A Trip Down Military Brat Memory Lane

April is Month of the Military Child; and being a former military brat I wanted to share a story about one of my favorite memories from one of my favorite duty stations - Hanscom AFB, Ma.

I have memories of when we lived at Hanscom and there were times I, with my brother and/or friends, found a way to leave the perimeter of the base (read: not through regular means of leaving via car through the guarded gate shack!). We found a well-traveled path through the woods that eventually led us to the Visitor Center of the Minute Man National Historical Park.

I remember parts of the trail and a couple of structures from old, historic houses.

I remember a small pond we would walk around counting all the bull frogs and looking for fish and tadpoles.

I remember walking from the pond a little ways to the large parking lot of the Visitor Center.

I remember watching the informational movie about the Revolutionary War in the Visitor Center.

I remember buying the little package of Revolutionary-era money and how neat I thought it was to have money from so long ago.

Over time I began to question my memory though. You know how sometimes you might remember something a little differently than it really happened, but you think for so long that it happened that way that it becomes a real memory, when it didn't really happen that way at all?

So I did what everyone does in this day and age when they want to find information on something. I googled it.

I found the Minute Man National Historical Park and clicked on the link for View Park Map. And there it was. My memory hadn't deceived me. There was the little Folly Pond just as I remembered it - a short walk away from the parking lot to the Visitor's Center.

I could see that yes, it was very feasible that as kids we found a short cut from a certain part of the air force base that could take us along a trail through this national park.

And in between that little pond and the parking lot was Paul Revere's capture site. That part I don't remember - the capture site - but I'm sure at the time I knew it was there. I'm sure there were signs along that route from the pond pointing it out. I don't thing I fully appreciated the significance of the history of the place I was standing on.

Those were the carefree summer days when we were gone from the house all day, doing our own thing, and just knowing we had to return in time for dinner.

One of my favorite memories as a military brat and living at Hanscom ... spending the day walking along that (short cut) trail, around the pond, and to the Visitor Center: exploring nature and history and feeling so grown-up and independent along the way. 

 

Military Brat

April is Month of the Military Child. I grew up a military brat. I was born in to the military life when my dad was stationed at Sheppard AFB in Wichita Falls, Tx. I was born when my dad was just starting his career in the Air Force.

Side note: When I was a kid I thought people were saying Which A Tall Falls - and that's how I would spell my birth place. 

I don't think I fully appreciated the life I had, growing up as a military brat, because I didn't know to appreciate it. It was just my life. It was the only thing I knew. I didn't know any different. I didn't know there could be another lifestyle, and what that looked like.

Living on a military base and having a father who wore a military uniform, was normal.

Having a home, but no real roots, was normal.

Having friends come and go, (and being the one coming and going), was normal.

Having grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins who lived states away and you only saw once a year (if that), was normal.

Hearing the National Anthem at the same time every day and having life come to a standstill, was normal. Even vehicles stop in the middle of the road.

Going to the movies and standing at attention for the National Anthem, was normal. (Yes, they really play the National Anthem on the big screen, right before the movie starts.)

Having to show a military I.D. card to get in to the Base Exchange, (or shop at the Commissary), was normal.

Coming to realize that the 1st and 15th of the month meant pay day - and that the Commissary would be a very busy place, was normal.

Turning 10 years old and getting a military dependent I.D. card, was a normal rite of passage (akin to getting your learner's permit and driver's license).

Getting that I.D. card and then immediately wanting to go to the BX to purchase something yourself, to feel so grow-up, was normal.

Spending the summer hanging out at the Youth Center, was normal.

Sometimes having Thanksgiving dinner at the dining facility (or dining hall, or chow hall), was normal.

Having a first 'real' job (besides babysitting) as a cart pusher at the Commissary, was normal.

Being able to walk, or ride a bike, and get to just about anywhere on base, (school, library, pool, Youth Center, bowling alley, movie theater, BX, Commissary), was normal.

Having a safe sense of community, where kids were out until dusk playing kickball, hide-and-seek, and tag with no adults outside keeping an eye on us, was normal.

Having to go through a guarded gate to go back 'home', was normal. (And if you didn't have a sticker on your windshield you better be prepared to show an I.D. or go to the Visitor's Center.)

Learning what RHIP (Rank Has It's Privileges) meant, was normal. (i.e. going over to a classmate's house for the first time and noticing the differences - 'wow your house is really big.' 'wow you have an extra living room?' 'wow you have a pantry?')

Spending 3 of my high school years in Germany, was normal.

Living in a German town and going for a bike ride with your brother across the border, to France, was normal.

Transferring after my junior year and going to a new school in a new state for my senior year was hard, but, was normal.

Forever answering the question "where are you from?" with "all over!", was normal.

I didn't realize it quite so much at the time, or I never really thought about it, but I loved growing up in that lifestyle. I loved being a military brat. I wish the same for my own children, to know that lifestyle. But they weren't born at the beginning of Joe's career so things won't quite be the same for them. And in a way that makes me sad. I feel as if they're missing out on something I experienced. Kayla will be 10 next year ... and I'm already getting excited for her to get her very own I.D. card.

I love that my father spent 20 years in the Air Force and gave me the opportunity to have such an upbringing.

Thank you, Dad, for serving your country. Thank you, for making me a military brat.

A term I'll always be proud to call myself.