Something I thought about while I couldn't sleep.

(this post is fiction.I was not an army brat, and am not an army officer. it's offered as written, by me, as an emotional exercise, specifically on this day, for this day. It is told in the voice of a character of mine called Claire McClellan. She's a 27 or 28 year old graduate of the United States Military Academy, and in this context, the first ever female Green Beret officer. (the Special Forces are, as of this writing, still a boys club, although Delta allegedly as some women in it.)

     I'm an Army Brat. I grew up as a dependent of an army officer. The good part about being an Army Brat is, you get to go to so many places. The bad part is, you have to go. But today I want to talk about one part of being an Army Brat that they don't tell you about on TV or in the papers:  (click thru to read the rest )

I want to talk about what it's like being an Army Brat, on an Army street in an Army neighborhood.
As a young child, I thought all streets were named for Generals, Battles and famous units. I didn't realize until much later that they weren't.  Back then, a trip to "the Store" meant going to the PX. Everyone was either in the service or worked for it. But the thing we all dreaded, whenever there was a war on, was the arrival of the notifications officers. If Daddy or Mommy's unit was in action, there was always a chance of seeing that horrible dark green staff car come rolling slowly up the street. As a child, you always wondered whose daddy or mommy weren't coming home. You wondered whether or not you would be putting on your funeral clothes, and if it would be for a friend's mommy or daddy, or your own. I hated that car. I still do today, even though I am myself an army officer. I hate the letters too, but that's for another time. As a little girl, I hated that car. It would turn up our street and proceed slowly down it. Usually a big sedan of the type that would be a luxury car on the civilian market but was just a staff car to us. I remember one day I was playing in the yard with a toy, exactly what I don't remember now. But I was playing, and I saw The Car. A sense of dread went through me like a cold wave. My knees shook. I started whispering "god please not our house, god please make them drive past, please god, please. " As the car went by I thanked god, but then I realized it would only go on to one of my friends' homes. Timmy, whose daddy was a Line Captain, whatever that was. Paulie, whose Mommy was a logistics officer, Carrie, whose Daddy was in the Artillery. Other kids, whose names I won't disclose. I remembered that it would be one of my friends' parents and in that moment I knew guilt and shame. But also relief. It wasn't MY Daddy who wasn't coming home. If I needed my funeral clothes it wouldn't be for my daddy. Then I saw the car slow down, and thought "Oh no, they missed our address and are coming back" and I was praying again. Selfishly, simply and with tears in my eyes, as any four year old would be, I was praying against all odds that they just were checking directions and would go on. Finally they did, but they pulled up in front of Timmy's house. My legs went weak. I loved Timmy, he was pretty (but never say that to a boy Claire!) and he was funny. I felt guilty again and I was in such a state that I experienced a childish accident. I dropped my toy and started in toward the house, but then I heard my Daddy's voice in my head "No Claire. you know we never leave toys in the yard. " Not in anger, just gently chiding me. That was how Daddy was with us kids. I went back and picked up the toy and went back into the garage, putting the toy in the "outside toys" box. Then I went in and thoughtlessly let the screen door bang shut -- another thing Daddy would have gently chided me over. I just went and stood there, tears on my face, and whimpered a bit. Mommy turned toward me and in a shocked voice asked " Claire, whatever happened ? " I could barely open my mouth to speak, but I got out "The Car is down at Timmy's." Instantly, she knew. Her face went white. She nodded to me and then before I could react she swooped in and hugged me and whispered in my ear, telling me it's okay sweetie. It's okay to cry for Timmy's family. It's okay to be glad it's not us. as long as you thank god for it. " Then we both cried a bit, and soon enough  Mommy took me upstairs, got me cleaned up, put my soiled clothes in the hamper, got me into my pajamas and put me to bed for my nap. I didn't want to sleep. I told myself I wasn't going to sleep. I cried a bit, both for Timmy and his family, and for us. finally after what seemed like ages I fell asleep, clutching my teddy bear fiercely. It was okay. Ranger Bear could take it, he was tough. I wouldn't find out exactly how tough I was until many years later, when I lined up with the rest of the Plebes at West Point. But now, I was just a kid, living a child's life. Eating a cookie and drinking some orange drink that they sold in the PX by the gallon, and wishing I didn't have to see The Car ever again. The Notification Team. The Bereavement Officer. Whatever you want to call him. It pains me every time I lose a man under my command, which fortunately for me has not happened often. Not yet.

(I was not sure I wanted to publish this, but it seems appropriate on this particular day)