on veteran's day.
What started as going through an old digital catalog to find a baby picture of my almost high school graduate turned into a week long stroll down memory lane through tens of thousands of images.
A reminder from my calendar appeared on my computer: Veterans Day is tomorrow. Didn’t I just see pictures of my dad in his military uniform that he wore every week for almost twenty-five years? I dove back into the catalog.
As I found that one image, scanned and grainy, my eyes also gazed at a few more that my dad had shared with me when he was in his scanning-pictures-to-give-to-each-of-his-girls phase. Thanks to military life, I grew up in Germany for most my childhood. My parents bought a conversion van, affectionately dubbed The Great White Hope, our first year overseas. We travelled all over Europe in it, eating Dinty Moore stew and Spreadables on an Army budget. I always remember my dad carrying a camera, which eventually made its home in my own camera bag, everywhere we travelled.
As I scrolled through the snapshots of my childhood, I realize how much being an Army brat blessed me. It exposed me to whole worlds that, at that time, most little girls who looked like me did not see. From driving to see the tulips in Holland every year to eating gelato in Italy, my playground was Europe. From visiting the house that hid Anne Frank to walking the ground of concentration camps that was still weeping, my sisters and I were exposed to hard truths about the capacity for evil that we all possess. More than once, we were stopped on the street by older Germans asking to see our tails, a leftover of war propaganda, or had our hair touched by unwelcomed hands. My parents packed so much exposure for us into ten years overseas.
Joining the military was a way out of the ills of a big city for my parents. It also provided an escape from the oppression that their skin hue enlisted. Yet, even though an officer in the ROTC, my dad still had to separate from his drill teammates when they travelled in certain areas in the US.
Ultimately, his war service caused his premature death due to an Agent Orange related disease. But as I reflect on the life being in the Army gave my family, there is gratitude mixed with the sadness. No one serves in the military alone. It is spouses and children and Mamas and Daddies and siblings who all serve in various ways and worries. For my family, the military was a ticket to freedom and travel. The cost was high, but reliving the memories, I do not think my dad would have changed a thing.
