Diary of a Military Kid: Keeping it in Perspective

This blog is part of a series that former military child and current college sophomore Alison will be writing  for The Comfort Crew. Her unique voice and viewpoint are a great insight into the mindset of a child who has faced the challenges of being in a military family.

For most of my teenage-hood I skipped out on that phase of intense embarrassment of my parents and seeming need to make my entire belief structure stand in stark contrast to theirs the media is constantly promoting. A lot of that rebellion just comes naturally with age, but I’m sure shows targeting pre-teens with caricatures of “lame” parents, examples of the socially disastrous consequences of groundings, and the need to be constantly socially connected with your peers versus your parents don’t help much either.

There was, however one rough spot (okay, a few) of my adolescence. It came with the second year in a row of several that my dad was an absent member of the household. Though he had been deployed the first year, the second and third consecutive years he was elsewhere he was able to visit about once a month. And though I was thankful to be able to see him that limited amount, it made reintegration a long, drawn out process.

My dad didn’t know who my friends were, what my teachers looked like (he hadn’t been to a parent-teacher conference or awards assembly in years) or even what it was like to go through the daily household motions of carpooling, schedule tweaking, and pick-up times.  So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed some concern about who I was hanging out with. But I interpreted that concern as an insult. In my mind, I had been hanging out with the same friends and mentioning their names often enough for him to know exactly who they were- but he had no faces to match names with. He had a few measures of catch-up parenting when he was home to make him more a part of the daily picture that I took serious issue with. A curfew that was a whole hour earlier than my mom allowed? You might as well have told me women’s right to vote had been revoked or the sky was falling. If I got in trouble while Dad was home I had two options: pick my own punishment (a grueling psychological test), or manual labor. If you haven’t ever experienced friction with your parents, try scrubbing all the windows of your house inside and out on a 100+ degree summer day when you could be doing something obviously more important. Failure to come home on time meant a stern talking to, and forget dating.

Needless to say, I had a tough time dealing with the efforts of absentee parenting. Now I can say my anger came from not having him around more often, though then it seemed like I’d rather him just not be home because it was stressful all around. But I remember the minute I realized none of that friction ever really mattered much to me in the scheme of things. I was home from my first year of college and at the high school Academic Awards Banquet to see my brother receive an award.  As teachers stopped by the table to catch up and say hi all night, it didn’t even cross my mind that I’d have to introduce my dad since I had known them for four years. But as the night came to a close, my dad pointed out that we hadn’t introduced him to one teacher. We hadn’t even realized he’d never met them.

That, to me, was big. I had been so concerned with so many nitpicky things like curfew that I didn’t even realize I was ignoring the wealth of those few weekends I had him home, and how important they were for him.  And now I know, if asked years from now about that particular curfew violation or Friday night I thought my life would end because I couldn’t go to a concert, I’d be way more likely to remember the times I spent with my dad and the times he missed.

Diary of a Military Kid: Coming to Terms

This blog is part of a series that former military child and current college sophomore Alison will be writing  for The Comfort Crew. Her unique voice and viewpoint are a great insight into the mindset of a child who has faced the challenges of being in a military family.

I could have been a lifeguard this summer, a waitress, a college kid cashier at the brand new, fancy grocery store down the street. Instead, I decided to work far away from home, pitch my tent, and live and work on an organic farm in rural Virginia.  I learned how much time on the part of small-scale farmers is dedicated to the production of quality produce, how to treat growing things like an art, and the beauty of close observation. I learned how to practice the peaceful resistance of a small-scale farmer, someone who refuses to let genetically modified organisms and pesticide use define the food market of the entire nation and struggles to make produce available to people of all economic backgrounds.

Though I felt I had found one of my callings in life- growing things- I also ran into some inner conflict. I spent a lot of time around people who disagreed with our country’s involvement overseas, couldn’t understand why someone would choose a military career, and considered war an antiquated, useless tradition.  I’ve always wished war wasn’t real and thought it wasn’t worth it, from the time we didn’t hear from my dad for months, when I raced to the phone to talk to him for a minute and a few seconds, when my family video-taped Christmas Day present-opening to share with our fourth and missing member who was thousands of miles away, when I saw news coverage of daily casualties. I wanted to tell my friends at the farm, trust me, if there’s anyone who wishes for the extinction of war, it’s a military kid. But I didn’t. Instead I just kept my mouth shut and thought about things.

I observed the simple and peaceful life all my friends lived around me. The community in a hidden valley of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where parents didn’t worry about their children playing outside all day, doors were never locked or rarely even shut, and there aren’t really strictly enforced boundaries for much of anything. And I came to the sad realization that war has always been an unfortunate and necessary evil. This is not to say I think military involvement is always the answer. But I know that this quiet and loving community may not exist without a band of protectors. That’s the sad part of human nature you have to figure out on your own, even if you still hope and believe in the inherent goodness of everyone. Conflict exists, and people feel compelled to guard what they love- be it a piece of land, a tradition, a right, a spouse, or a child.

One day a co-worker and friend asked me how I had such a good head on my shoulders for someone who has led a life around soldiers, and how a seemingly smart and kind man like my Dad could choose to participate in the less than honorable profession of being a soldier.  He asked me if I thought about the lives damaged by casualties of the opposition, and if those lives lost at the hands of our soldiers merited American celebration and patriotism.

I told him it was like this: I regret death on either side and I do not think the patriotism he thinks most soldiers display is the celebration of another’s death so much as it is the celebration of continued life in their own country- at the cost of their own life or limb, permanent mental and/or physical trauma, the guilt of having harmed another human being, irreplaceable lost time, or a fractured family.  I told him most soldiers I’ve known, including my dad, are driven by something a civilian might not understand. They sacrifice everything to keep the things others love safe. And that takes more than the brainless, brawny, gun-toting portrayal of a soldier much of the media glorifies.  As for where I got my good head- it came from being raised around selflessness, encouragement to do something for what you may believe is the greater good, and intelligent and kind people.

People involved in conflict and war do and see terrible things. In my mind, that cannot be disputed. Though I don’t support violence, I do understand that situations sometimes require it. I understand that however right or wrong it may be, service members are voluntarily dedicating their lives and everything they have or care about to protect a child, who plays barefoot in a field without fearing setting off a landmine, to preserve the feeling you have of being safe in your own bed, to allow access to all the resources our country depends on for the maintenance of its comfortable lifestyle, and even the ones it truly needs. And that is honorable.
Until the day comes when nobody on Earth believes in threats, inequalities of race, religion, tradition, or selfish feelings of entitlement to a particular resource or plot of land, I would ask you to consider what you might do for someone you’ve never met. Would you give an arm, a leg, or your life? Would you make a choice to benefit someone else that would forever alter the lives of your loved ones? It’s a tough question, but as long as there are other people answering and solving it for you, you may not even have to think about it.

Diary of a Military Kid: Putting Down Roots

This blog is part of a series that former military child and current college freshman Alison will be writing  for The Comfort Crew this summer. Her unique voice and viewpoint are a great insight into the mindset of a child who has faced the challenges of being in a military family.

I recently read this book, Maphead. The quick but ardently recommended read focuses on the study of geography and the human connection to place. Ken Jennings writes of his frequent moves growing up, his struggle with the “Where are you from?” question, and identifying a love of and connection to a place he hasn’t actually lived for most of his life. As a military child who dealt with all of the above, this concept of a connection to a place even when you aren’t actually there really resonated with me. Jennings quotes Simone Weil, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important and the least recognized need of the human soul.”

Well, hey! No wonder moving-related transitions were so hard for me growing up- it’s natural to have a tough time if you feel uprooted. I often got really frustrated with the awkwardness related to fitting in with a group of kids who had grown up together, and trying to find my own niche or friend group. Researching different clubs and teams to join in order to meet new people took so much time and effort it was like a class within itself. When I was younger, meeting people and building new relationships wasn’t much of an issue. At that age, being best friends with someone wasn’t a complex thing- they liked the same stuff you did, you thought their shoes were pretty cool, and that was that. But that changes with age, and I remember my first week of 7th grade as being, perhaps, the most miserable week of my life. Everyone had such tight-knit friend circles that there simply wasn’t a need for me at their lunch table and I ate lunch alone. I had just moved from Germany to Tampa, FL, and I hadn’t gotten the memo on which name-brand clothes were okay to wear, or that I should be wearing eyeliner and straightening my hair into lanky, boring submission.

Even though it was really tough, I realized that I could, in fact, find a way to break through to the other kids through common interests. So I joined the Science Club, the Track and Soccer Teams, and Band. I found that, even if you don’t plan on continuing an activity, being a part of a team is a great way to build relationships with new people. By the end of my first year in a place, I usually felt pretty connected to my peers. However, I missed old friends. Before the days of Facebook, I would write letters to friends and a few of us took turns exchanging “thinking of you” boxes. They usually had a bunch of silly stuff in them, but, regardless, it felt good to know I still had a connection to friends from other places I’d lived. I always tried to see old friends when we’d go on cross-country road trips, even if it was just for lunch. Even though I may only see them every few years, my old friends are still in touch. Facebook is now a useful tool to connect, but I have to say that exchanging packages or letters with my friends was always way more exciting. There’s something about having a tangible connection to different people in different places, and I guess that all goes back to the importance of feeling like you’ve left roots somewhere.