Then it dawned on me—my own kids didn’t even know that I had a life before they did. I’d been an air force personnel officer and an army intelligence analyst. Yikes! Suddenly, nine years of dedicated service in the world’s greatest military seemed like pretty ho-hum stuff. No doubt, my preschooler would rate my story as comparatively lacking in hooah. But he should know the truth: His mother had never felt compelled to jump out of a plane— for fun or any other reason.
That afternoon, with some trepidation, I dusted off my old scrapbook. The time had come to show my children that their mother (yes, I’m going to say it) wore combat boots. But that scrapbook! To me, it represented a life so distant, it seemed that somebody else had lived it.
As I opened it, I thought of the years I’d spent cultivating a new role for myself: professional mom. Sure, it isn’t for everyone, but for me, the job satisfaction is unbeatable and the benefits too numerous to quantify—and, often, too deeply personal to express. So I don’t try. Let’s just say that I’m grateful to finally have found a job that I love.
Seeing my children’s faces as they gazed over photos of a younger me, wearing a uniform (“Hey, like Dad’s!”) was a revelation. That was me: a “chair-born stranger.” But my kids were impressed . . . and proud. My son said I was cool.
And, at that moment, it was clear to me that my life hadn’t become just a series of interrupted careers. Now, I see a defined route that led me to who I am today. Sure, I’ve made a lot of changes in my life, but with these I’ve gained fascinating experiences and learned invaluable lessons. I have so much to teach my children—about the world, about people, about what’s important in life.
“Did you like being a soldier?” my son wanted to know. It was a test question.
“Yes, but I like being home with you now.”
He looked up at me with a reassuring smile, revealing an understanding that belied his young age.
“I like being home with you, too,” he said. My son has his father’s knack for finding a few simple words that can melt my heart.
The children didn’t dwell on the photos long. As their interest waned, they began turning the pages more quickly. Caring for little ones doesn’t allow much time for personal indulgences, like peaceful recollections of one’s youth. I sat back and watched the remnants of my former life fly by until the book was closed, and my kids proclaimed it lunchtime.
Then I returned my scrapbook to the top of the bookcase where tiny fingers would find it out of reach. Out of sight. Out of mind. Right where it belongs.
Debbie Koharik
Welcome Home!
The day had finally arrived and my husband, Andy, was due home from a tour-of-duty in Korea. A veteran of World War II, Andy was a captain with the Air Force and had been fighting in Korea for nearly a year and a half. The kids and I had really missed him.
Wanting to look our Sunday best upon Andy’s arrival, but not having the money to purchase new clothes from the department store for myself and our two young children, I scraped together enough material to make us clothes. I sewed a cute outfit for our daughter, Scharre, and a jacket and tie for our son, Bryan, and had just enough left to make myself a knee-length, white lace dress, just like a young bride’s gown. We looked spiffy!
At the airport, the three of us gathered with the other families waiting for husbands, fathers, brothers and friends. Excitement filled the large air-hanger as the plane landed! Our boys were finally home!
About two hundred troops deplaned and instantly went into formation at the commander’s orders of “attention!” The men looked weary, tired, bedraggled, but from what I could read on their faces, they were happy and relieved to be home. After a few moments in formation, the commander ordered them into an “at ease” stance.
Before the commander could issue another order, I worked my way through the crowd, with Scharre and Bryan in tow, and approached him.
“Excuse me, sir. I would like to address the men, please,” I told the commander. Before he could utter a word, I faced the troops.
“Welcome home! Welcome home! Welcome home!” I said in a loud voice, turning in a different direction with each “welcome” so all the men could hear me. “Don’t you look wonderful! We are so happy you have returned safe-and-sound! Thank you for your service to your country! Again, welcome home!”
I looked at the commander—his mouth agape in disbelief at my moxie—and thanked him. Taking the children’s hands, I rejoined the other families.
Still stunned, the commander squared himself and called his troops back to attention. After a very long second, he yelled “dismissed!” Not one of those two hundred men moved a single muscle—the entire hanger was silent and still, waiting to see which soldier would step forward to claim the lady in the white lace dress.
With his head held high, Andy made his way toward us through the frozen formation. Scharre and Bryan, recognizing their father, ran to meet him. Andy bent down and gave each of the children a big bear hug and kiss, then he proudly walked over to me. Again, the men and their families stood in complete silence.
Andy gave me a big kiss on the lips and everyone cheered! It was just like our wedding day with the guests waiting for that special closing smooch. At that instant, the troops fell out of formation, running to their families to do the same, with laughter and shouts of jubilation filling the air.
A handsome pilot had returned to his young bride. He was home, for good.
DeEtta Woffinden Anderson,
as told to Dahlynn McKowen
A Colorful Experience
I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my own ship.
Louisa May Alcott
I cannot figure out why they call us “military dependents,” since we are actually “military independents,”
although not necessarily by choice. In the military handbook, chapter 6, section 2, paragraph 3A, it states that the husband should plan the transfers and/or deployments so the spouse has to make all the arrangements without him. Just kidding! There is no such handbook! I’m just saying that most of us have experienced that kind of challenge at least once in a military career, and we just make it happen, and, most likely, two or three years later, we make it happen again.
Color me independent.
The first year we were married, my husband asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I replied nonchalantly (like this was every woman’s dream), “a variable-speed reversible drill.” He got the biggest kick from my response, but thought that was the greatest thing (especially since a shipmate’s wife wanted a diamond ring and a fur coat). Well, he got me the drill for Christmas—a Craftsman from Sears, no less—and I’ve made good use of it at every duty station. (Sometimes, I even let him use it.)
Color me practical.
Window furnishings, especially with a variety of window sizes at each duty station, can get quite expensive. Well, I came up with the idea of using plastic shower curtains on the inside curtain rod and dressing it up with inexpensive white or beige sheers on the outer rod. In Adak, Alaska, where sun is scarce, I hung bright-yellow shower curtains in the dining room. When the daylight would shine through the yellow, it looked like the sun was shining outside. It was a great pick-me-up since dreary days can really bring you down. At the next duty station, “practical me” used my drill to hang or redo the curtain rods, “independent me” bought new shower curtains (different colors to coordinate with the new environment), and I used the same sheers. But wait—don’t throw the old shower curtains away! They make great drop cloths for household cleaning, carpentry, kids’ craft projects, and, of course, painting all those welcome-home signs for the guys returning from months of deployment.
Color me resourceful.
Families always try to do special things for their guy when he is deployed. At the family monthly support-group meetings, we’d hang up white bed sheets, one for each deployment site (don’t know who came up with this clever idea), and the wives and children would write messages or dra
w pictures for their spouse/daddy. It was especially nice to make different ones for the different holidays. The sheets were hung in the galleys at each deployment site, so, during chow time, all the guys could look for their personal message from their loved ones— an extra-special touch of home.
Color us creative.
The guys were deployed to Desert Shield/Storm through Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and Easter, so they received several message sheets. When my man came home and was unpacking, he handed me what seemed to be some bunched-up rags. I pulled them apart and discovered he cut out all my messages from the sheets and brought them home! How sweet! I was so touched. Many of the other husbands did the same thing. I’d surely like to have a video of the men cutting up those sheets.
Color them full of surprises!
I’m going to include those message cutouts in a memory quilt I’m planning to make someday when I’m retired. It will be sewn from high-school sports letters, presidential fitness patches, and logo cutouts from T-shirts and sweatshirts from every duty station, command, and running race that my husband participated in. (Also, pieces of lingerie, but don’t tell my husband—I’m full of surprises, too!)
Color me imaginative!
I love living on base. I can’t describe the sensation I feel when I see the troops running by and hearing them shouting out cadence at o’dark-thirty; the pride and goose bumps I experience seeing the American flag being raised every morning and lowered every evening. The “Star Spangled Banner” and “God Bless the USA” choke me up and bring tears to my eyes no matter how many times I hear them played. Since 9/11, every day, I’ve worn some combination of a red, white and blue ribbon with a variety of patriotic pins and a yellow ribbon. It’s in memory of those who died that day, in honor of the rescue workers, in support of our troops, in tribute to those who made the ultimate sacrifice ensuring our freedom and in pride of our wonderful country.
Color me proud to be a military spouse and an American!
Nancy Hall
Patriotic Women Bake Cookies
I think somehow we learn who we really are and then live with that decision.
Eleanor Roosevelt
“What do you want me to do? Stay home and bake cookies?” That could have been me twenty years ago. I was a thoroughly modern woman. Newly married to an air force pilot, I was not going to be shackled by outdated images of the proper officer’s wife. I was not going to be one of those squadron wives who scurried around making wonderful home-baked goodies for the “cookie bus” during combat exercises. I scoffed at the squadron commander’s wife who exhorted us to keep cookie dough in the freezer so we would be ready to go whenever the exercises kicked off. How silly! Our husbands are training to go to war. They don’t care about chocolate chips and snickerdoodles!
Now look at me: Twenty years later, I am the commander’s wife and I have my apron on. I am rolling out sugar cookies for the airmen who will be in the dorms for the holidays. Other wives are churning out chocolate-chip cookies to send with deploying troops. I’ve got cookie dough in my freezer! Why do military wives bake cookies? After twenty years, I understand.
When I married my husband, I accepted his choice to be an air force pilot, but that was his job, not mine. Over the years, I have learned that his choice is more than a job. It is a mission. I have watched as military careers ended when a spouse could not accept the demands of the mission. I have watched as marriages ended when a soldier could not give up the mission. Therefore, I have embraced the mission in my own way.
I cannot fly or fix the planes. I don’t carry a weapon. But I can volunteer my hands and heart to those who do. And I can bake cookies. They are baked with flour, sugar, butter and a lot of prayers. I can only hope that each soldier finds some small comfort in my culinary creation. I pray he feels the respect and support my heart added to the recipe. His sacrifice for America has inspired in me a reverence for America. His willingness to defend this nation has taught me that this is a nation worth defending.
Yes, I am still a modern woman. But, now, I am a patriotic woman. And I bake cookies.
Denise J. Hunnell
“Normally, a yellow ribbon would be tied until he returns, but with my husband 's sense of humor . . .”
© 2004. Reprinted by permission of Jonny Hawkins.
Something to Be Proud Of
One is not born but rather becomes a woman.
Simone de Beauvoir
When Susan got engaged to Gary, her mum confessed many reservations about her daughter marrying a soldier. Susan’s mother and I are best friends.
Within a year, Gary was posted to Ireland, and Susan couldn’t go with him. A year later, she gave birth to little Innes. She spent a lot of time at her mum’s house rather than live alone.
When Gary came home, it was only to tell Susan that he was being posted to Germany, and she and little Innes would be able to go with him. This move terrified Susan so much that she began to lose weight. I wondered if she would refuse to go, but the day came, and off they went.
Susan had been there for a year, when, suddenly, she arrived home with Innes, unannounced. Susan said Gary was away all the time; she was left with strangers and felt like an outsider. Gary arrived home and told his side of the story. It was obvious these two were very young, and, instead of talking over their problems, they blamed each other. Finally, they sorted it out, were back in love again, and, off they went, back to Germany.
Susan’s mum went out to visit her and learned all was not well again. Susan mixed very little, just enough to show her face, and now Gary had been told that he was being posted to the Middle East. Since she couldn’t join him, she immediately announced that she was coming home to wait for him in Scotland.
By this time, Susan was pregnant again, and, after Gary had been in the Middle East for two months, Kerry was born. There were regular letters between the couple, but I think both Susan’s mum and I suspected that when Gary returned, things were not going to be very good between them.
It was a lovely sunny June morning when Susan’s mum’s telephone rang. It was military headquarters, and they had been trying to get in touch with Susan. Gary had been wounded and was in the hospital. They would fly him back to Germany within the next few days. They asked if he couldn’t be flown back to the United Kingdom, but were told that his injury was quite serious and the specialist was based in Hamburg.
“What is his injury?” Susan asked in a flat voice.
“He has been blinded,” came the short reply.
Susan bit her lip and asked, “Is it a temporary thing?”
There was a pause. “Mrs. Phillips, that is unlikely, but the specialist will decide.”
Susan and her mum and dad flew to Germany that same day. Susan just couldn’t imagine how Gary would cope. He was outgoing, and the army was his life. Two days later, the doctors informed them there was nothing they could do to restore his sight in either eye.
Susan cried, but, once the tears were finished, her resolve set in. Hermum said it was as if Susan suddenly grew up in that endless hospital corridor. “I want to see him and find out how soon we can get him out of hospital,” she said.
She was the one who said she wanted to tell him the bad news. She held him when he cried, and she told him that they would make a new life together. She was advised that, once Gary could get out, he would still need treatment for his other wounds, and they would prefer him to stay on base in Germany until they officially released him from the army.
This was no problem for Susan; she had her mum bring both the children over so that Gary could have something to absorb his interest a little. Susan took complete control. She nursed Gary mentally and physically. She looked after the two young children, and she set out their accommodations so that Gary could find his way about. This meant it had to be free of toys and clutter. She liaised with the doctors and with the army as to what was the next best step for Gary.
She pleaded with the army to find something that a blind ma
n could do for them, but, finally, they returned to the United Kingdom. Instead of coming home to Scotland, Susan had other ideas. She felt that Gary would give up if he sat at home doing nothing all day.
She talked someone in the army into giving them accommodations near a camp in the South of England, and, with her encouragement, Gary found a job on a help-line for the army.
Our admiration for Susan is enormous. Gary is back in control again, but she is always there in the background, ready to give support when needed. Whenever anyone says anything to her about how her life has turned out, she just shrugs and says, “All part of being an army wife. Gary is alive, and we have two wonderful kids. I never forget that Gary got hurt fighting for his country and that was why he joined the army in the first place. It’s something I am very proud of.”
Joyce Stark
The Wedding
We often look so long and so regretfully at the closed door that we do not notice the one which has opened for us.
Helen Keller
I was going to have the perfect wedding. With May 6, 2000, on its way, my mother and I were actively planning for the “event of the century,” as we liked to call it. We would talk every day, and discussing the wedding plans made the two of us especially giddy, like nothing we had ever shared.
At the time, I was finishing up my commitment to the navy at Great Lakes Naval Training Center, and had been in a long-distance relationship with my fiancé, Paul, for the past three years. We met in Bath, Maine, where we were both part of the commissioning crews of two different guided missile destroyers.
The trick was that his ship was being stationed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and mine was going to Mayport, Florida. We had been engaged for two years, so time was not our enemy . . . but it was for my mother. She had been battling breast cancer for more than five years.
One day, my mother sat me down to talk about the possibility of her not being at my wedding. I had been telling her all along that she was the reason I was making such a spectacle of the day. I would have been happy with a small ceremony, but Mom would not hear of it. She wanted me to have everything I had ever dreamed of.
Chicken Soup for the Military Wife's Soul Page 18
