Military Brat

Normal. What does that word even mean? Everyone’s view of normal is different. For me, it was moving every two years and learning to say goodbye at a young age to friends, family and the many places I knew for such a short amount of time.

“How’s this one, Peanut?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Is he serious? This house smells like cat pee. Three houses. Three days. Going on number four. The whole family was tired of looking at houses, especially my little brother. Surprisingly, dad was the most optimistic that we would find something in time for our furniture to get here.

“It looks great dad! But it kinda smells like…”

“Cats. I know. Well maybe the next one.”

Since the day we moved to Oklahoma, I was not happy about it one bit. I mean seriously… how much could a 15-year-old take? This was totally impeding on my high school experience and to be honest I didn’t even agree to this-not like I had much of a say but still.

This was the life of a military kid; “Air Force brat” to be exact. No one’s fault…not even my dad’s even though I blamed him most of my life. I never resented my dad, the exact opposite in fact, I love my dad. My father has always been one of my closest friends and someone I look up to more than anyone. This is why when he was deployed the majority of my childhood, I was crushed. Moving just made everything harder.

House hunting was probably the worst part of moving. I stared outside the window of my parents old car, listening to my iPod, jamming to One Republic as we made the venture to find our next “home”. My brother was sitting in the seat next to me complaining about how bored he was and how he wanted to go “home”.

Home. Definition- “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” According to Google, we never had the basic definition of a “home”. I didn’t grow up underneath the same roof for 18 years. I never experienced what it was like living down the street from my grandparents. I was never allowed a pet. I could never paint my room. Every “home” I lived in, was like a piece of borrowed property; a temporary box with four walls and windows. A place I could never truly get comfortable in.

Two continents, seven houses, eight schools, hundreds of miles later and 18 years of my life spent moving. I made my last official move to Oklahoma and haven’t left since. People say I’m lucky to have moved so much and in a way, I definitely am. I can’t imagine what it feels like to live in the same place my entire life. I never minded moving much; it was something I knew well. Moving was apart of my life, my normal routine, as was saying goodbye every two to three years.

Goodbye. Something I knew quite well. Watching my dad walk out the front door once or twice a year for six to nine months at a time. Missing my first words, ballet recitals and school dances, meeting my first “real” boyfriend and missing the everyday things in life.

Goodbye had two meanings in my life. A. Temporary goodbye or B. Permanent. At times it was hard to decipher which goodbye I would use, since I used it so often. Goodbye to my friends. Goodbye to my dad. Goodbye to my temporary neighborhood. Goodbye to my temporary home. Goodbye to the life I only momentarily knew. When I said goodbye, it meant moving on, starting over and wiping my slate clean to start a new chapter in life.

Starting Over. As my college experience comes to a close, I often reflect on my past. Through the hardships I faced with moving, bullying, instability, saying goodbye and learning to grow up at a very young age. I often wonder what it would be like if I would have never been a “military brat”. Where would I be now? Who would I have become? What would my passions be? My likes? My dislikes? Would I have missed out? Or been able to stay a kid a little longer? But the fact is…Being a military kid was nothing I asked for and everything I could have ever wanted.

Dealing with instability has made me stronger.

Moving every few years helped me grow and experience the world in a million different ways.

Being bullied helped me to care more about the people I meet on a daily basis.

Growing up at young age taught me to appreciate the life I have.

Saying goodbye helped me to cherish every second more and to keep loved ones close.

Starting over filled the book of my life with irreplaceable experiences.

Home is not four walls but the people and love inside.

As for normal, it doesn’t exist. Not being normal, was the life I was given and is the life I am proud to represent.

Signed,

A Not So Normal Military Kid