies, on TV, and in books and other media. What are your thoughts on this, brother and sister brats? Let's start with TV and film, toss out a few titles and register our own evaluations of how well or poorly they portrayed us<< MORE >>

We brats have roots all right--roots that link us to a culture as powerful and shaping as any on earth. Roots that link us to many millions of others who grew up as we did. Roots that can tell us who we are and why we do the things we do. Roots that can shed light on our familiy histories, and lead us to a compassionate understanding of our parents, our siblings, ourselves.<< MORE >>