The Military Brat Blog: Recent Comments

Comment on Invisible Tribe

Laila — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 14:56:49 GMT

I'm so glad I found your website recently! I read your book many years ago and enjoyed it so much -- it explained so much about myself!

My father was career Air Force. He retired when I was about 11 years old. I recently compiled this little list of "Childhood Oddities" (I'm sure I could add more!) that I thought you might like. I will have to post it in 2 parts:

At the time this was going on, I never realized that it was a little "odd" and that children in America were not experiencing the same things. Actually, I don't think I ever even thought of "children in America" as a child... ummmmm

American Culture: Since I lived overseas for most of my childhood, I missed out on "American Culture". I was living in a different culture entirely, the military culture. At the same time, I had the opportunity to learn about many different other cultures and religions.

Television: For the most part, I grew up without television. We lived in countries that did not have television stations yet. Our console TV was usually a foyer table or other "table" of some sort.

Pets: I never had pets growing up because we were always moving, and sometimes to countries that were not, ummmmmm, "pet friendly." I did have a tiny turtle in Germany -- my parents later told me they knew the turtle wouldn't live out our stay there. When we moved to San Antonio, I got a hamster. My father was planning to retire, so I could keep the hamster! My mother got a dog there, a Pekingese, who moved with us to Atlanta and lived a long life -- for several years after my mother was killed.

Real Christmas Trees: Never had one! We had an artificial tree because, again, we sometimes lived in countries that did not celebrate Christmas, so real Christmas trees were not available.

Milk: I grew up on Carnation powdered milk. "Real milk" was not sold in the commissaries because it would be bad by the time it was imported. If milk was available in the country we lived in, it was not pasteurized.

Tap water: It may be all the rage now to buy bottled water, but not back then. We couldn't drink the water in many places where we lived, and I remember my father bringing home these HUGE things of water. This is what my mother made the milk from!

Bread: We did have bread, actually, but it was more like day-old or stale bread. By the time it got to us, that was the state it was in. I remember a story my parents would tell: When we returned from the Philippines and were in California (temporarily), they bought some regular plain white bread and ended up eating the entire loaf PLAIN by themselves.

The Civil Rights Movement: Yeah, this is a big thing, and I was around when it was going on (but living in other countries), but I missed the whole thing. It simply did NOT exist in military life. There was no racism or segregation.

Comment on Memories and Words

Patricia — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:08:46 GMT

I just discovered this site. I am a nurse. Since I write in fragmented sentences, facts only, here goes. My mother, a German citizen, illegitimate,experienced all the hell of the Nazi regime. Marries her night in shining armor, dad. Dad, a handsome, Elvis Presley, look alike, born in Pollock, LA. Dad goes to LSU/ROTC. Flew planes for awhile until his hearing affected his flying. He was a champion in skeet shooting in Germany. Well, I was born in Germnany. From there, was all over the States, Panama Canal, Quito,Equador. I learned Spanish fluently, then. Learned how to curtsie. Meet Ambassadors. Mom danced with highest officials in Quito. She mentions at times, "Who would ever have thought that a worn torn orphan would be doing this?" All these experiences gave me great insights into human character. Hardly anyone knows squat about me. It sounds partly sensationalize/fantasy/over-inflated to some that I shared my story with. I've seen my mother evolve,changed,morph, into this magnificent woman who endured so much. Dad died years back. All his travels, distanced them, problems, the usual stuff. My sister and I have never been close. Always trying to get our parents affection early on.
Just your typical normal/dysfunctional military family. Would I trade it for someone else, stable, 1-home family , in 1 town upbringing? No Way!
My life is a mystery to most. Oh well, I've flown by the seat of my pants. 14 moves early on, 20+ since I've moved I went to college. All the moves, the lifestyle, only prepared me for an adult life of constant moves. I have 3 kids. The youngest is adopted from China. I tell my mom, I adopted because I witnessed first hand her emotional journey. That's it. Thanks for the website. My mom gave me your book 10 years ago which helped me understand that I wasn't a civilian "freak". I love my life, warts and all. Thankyou Ms.Wertsch

Comment on Memories and Words

Candyce — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 16:46:45 GMT

Mary, this may not "go" with this post but i just had to tell you this. I was at our local craft store AC Moore and they had a paper with a coupon they were handing out. It says: "Celebrate month of the military child reocognizing the children of all who seve our country." I have never seen anything like this before. You can decorate a toy car and make your own Thomas car.

Comment on Cultural Amnesia

Sarah — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 20:45:31 GMT

OK, it's official, this site is my salvation. Again, I thought there was something so wrong with me. That I lacked focus...I've been saying that about myself since my last move. My husband moved out and I was left with a two year task of taking care of...well...everything. Dove right in, made it all happen, found the new place to live by the water, moved in here and....nothing. It took a few months ''till I had the eureka moment...I forgotten to make any plans for after I'd moved. Felt like an idiot. How could anyone do that?

Knowing this makes it easier...well, at least it gives me a place to start.

Like the rest of you I've lived my life like I play chess....always waiting to see what's going on so I can react in the proper way and taking the criticism from pretty much everyone because of it even though it's something I do instinctively.

The life of a chameleon. As Nancy said, the ability to cope, adapt, live in the moment, move forward and all those other skills we were granted by our brat years are a blessing but it's nice to have some insight into our many quirks as well.

Comment on Memories and Words

Sarah — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 20:43:10 GMT

I was in Germany in the early 60's as well and I loved it. The culture shock came for me when I returned to the little town in the middle of nowhere after spending four years in Europe. Oh my.

I'm Canadian, my mother's an American however, so it was always fun at border crossings and whenever we flew home to see her family or flew home to Germany just mentioned that because our experience in a number of ways are different but, over all, the same. Things like home being wherever we were heading for example. One trip we went home four times...all different cities, good thing we knew what we meant.

No matter what country we were traveling in Military plates from either country was cause to wave at the very least and frequently led to our fathers pulling over so we could have lunch or spend a little time together. It's always amazed me how we 'knew' one another on a level that was more intimate than that of our families back home because of our common experience. You need help, you go to the nearest base. You find someone who needs help, nearest base or embassy...we picked up a girl who'd been robbed in Switzerland and got her to the US embassy. To this day if I meet someone who grew up in the military we get along instantly, we understand one another and it's always so nice to spend a little time with one of your own.

We were there during the Missile Crisis, the base abuzz, the planes plugged in all day outside the classroom. You sort of know what's up but it's really not that different that you're scared...it just is what it is, even those few hours we were at war before the ships turned around.

You know about Moscow Molly. Our landlady was in a work camp, her husband, an Obberfurer, a POW at the end of the war. Every German soldier says he fought on the Eastern Front when they talk to our fathers at the Gausthouse. You listen while they talk & understand far more than anyone so young should. You stand outside a bombed out building to wait for the bus to school. There are so many people with missing limbs, war wounds, quickly you hardly notice them. You learn to shake hands and curtsy when you meet elders. Your parents carry 'papers' with them everywhere. Buildings built before Columbus dropped by our shores are still be used. You see a concentration camp. You are changed forever in ways that no one who didn't live the life can understand, until I found Military Brats I had no idea how common this uncommon childhood was.

I have to confess I thought everyone used 'overseas' but now that I've read Mary's blog and remember back it really IS only other military people who do. Another one of those words we say or understand differently. Like 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'...I use them both without thinking, like please & thank you, but people frequently mention it as they seem to think they're special words. So many years later it's the little things that give us away.

Comment on Quest or Consequence

Debbie — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 11:50:53 GMT

I hear you. To me this is all about self identity.

Comment on Memories and Words

Mary Edwards Wertsch — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 21:25:00 GMT

Beautifully written, David! Very evocative. It would make a terrific novel. Have you ever considered writing a novel about it? I wish you would.

Comment on Quest or Consequence

David — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 21:25:58 GMT

I want to be understood.

Comment on Memories and Words

David — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 21:22:02 GMT

The pobres huddled on cold nights in the clinker fields next to our home we called a castle since it had three floors and a basement. The only blue house, in a street of white, it was a majestic house with balconies that looked out over the city, then spreading wildly into the northern campo.

The street in front had been torn up and in process of being paved by small flint stones and cement, laid tediously by hand. Heaps of red clay cast long shadows at sunset showing the undergarment of a road used by shepherds for hundreds of years to get their sheep from the campo to the protection of the inner city. Called cañadas by a law set down by Alfonso el Sabio (the Wise) in the 1200’s, the prized merino sheep, known for their fine wool, had the right of way on those streets then.

Donkeys did not. Carts full of garbage were pulled by donkeys to remote areas for dumping. The day we arrived at our assigned hotel, just a few weeks earlier, a donkey had been hit by a car, his body strewn across the hood, the garbage being swept through pools of blood by three or four men in rope soled shoes and berets.

In front of our castle, at just about dawn every night, the pobres, 10 or 15 usually, gathered at the corner and walked in a cadence to the piles of spent coal in the field next to the fence of our castle. They would dig out a small sleeping place, as warmth and protection from the portero and his dogs, hired to protect the other houses under construction. The spent coal came from our castles.

We lived two miles from the place where Calvo Sotelo’s body had been dumped after he was assassinated in 1936, sparking the civil war that became the testing ground for Hitler’s weapons 3 years later.

At that same place, when I was 12 years old, and 23 years after the start of that civil war, I witnessed a midnight firing squad that killed 9 men.

And one mile from that first home in Madrid, that same year, I was shot by the son of a Waffen SS general, living under the protection of a ruthless dictator, Francisco Franco.

Madrid, 1957. There are a hundred other stories of that 4 years we lived in a castle we called La Macarena and another we called La Triana.

I still tell people I had an uneventful childhood. They would never believe me if I told them the truth. For a while, I convinced myself it was normal.

Comment on Memories and Words

Sharyn Earl — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 15:05:38 GMT

McCain was born on a military base in the Canal Zone, Panama, which was considered U.S. territory at that time.