Once a Brat

Today's Virtual Blog stop 4/27/07

2007-04-27T08:03:00.000-07:00

....is in Big Sky Country, Montana! Recently, Barbara Williamson-Wood, a member of our online writers group, The Writer's Life, pulled up stakes in Florida and went all the way to where her heart was calling her, the mountains of Montana. We all respected and envied her courage, and we are happy for her, now that she is where she belongs.

Today, she is interviewing me on her blog: http://360.yahoo.com/lakotahwriter/
about my book, Once a Brat, where she asks really insightful questions about my life as an army brat.

Barbara is a published author herself. After you have finished reading her blog, (be sure to read all her posts; she is a prolific blogger) follow her links to her own book, Inner Trappings.

My Blog Stop for Today 4/26/07

2007-04-26T06:31:00.000-07:00

....is at Linda Rucker's blog site: http://www.readingrucker.blogspot.com/
where she asks me some very insightful questions about my life as an Army Brat in the years following WWII, described in my book, Once a Brat.

Linda is a prolific writer and blogger, and we share an affinity for badly-written science fiction movies, generally shown on Saturdays on the Sci-Fi Channel. We will, someday when we both have a little time, co-write The World's Worst Sci-Fi Movie and make a zillion bucks off it. So far, it's just a germ hatching in our brains (how's that for a sci-fi plot line?) but we'll get there.

In the meantime, read Linda's Dark Ridge, which will enthrall you and make you want to read more. After you read her interview with me, read the earlier posts. She's articulate and prolific, and I'm happy to call her a friend.

Tags: Once a Brat, Marilyn Celeste Morris, military brats, army brats, virtual book tour

Memories of Childhood

2007-04-24T09:15:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I will read about a subject from another Military Brat that I had entirely forgotten about. It's been a life-long experience, learning why I do the things I do, and how I feel about many things in this world. I was never so glad to see two things in my life as the Golden Gate Bridge as our ship from Korea passed under it; I had lived in Korea for 18 months as a 3rd and 4th grader, and I missed ice cream! We just didn't have that many luxuries there, so the minute I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, I knew what I wanted the first thing when we debarked -- An ice cream cone. And I got it. And it had never tasted better.

The second sight that is emblazoned in my childhood memory is that of The Statue of Liberty as yet another ship brought me back to the States in 1952. I thought, "Now I know how the immigrants must have felt when they saw that statue." I was home.

And as an adult, a strange feeling unrelated to the US Army life I had led, was in Honolulu, when we took a short boat ride out to Pearl Harbor. Out in the open seas, there was a naval vessel approaching, and their men were standing at parade rest as the ship brought them to dry land -- to home, at least for a while. And, I bawled like a baby at that sight. Why? I wondered. I'm not a Navy Junior. But that sight tugged at my heartstrings so much that I could no longer contain the emotion.

And finally, on 9/11, and its aftermath of Super Patriotism Displayed, I was somewhat bemused by this sudden public welling of loving our country. I had always felt that way. Trust me, when you live in a foreign country and then return, you really fall in love with your birthplace all over again. Good or bad, right or wrong, we mostly get it good, and right. And if we disagree, well, welcome to your opinion. I certainly won't attack you for a difference of opinion, unless of course, you do something utterly senseless like burn the flag, stamp on it,or spit on it. The hooligans who do such actions, I notice, are usually those who would do well to serve our country in uniform, where they would learn to love their flag, rather than dishonor it. And every once in a while, I hear even an Army Brat defending such actions, stating, "it's their right to do that," and I want to whack them good and proper. Not in my Army Brat world, I want to yell.
Sometimes we lean over backward to accommodate what some people believe is granted to us in the US Constitution. It's kind of like, "The right to bear arms." I'm sure the framers of the Constitution connected that concept with the then prevailing custom of everyone being subject to enlisting in a well-armed militia, and for defending his dwelling from invaders such as wayward Indians.
But I may be wrong. I quite often am.
And this morning I turned the corner to reach my street after coming back from Wally-World, and noticed a sign on the vacant lot on the corner....Future Home of Full Gospel International Tabernacle.
My heart sank. First, I thought of the traffic this would bring to my quiet neighborhood, even though as I type this, jets from the military base are buzzing overhead.
Second, I wondered what kind of church this would be? It's not Baptist or Methodist, or any of the prevailing Southern religions. As a child, I had become accustomed to going to Chapel Protestant Services -- A Methodist listening to a sermon by a Southern Baptist in an Army compound overseas. Can't get much more ecumenical than that.
I hope not. And I just have to say it -- I just hope and pray they're not snake-handlers.
Okay, so now I'm not only a brat, but a bigot. Maybe not. Maybe just afraid of snakes, okay?

Today's Virtual Blog stop 4/23/07

2007-04-23T09:10:00.001-07:00

My book, Once a Brat, is at this very moment being reviewed by Jamieson Wolf and he is planning on giving me one heck of a sparking review a bit later in the week. (Wasn't this our deal, Jamieson? Did my check clear the bank yet? )

No kidding, he has already set up my interview on his blogsite, www.jamiesonwolf.blogspot.com/ and he has some insightful questions about my military brat memoirs and actually brought up some more memories than what I put in the book.

Jamieson is one of the busiest writers I know, maintaining several blog sites and will soon have a book released by eTreasurers: The Ghost Mirror. Go on over to his blog site of the same name and find out more about it: www.theghostmirror.blogspot.com/

We both belong to Dorothy Thompson's The Writers Life yahoo group, and he keeps us all running to catch up with him. I asked him once how he did it all, and did he ever sleep? True to his nature, he responded, "The Wolf Never Sleeps."

Enjoy!

Tags: Once a Brat, Marilyn Celeste Morris, military brats, army brats, virtual book tour

Today's Virtual Blog stop 4/23/07

2007-04-23T09:10:00.000-07:00

It Never Ceases to Amaze Me....

2007-04-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

that I meet Military Brats every day, and I think, aha! That's why I took an instant liking to this person. Recently on our writers Yahoo group, I discovered one of our members was a Navy brat, but I chastized him and told him we were taught to call them Navy Juniors.

Memories come flooding back, some good, some not so good. Doing a blog tour with other writers has been therapy for me, as some memories surfaced that I had long ago buried. I was particularly reminded of the incident when we were posted to Seoul, Korea, where I was traumatized by the actions of one of my drunk "Uncles" -- one of my dad's friends, who came home in a rage from the Officers Club while I was baby sitting his smaller children -- not much younger than myself, I might add.

He came in the back door, drunk and staggering, and demanding to know where was the gun? I had no idea where the gun was, and at age 9, I didn't want any part of trying to find it. Somehow, while he was preoccupied by tearing up the kitchen, I found the gun hidden in the linen closet. I picked it up gingerly and hid it under the baby's crib mattress, knowing he wouldn't disturb the baby, no matter how loud and angry he became.

My father arrived, worried about the man's conduct, and afraid he might harm me, too. His wife followed next, crying and wringing her hands, and he turned the dining room table over on her. Then the moment the man saw my dad, he immediately started pummeling him. When Dad had a chance, he grabbed a heavy dining room chair and hit him over the head with it. Out cold.

All this time, I was cowering behind an overstuffed chair, screaming my head off. This wasn't supposed to happen, I remember thinking. This is a friend of Dad's and look how he's acting. And I was also afraid for myself, too, and tried not to scream or make any noise lest he find my hiding place, but my primitive instinct outweighed my common sense, and I continued to cry for help.

And help arrived in the form of Military Police. Dad gave a statement, Mom arrived and took me home and put me to bed, where I continued to shake for hours, unable to sleep. She held my hand until dawn, when I finally drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

I didn't put that incident in my book. I didn't want to relive that horrific event, and even now, I have made sure that the man's name is not mentioned, for fear of his family thinking I'm "ratting him out." But you know, drinking was a part of being in the armed forces. It was a "good old boy's club" but at the same time, officers were expected to drink like gentlemen. Unfortunately, the force of the alcohol took over after the third or fourth drink, and they ceased being Officers and Gentlemen. Just falling down drunks.

I understand that today's Army is vastly different in this respect. Help is available on post, and if any member of the armed forces is found to be drinking to excess and/or abusing his family, retribution is swift and long-lasting. Thank God for that.

Pat Conroy and I came from that former tradition. His father was a raging alcoholic, and this colored the author's writing. Perhaps that's one reason I like his books so much, not only because they read like poetry, but I can feel the same feelings he went through in his childhood, on a much larger scale.

There is some good that comes out of facing this.

I know now why I'm afraid of drunks. I have yet to consider anybody who is under the influence of alcohol as funny, and laugh at their antics. I keep a wide berth around anybody who even hints of having had one too many. And I certainly don't drink, myself.

I know many people have had more horrendous experiences than this one I described, and I can't imagine how they got through their lives with active alcoholics in the home. Just his one incident long ago in a far-away country marked my life for many years. Going to Al-Anon meetings certainly helped me feel those long ago fears and exorcise them. Certainly there are many who read this who would benefit from attending Adult Children of Alcoholics groups, too.

So now another skeleton in my closet has been rattled. Who knows what may pop up next?

Whatever it is, I know I can handle it.

I'm an Army Brat.

My Blog Stop for Today 4/19/07

2007-04-19T07:16:00.000-07:00

Today I will be interviewed on Sandy Lender's site http://www.todaythedragonwins.blogspot.com
about my book, title above.

Sandy is a member of our Yahoo The Writers Life group and she is phenomenal in her writings. I could never write fantasy (or at least I think I couldn't) but she sets the benchmark for that genre.

So after you read her interview with me, keep going and see why she's successful in her chosen genre.

Today's Virtual Blog stop 4/18/07

2007-04-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm being interviewed on Mike Witherspoon's blog: http://interviewingauthors.blogspot.com/
about my Once a Brat book. He asked some very insightful questions about what it was like growing up as an Army Brat.
Once you have read the interview, check out his other postings. He is a multi-talented writer and since we have so many similarities we call each other "Cousin."

My Blog Stop for Today is in Germany!

2007-04-17T08:31:00.000-07:00

Ah, Guten Morgen! Sweet words to this brat's ears! Although it's been over 50 years since I left Austria (under great duress, I might add) I still treasure the memories and the language of that place. So when Martina asked me to stop by for coffee and strudel this morning, I was there in a flash.

She's an army brat, too, and as such, we are sisters under the khaki. No matter how long our fathers have been retired, and we've quit being global nomads, some things never leave our spirits. When my daughter and I went to Europe several years ago, I felt something was missing. I loved being back in the places I had traveled to, in Germany, but still felt there was something lacking.....until we crossed the border into Austria, and the sweet words, "Gruss Gott" fell on my ears. That's it! The colloquialism used only in Austria and maybe parts of Bavaria. I was HOME. In fact, I bought a little wooden plaque with those words in script and nailed it to the inside of my front door. Every time I enter or leave the house, I touch the plaque, as in a ritual, and I suppose it is.

Anyway, we are going to be talking about our bratdom, so hang on, as sometimes we may lapse into German-speak. Allright, mach schnell (go fast or make haste) to Martina's blog: http://martinamr.blogspot.com/index.html

Enjoy!

Virtual Blog Tour Stop for Today 4/16/07

2007-04-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

Woo-Hoo! Today I am visiting with my publicist (oh, how I love saying that word, Publicist!) Dorothy Thompson, where she will be interviewing me about Internet Promotion. I had to admit that I knew nothing about putting myself out there as a presence to be reckoned with until Dorothy came along. As she worked with those of us in her The Writer's Life yahoo group, she came to realize we needed help in the publicity department. Particularly Internet publicity. So she formed her own company: http://www.pumpupyouronlinebookpromotion.blogspot.com/ and I was one of the first to sign up. My blogs were plain jane, my website amateurish, and I had no other ideas how to promote my works, so we chose my book Once a Brat to begin with.
My Google alerts have doubled, no doubt my hits on my website have increased, and she has arranged for these virtual blog tours, where other writers interview me about my book(s). So there's double publicity, for them and for me.
And when my next book comes out on June 9, 2007, she will be ready to publicize that book, too. I've already set up a blog for it, to tease readers into buying it when it comes out.
This lady knows her stuff. Go read her blog at the link above, and sign up!
This is not a paid endorsement, btw. Just from the heart of a writer who can now stick to her writing and let her publicist handle the rest. HER PUBLICIST! Love saying that.

Being a Brat Wasn't Easy

2007-04-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Without telling too much that is in my book, Once a Brat, I can tell you that my life was not an easy life. True, I had advantages that few children could even dream of, but I also was deprived of many things.

Maybe that's one reason I hate diets? I don't like being deprived of anything. No chocolate? No bread? Don't eat this, but do eat that.....a pox on all the diet doctor's houses. I didn't have milk or ice cream while we were stationed in Seoul, Korea, in 1946, and by golly, I missed them. When our ship docked in San Francisco (I was never so glad to pass under the Golden Gate bridge, an emblem of our country, in all my nine years.) So one of the very first things I did when my feet hit solid ground was go to a drug store soda fountain and order an ice cream soda. Yum! I was home!

I missed a lot of other things kids in the states did that I didn't have any awareness of. When I hear people talk about the old "duck and cover" school drills, in case of nuclear attack, I draw a blank. Didn't have to do that overseas. Instead, we had suitcases packed under our beds, and practice evacuations in case Russia should suddenly take a notion to quit rattling the sabre and actually use it.

I also missed radio -- and commercials. Now who would think that would be a loss? But we had Armed Forces Radio, where the only commercials were "Re-enlist" types. And certainly no television; we didn't get our first tv until we reached Fort Hood TX in 1952.

Oh, yeah, I forgot about the inoculations we had to take. Before we went to Korea, my mother, brother and I had to undergo several series of shots, some of them hurt, some of them merely made my arm feel heavy as lead. We had plague, Japanese B encephalitis, typhoid, tetanus and lord knows what else. And these had to be followed by "booster" shots some months later.

When I reached junior high school age, where any girl can become an instant "fashionista"(although the word hadn't been invented yet) the arrival of a new girl in my class called for an immediate inspection: Cinch belts must be ïn." Peter Pan collars must be out, we surmised, because she never did wear one. What was the latest dance craze? Hair-do? That was just the girls, of course; I'm sure the boys had their own goals of discovering what was going on Stateside, like who is the ranking pitcher now? Who is going to the World Series? We weren't isolated from news, of course, but it was old by the time it reached us. And definitely given a military slant. We wanted the REAL news.

The worst thing about being a brat, of course, was taking leave of a place I had been for a year, or two or three. Friendships had been forged, and now I must climb into the back seat of my dad's car to drive to the train to catch a ship that would carry us away from this country. I know now why I can't form strong relationships -- it was too painful. So I had many friends, but my feelings were always superficial. Never learned how to work out a problem. We'd be gone in the next few days, so why bother? '

Ah, well, not all of bratdom was negative. I saw things that live in my heart even now, like art museums, monasteries, old Roman ruins, real castles, open air markets where you could buy gorgeous flowers for mere pennies, operas in the afternoons and trains that ran on time.

And, after all, doesn't everybody have some negative incidents in their lives? We get over them, or we get neurotic. Wasn't it Freud who said, "All neuroses are merely substitutes for genuine suffering."

He sure knew what he was talking about.

Virtual Blog Tour Stop for Today 4/12/07

2007-04-12T10:10:00.000-07:00

I will be interview about my book today on Kathy Holmes' blog, http://www.kathyholmes.net so hop on over to see what kind of questions she asks this old army brat. Kathy is celebrating her recently-released book, Real Women Wear Red, and you will want to read about it, too. She is a member of our The Writers Life yahoo writers group and has been a real inspiration to us all.
Enjoy, and leave comments as you wish.

Virtual Blog Tour Stop for Today-4/6/07

2007-04-06T07:53:00.000-07:00

Today I will be visiting with Karen McGill, another Canadian on The Writer's Life Yahoo group. She is at: http://pdawgsbabe.bravenetjournal.com/
and she will be interviewing me about my book, Once a Brat.

Go read her Karen's Komments -- they are straight to the point and informative as well as entertaining.

Being Flexible

2007-04-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

Someone just remarked that I was surely flexible, able to take changes in stride without comment. How do you do that? they inquired.

Flash! I am a military brat. You either changed with the flow, or you perished, psychologically if not physically. Here one day, gone the next? Not to worry. It happens to military brats. So in my adult life, I have come to expect the unexpected. That doesn't mean I welcome change -- after all, I am a Taurus, stubborn as all get out, and I resist in sublte ways until I finally realize there is no choice but to adapt.

Is this a handicap in my adult life? Maybe yes, maybe no. It depends on the degree of my resistance. Some things I won't change, some things I will. Especially when the choice is mine. I have learned that many things are outside our sphere of influence and whether or not I adapt is irrelevant. It's happening. Get over it.

I posted this morning on my Lupus blog this morning, too, about how I have added vertigo to my repetoire, and I don't like it one bit. Crashing about my bedroom first thing in the morning is not funny. Not when you lurch into a swivel chair and it throws you to the floor, bruising not only your fanny, but your dignity. So? I take my meds and wait for the room to quit spinning, grateful that at least I'm not throwing up, too.

Is this persistence a brat trait? Probably. I've been sick in some of the most exotic places in the world -- bronchitis in Korea, mumps in Austria, measles in Fort Sill OK. (Not that Fort Sill is exotic, understand. ) And the army docs took good care of me, even coming to our quarters (house calls!), dispensing APCs (All-purpose capsules) like they were bubble gum machine candy, and it worked. I wasn't crazy about whatever it was they added to the APC regimen when I had bronchitis....it was a brown pill that had to dissolve in my mouth and it was bitter and tasted like -- well, medicine.

So today, I'm feeling like I'm lurching through life, but I know this, too, will pass. Maybe I should see the doctor again, if this doesn't get any better.

And now is a time I wish a good old army doctor would make a house call and give me some APCs and tell me everything is going to be all right.

But those days are gone. And I miss them like heck.

Virtual Blog Tour Stop for Today

2007-04-05T08:02:00.000-07:00

Today, I will be interviewed on Sigrid McDonald's blog,

http://visitdamourroad.blogspot.com/

about my book, Once a Brat.

I'm calling myself "internationally famous" since Sigrid lives and blogs in Canada.

Enjoy, and please leave comments.

Today's Virtual Blog stop

2007-04-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, all you Brats out there! Today I'm visiting with The King of Military Brats, in my opinion.....Marc Curtis should get a medal for establishing The Military Brats Registry, where anyone who has ever been a military brat, anywhere at any time, can register and find long-lost classmates.

I'm living proof of how far this Registry can reach. I had attended school in Linz Austria from 1948-52, and was particularly longing to find those classmates. But since our fathers' assignments moved us every three years or so, and then the girls got married and changed their names, it was a nearly impossible dream.

Until Marc decided to set up an Internet site just for us. Just for this purpose. I registered, looked for other people who had maybe been in my 8th grade class, and at first found some high school "kids" who had registered. But one of those high school kids had a younger sister, he said, who may have been in my class. He gave me her phone number and I called her in Longview TX and we were both ecstatic to find each other. I invited her to come to Fort Worth for the 3 day Homecoming celebration hosted by Overseas Brats, and we had a wonderful time.

So, all you brats out there! Go to Marc's blog first, then register.
http://www.militarybrat.com/bratblog.cfm.

You may not be looking for anybody specifically, but somebody may be looking for you!

Virtual Blog Tour Second Stop

2007-04-03T07:24:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm on Nikki Leigh's blog. She is a member of our yahoo thewriterslife yahoo group, one of Dorothy Thompson's many helpful sites for authors, both published and yet-to-be published.

Nikki will be asking me questions about my life as a military brat.

So pay her a visit at :

http://www.inspiredauthor.com/blog_v2/blogs/index.php/home

And thanks, Nikki! See ya there!

Marilyn

Virtual Blog Tour First Stop

2007-04-02T07:31:00.000-07:00

I'm pleased to announce that today I will be visiting with Dorothy Tompson on her blog, The Writer's Life at http://www.thewriterslife.blogspot.com/
She will be interviewing me about this book and my life as an army brat.

Dorothy is my mentor and my friend. Even though we have not met face-to-face. Through her yahoo group, she has gathered writers under her wing and taught us how to write for publication and how to promote our work. Recently, she opened a PR business and is doing a fantastic job of promoting my works. One of these ideas was this virtual blog tour, and I am pleased to announce this on all my blogs throughout the month of April.

Enjoy!

April -- The Month of the Military Child

2007-03-29T10:14:00.000-07:00

I recently read somewhere that April has been designated The Month of the Military Child.

Cool. It's about time we got some recognition. As Pat Conroy said in his intro to Mary Edwards Wertsch's book, Military Brats: Legacies of Childhood Inside the Fortress: We were drafted at birth.

And those traits that we adapted while our military fathers (and increasingly now, our mothers) were serving our country still stick with us.....the unquestioning obedience to our fathers/mothers. The observing of certain rituals, such as stopping the car, exiting, turning in the direction of the flag as Retreat sounded each evening at 5:00. I still almost reflexively salute the flag at that time of day.

So I'm wondering about this Month of the Military Child -- What is the protocol? I mean, what do we do to celebrate/commemorate during this month?

Do we hold a festival of some kind? Do we go to the nearest military installation and salute the flag as it's lowered?

Anybody have any information? I certainly want/need my Marching Orders.

If I find out anything, I'll let you know. And if you find out anything, please post your comment(s).

Searching for old friends

2007-03-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

When you're an army brat, or any kind of Global Nomad, it's difficult to maintain your relationships. I mean, we never had the luxury of going to school with the same bunch of kids and grew to maturity with them.

I had to reinvent myself every three years. Who am I in this new place? What kind of smile do I need to put on? My Girl Scout Smile, or my Mysterious Smile? What do they wear in this new school? Peter Pan collars? In or out? What if I make a mistake and don't get in with a good crowd?

Pat Conroy said it best: "We had no one to compare ourselves to, to measure our growth," or words to that effect. So why do I persist in trying to find my former classmates? I'm a more than grown woman, for goodness sakes. I have "civilian" friends in my "civilian" life. I've lived in Fort Worth for 30 years and have built up a network of good friends who did not live the nomadic life I grew up in. I am constantly amazed at one friend who forgets I didn't grow up here. She asks, "You remember the Cox family, don't you?" And I have to admit, that no, I don't remember that family. I gently remind her that I didn't grow up here, didn't get to see the people grow and change along the way. I arrived, full-blown, in this city and had no experience with its social life.

What I am looking for, I suppose, is someone who remembers the same things I remember. Who was with me the night we all walked home from a screening of "The Thing" at the Gugelhof Officers Club at age 14 and scared ourselves to death imagining The Thing falling out of a wood box in the park we had to traverse to get to our homes --- er, quarters? Who rode the bus with me on the day we got new, sleek olive drab colored school buses? Who was in the spelling bee where we had to drive to Vienna for the finals, and make sure our drive through the Russian Occupation Zone was swift, lest we be arrested as spies?

There are times I wonder if those scenarios actually happened. I have no one to confirm those memories as being true. Not the imaginings of a woman receiving Social Security benefits as a reward for a long life.

If anyone out there can relate to this recurring theme, please let me know. I would like some company as I stroll down memory lane.....While I'm still able to remember.

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats, global nomad, girl scout, Peter Pan, Pat Conroy, Fort Worth, Russian Occupation Zone, social security

The Passport Picture

2007-03-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

I'm looking at my passport picture, or rather at the picture of my mom, little brother and me, taken in 1946 before we went overseas to join my father in Korea. It's not a smiling picture. They told us not to smile, for some reason. But as I look into the eyes of all three of us, I see fear, resignation, and a vacantness in my eyes. I was tuning out. Unable to face the fact that my dad was gone, and we were to sail across the Pacific Ocean in a few months to join him.
The fact that we had just had our inoculations didn't help our mood, either. Among the myriad injections were plague, cholera, tetanus and typhoid, and something called Japanese B Encephalitis. Man, that one stung like a bee. I remember the typhoid shot as making my arm feel like it was made of lead, and a red rash appeared where it had been injected. Someone at school bumped my arm, and I burst into tears. Geeze, they thought I was a wimp.
We had to get booster shots, too, as we completed our tour in Korea. Fortunately, we knew what to expect from this round of inoculations, and since we were all, at the school, getting shots at about the same time, we were very careful not to bump against another person's arm.
Ah, the life of a military brat. I never knew any other kind of life, though, so I don't know if I liked it or hated it. Probably a little of both. And isn't that typical of anybody as they look back on their childhood? When I hear about kids having been molested, or neglected, or otherwise abused, my heart goes out to them. I don't think anybody had an ideal childhood, to be truthful. Our parents did the best they can, and most of the time we were okay.
At least I feel that way.

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats, Korea

Beginning a new series

2007-03-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

I'm so new to this Blogging thing, and especially reluctant, like most writers I know, to "toot my own horn." But I'm also learning that if I don't do it, nobody else will -- especially my publisher. I'm an unknown, with a book topic slanted for a specific population, so nobody would want to invest any kind of advertising budget to alert the public about this book. So I'm learning.

And one of the learning experiences in promoting my own book(s) is blogging, and inviting others to my blog, and visiting blogs. Which will occur pretty soon, when my Publicist launches her new promotion campaign. Then I will have some ready-made topics to post, at least for a month. Until that time, and most likely afterward, I will be posting memories I resurect when I look at old, faded, black and white pictures of my life as an Army Brat.

So today I'm looking at where it all began, so to speak. There's a picture of my father in his uniform, six year old me beside him in a neat little school dress, and he is holding my new born baby brother, Gary. The time period is 1944 (see, I told you I was OLD) and the location is the front yard of our rented house on South 5th Street, in Lawton OK.

My father had just graduated from Officer Candidate School, the War was going on (if you have to ask "Which war?"you're much too young to be reading this) and I was aware that my daddy might have to Go Fight the War.

Fortunately, the war ended about the time he finished flight school at Shepard Air Force Base, in Wichita Falls, TX. So he was safe.

But looking at the picture, I can see worry lines on our faces: Dad must have been concerned about his growing family, his leaving us and the possibility of never coming back. At my age, I'm sure I felt the tension in the house, and probably convinced that no matter what happened, if my Daddy left, it would be my fault. Children are so powerful like that, you know.

This seemingly common snapshot of a new growing family is one of the last childhood pictures I have that reflects the tone of that time. Now I look at it and realize, many fathers must have posed for pictures just like this one, and they didn't come home from the War.

God Bless the Greatest Generation. Your children salute you.

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats, Shepard Air Force Base, Wichita Falls

Clearing Quarters

2007-03-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

I was reading my emails the other day when somebody posted that she was moving into a new apartment that the former occupants had left uncleaned. So she had to go over and clean the apartment before she moved in.....
That would have never happened if she were a military wife. I don't know if that's still in force or not, but when my mother was a young officer's wife -- sometime between 1938 and 1958 -- she would sweat bullets working on clearing quarters before we left for another assignment.
No cobwebs allowed in corners or window sills. Holes in the walls had to be filled in with putty and painted over. Most of the time, we didn't hang things on the walls, just because of that restriction.
Which might explain my current attitude about hanging things on the walls.....I love it when I move to a new house/apartment and I can put my stuff on new walls. Unlike some people I have known and lived with, I don't strategically plot exactly where to put the nail in the wall. One anal-retentive type I was married to for far too long insisted on measuring precisely from floor to ceiling, from one point in the wall to another, considering the studs behind the sheet rock before even considering tapping a small nail into the wall.
Now here's where my rebellion comes in: I eyeball the space and gleefully pound the nail into the sheet rock, mostly. So when I hang the picture, if it's heavy, it pulls the nail out and I'm left with a painting on the floor and a hole in the wall.
So what? I think. I can do anything I want in my own house.
After all, I'm not getting a Quarters Inspection.
Once a Brat, not always a brat when I want to rebel.....

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats

First Chapter of My Book, Once a Brat......Enjoy!

2007-03-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

ONCE A BRAT…

My mother made the dreaded phone call early on a Thursday.
“Your dad died this morning at six o’clock.”
I took it for granted that my father would be buried in Fort Sam Houston’s cemetery. I also assumed he would be buried in his uniform, so I was somewhat surprised that Mother had not laid out his dress blues, but a dark suit – a “civilian” suit.
“Mom,” I protested. “Don’t you think Dad should be buried in his uniform?”
“No,” she answered slowly, as if she were talking to a child. “Remember, your father had been retired much longer than he was in the Army.”
That was a shock almost worse than the news of my father’s death. A civilian longer than a U.S. Army officer? Well, I thought, that may be the truth, as my mother and father knew it, and to a large extent, the truth for my two younger brothers. But for my entire childhood, from 1938 until my second year in college in 1958, the truth was my father lived and breathed the US Military. Therefore, every moment of my first twenty years of life was dictated by the whims of the United States Army. Where I would live. Where I would go to school. What friends I would accumulate. What discipline I would attain, and what goals I would aspire to. From the sound of Reveille each morning to Retreat each evening, I was reminded of my station in life: I was a Military Brat.
I was always “different.” I was always the new kid in the classroom, the new kid on the block if we lived as “civilians” in town, the new kid in one of the cookie-cutter quarters in an endless series of military compounds.
I still choke up when the National Anthem is played, whether at a ballpark or concert. The strains of Sousa marches bring tears as I picture parades of uniformed men saluting as the flag passes. “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” have not yet ceased to be an automatic part of my vocabulary. Merely climbing into a cab on a dark night in Chicago, the smell of fermented cabbage assaulting my nostrils caused me to blurt to the driver, “You’re from Korea, aren’t you?”
I saw the reflection of his white teeth in the rear-view mirror as he grinned, “Yah. How you know that?”
My one word reply: ”Kim Chi.”
The yearning to hear the Austrian/Bavarian phrase “Gruss Gott” bestowed on me whether entering or leaving a shop, or merely passing a native on the streets along the Danube River, will never leave me.
I will always cry at “Taps,” not so much as it reminds me of my father’s military funeral, but that it reminds me of my own lost childhood. “Taps” may as well have been sounded for me at my father’s retirement ceremony, for a unique part of me died, too: That part of me that reveled in being an officer’s daughter, with certain privileges of rank, along with that part of me that rebelled -- in spirit at least -- against the restrictions imposed upon me by that same privilege of rank: Officers’ kids must not misbehave, under any circumstances, as it reflects on your father’s career. Military Brats were as regimented as our fathers.
I cried in recognition when I read Pat Conroy’s foreword to Mary Edwards Wertsch’s book, Military Brats: Legacies of Childhood from Inside the Fortress. Like many other Brats, I have the uncanny ability to close a door and never look back. When I lost my house to a foreclosure some years ago, I felt strangely distant, uncaring, that the house I had purchased after a divorce, where I had lived for ten years as a newly-single woman, was no longer mine. I shut the door and turned the lock, got into my car and drove away. Without a tear. Never going back.
I can do the same with a job. Although I made friends easily in my jobs as a temporary secretary, when the time came for my departure, (orders) I gathered my few personal objects, bid my co-workers farewell, and walked out the door. A day or two later, I was in another place, with other people, and I had no time to mourn the prior loss.
Marriage suffered, as well. When I’m gone, I’m gone. No lingering goodbyes, regrets, longings for what could have been. It was over.
I will never know what it’s like to live in one town, in one house, for longer than a few years. I longed for that, some time ago, but now I wonder if the life I lived – a global nomad, in a sense – wasn’t the best kind of life for me. I gained an enormous appreciation for my country, my flag and all things patriotic.
I was somewhat bemused by the surge of patriotism displayed after 9-11-01. I confided to my Brat friends, “I don’t know what all the fuss is all about. After all, we were raised with all this.” I had long ago placed the “Proud to be a Military Brat” sticker on my car, and wore my pin just as proudly. Some people snickered at the word “Brat” on my lapel pin, while others flew to my pin as a moth to a flame. They understood; they were Military Brats. .
In civilian schools, I was way ahead of others, with the exception of math, which I understand is a common deficiency in many Military Brats. We were all studying fractions when our new school taught decimals. And vice versa. History, languages and geography were a snap, however. I gaped in astonishment when a high school student confused Austria with Australia and asked if I had a kangaroo.
Poor souls – having to live their entire lives in Killeen, Texas. They didn’t know the ecstasy of Bavaria in the summertime; concerts in the town square, the terror of knowing the enemy was right across the Danube River, or 38th Parallel, and could attack at any given moment --- and they did, in the case of South Korea.
We were in Paris on June 25, 1950. At the news, Dad’s leave was cut short, and we hurried back to Dad’s base in Austria, our hearts thudding in fear that war would simultaneously erupt in Europe.
While we were in Korea, two years earlier, we had experienced problems with the Russians. They had control of our electricity above the 38th parallel. Now and then, as we watched a movie in a tent, the power suddenly went off. But we didn’t miss a beat – generators were cranked up, and the movie continued.
Homework was completed by kerosene lantern – “no electricity” was no excuse for not handing in our assignments. Not in a dependents’ school, no sir.
In Europe, we were obliged to keep a suitcase packed and under the bed, ready to evacuate and meet at pre-determined checkpoints, just in case --- Pro-Communist May Day parades gave our teachers near heart attacks when we hung out our schoolroom windows and taunted the marchers for their squeaky shoes; we could hear them coming from blocks away. On those May Days, we rode home in an army bus with armed guards “riding shotgun,” listening to stones pounding the sides of the bus – only to hear a rumor that those weren’t stones… they were bullets. I doubt that was accurate and I’ll probably never know. Like other Brats aboard the bus, I found the possibility of being involved in an “international incident” both exciting and historic. Never concerned for my safety, I knew the Powers That Be would take good care of us Dependents.
Years after we had left Seoul, Korea, my father, who had returned after the Korean War to serve as Military Advisor to the ROK, sent pictures of our former quarters. Aerial strafing and bombings had pockmarked HQG27. All the windows were boarded up and South Korean soldiers were scavenging the hardwood floors for firewood. I looked at my bedroom window, thinking, “I played with my homemade dollhouse right there.” (Insert Photo #1)
I recall my father sweating the exquisite timing required for our drive from Linz to Vienna through the Russian Zone of Occupation, lest we be arrested for “spying.” It was difficult to keep my face expressionless as Russian guards peered intently at our “papers”—holding them upside down.
I sat under a huge tree near the Spanish Guard Tower on Donatusgasse, in Linz, Austria, looking over the Danube River into the Russian Zone of Occupation. Immediately upon arrival, my dad drilled into my head, “Don’t ever cross the bridge into the Russian Zone.”
Our fear, then, was of the Russians. Although we were able to see into the Russian Zone from our perch high on the hill overlooking the Danube, and realized they could also see us, we managed to co-exist.
I was to recall the edict: “Never cross the bridge over the Danube” years later, when, on a nostalgic return to Linz with my grown daughter, we took a wrong turn and actually crossed the Danube.
My reaction was knee-jerk, instantaneous, and highly vocal. “We can’t cross the river,” I gasped. My daughter and our friend Jennifer looked at me, startled. “I mean, we couldn’t do that when I lived here…”
Realizing how insane that must have sounded, my voice trailed off.
But I remained uneasy until Jennifer turned the jeep around, and we departed the Forbidden Russian Zone.
For the remainder of the afternoon, lest I suffer another trauma, we were careful not to drive over any bridge spanning the Beautiful Blue Danube.
Once a Brat, always a Brat.
*****
Want more?
Available at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble.com, or you may have your favorite bookstore order it for you.

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats

Once a Brat, Always a Brat

2007-02-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

Why do I call myself a Brat? Well, I wear the title, Army Brat proudly. This does not mean I behave in a bratty way (although a couple of ex-husbands would disagree with this!) but this is a term for a child born into the military life. Somebody once said "B.R.A.T" means "Born, Raised and Trained" in the English military manner. Other thoughts have been on the term, "bratling" meaning a swaddling cloth of some kind. And, of course, the inevitable use of the term to describe a child. Any child.
But in the military community, this is considered a term of endearment. Of recognition amongst our peers.
Years after losing my Army Brat active status, I continue to amaze myself at how much my life was influenced by my first 20 years following my army officer father all over the globe. To this day, I find myself being subservient to such mundane things as speed limit signs (obey them, always) and displays in the grocery store (used to be "commissary" but I quit using that term long ago.) I was shopping with my son one day, and he grabbed up an item that said 10 for $10.00. I protested that I neither wanted nor needed 10 of whatever the item was. He looked at me and patiently explained, "Mom, you don't have to buy 10 of them. Get only one for one dollar."
Oh.
I promise to post more on this site about my life as an army brat, and how it affects me to this day. Some good, some not so good, but all experiences contributed to the person I am today.

If you want to read more about my life as an army brat between 1938 and 1958, be sure to read Once a Brat, part travelogue, part therapy session, available on Amazon.com. or your bookstore may order it for you.

Once a Brat by Marilyn Celeste Morris (Paperback - Jul 22, 2002)
Buy new: $19.95 25 Used & new from $16.95

Tags: Once a Brat, military brats, army brats