Searching for old friends

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

Beginning a new series

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

Once a Brat, Always a Brat

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