Yesterday was Veteran's Day. The morning was typical but on the way to school my 4th grader asked about all the veterans we knew. We were making a list. All of my brothers, my grandfather, friends, and of course my husband. My daughter said, "Tell us about when dad was in the ARMY." I forget that the kids don't realize what that even means, that he was in the military. We don't talk about it very often. I love to reminisce, that's my favorite thing. So I regaled them with funny stories about when their dad was in the Army.
I didn't grow up around the military. I didn't even know anyone who was in the military besides my grandfather who was in the Korean War which seemed like it was 200 years ago. When I got married, I was a little girl from New Jersey. I was a 95 pound, 18 year old, baby faced girl who moved to this Army Fort in Oklahoma. It was like a different world. We lived in this 350 square foot apartment off base. A few days after we moved in I kept hearing this BOOM, BOOM, BOOM and the whole place would shake. You could hear the window panes shaking. "What the hell was that?" My husband was not fazed at all, "It's just artillery." Where we were stationed is where this did all of the artillery training so it constantly sounded like we were being bombed. You could hear artillery at all hours of the day and night. It just became part of the background noise eventually.
The first time I went on base alone was a disaster. I was trying to find the commissary but made a wrong turn. I wound up in this dirt road and came across a sign that basically said, DANGER- if you go past this point you may be killed by artillery. I was scared. Very afraid. I turned our 1995 electric blue Cutlass Supreme around as fast as I could. I also discovered Howitzer Crossing street signs. I never realized that tanks required street signs before my husband was in the Army. We had a kevlar closet back then as well. A space in our tiny apartment dedicated to his kevlar helmet, rucksack, canteen and anything else he would need if he was deployed. He would sit and shine his boots in the evening while he watcedh television and I did school work. That's what our life was. It was this whole culture that I never knew existed.
Then we talked about the war. In a way that they could understand. I told them that we have been involved in war since before they were even born. I remember the day so vividly when the US invaded the middle east. I was in college and there had been rumblings about military involvement for a few months. Everyone at the university was linked to the military somehow - through parents or spouses. Some of the units had been gearing up for deployment. It was a sunny day in March and I was coming from class and went into the student union. There was not the usual hustle and bustle. I walked through and in the corner of the main area there were a few students gathered around the television, watching the invasion. I joined them, and as the minutes passed - more and more students did as well. Soon, there was a crowd of us - gathered around this small TV and no one said a word. It was completely silent, except for the booms coming from the television. It affected all of us personally. I could feel my heart drop into my stomach.
That night we laid in bed and I was asking my husband a million different questions and he was trying to reassure me that his unit was not going to deploy and that his MOS was not one that would be on the front line but that it is always a possibility. I said to him, "But what if they make you go?" He didn't hesitate, "Then I would go." "But you could die." I'm subtle. "I know that." "So, you're okay with that?" He looked at me as if I didn't understand. "That's what I signed up for." I saw him differently then. I was angry at him in a way. That he could just accept that he could be sent overseas to war. I knew that he was stronger and braver and a much better, more noble person than I could ever be. All service members are.
We were lucky and he never was deployed. He spent all of time in the Army in Oklahoma. The day he left the military, he was so excited. He was ready not to have to shine his boots everyday. He had to sign out of the ARMY at midnight. But only after a week of taking the tour of Fort Sill for out processing, to visit every area to have his paperwork signed off on and his kevlar returned, of course. He put on his dress greens and on we went. He went inside and signed his papers releasing him and the service member thanked him for his service. We walked out of the building and went to start the car and the car would not start. That damn Olds Cutlass. He called one his Army buddies and while we waited for him to come rescue us we turned on the radio. We danced under the stars that summer night. Cheek to cheek with my former soldier in his dress greens, next to our dead Oldsmobile. We were happier than ever.
The kids liked that story.
That night, I was making dinner and waiting for my husband to get home from work. My 7 year old walked in the kitchen and said, "Mama, where is my veteran?" "You mean your dad?" She smiled at me, "Yes, but he is my veteran today." So sweet. We love our veteran and all the veterans. Happy Belated Veteran's Day!
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