The following was given to me by my mother. I’m not sure how much of it she wrote but some of it hits home and seems very personal.
You should also read Army Brat, my personal take on what being the son of an Army officer meant to me growing up.
From my mother:
WHAT IS AN ARMY BRAT…
An Army Brat comes in two sexes, boy and girl. Sometimes they come in pairs or more; and usually they are found traveling in family packs, for Army Brats belong to a breed noted for its productiveness.
An Army Brat can be a source of delight or despair. He is the acrobat who breaks his arm on the packing boxes the day his parents move; she is the puffy invalid who convalesces from mumps on the back seat of the station wagon without ever feeling sorry for herself.
He is the toughest kid in the new neighborhood until he has proved himself; she is the shy miss timidly explaining her Japanese robe to the neighbors. He is the boy who, when his teacher announces, “Our geography lesson will be about Turkey,” raises his hand to inform, “I was born there!”
An Army Brat sometimes looks frail, but he is made of stern stuff. His life is plagued by a shot needle, and he gets immunization for diseases other kids have never heard of. By the time he starts school he has often traveled more miles than many people do in a lifetime. He accepts change in stride, because he knows that home is where Mommy and Daddy are, and as long as Daddy is with the family, he is content. Places change, friends depart, and houses are different, but the Army Brat grows up securely, knowing that God and family remain constant.
Early in life the Army Brat learns that soldiers don’t cry. So when Daddy is shipped overseas, the Brat is the carefree ragamuffin who bravely tries to take over as head of the house. She is the tender little lady who creeps into her mother’s bed to comfort, “A year isn’t so long, Mommy—then stubbornly refuses to sleep in her own room when Daddy returns.
At retreat you can spot an Army Brat because he is the five-year old who solemnly places the left hand over his right chest as the flag comes down. On Memorial Day, she is the Brownie who plants a flag on a military grave, with personal knowledge of a family friend who never came back.
Brats are found all over the world playing with children of other lands. Language is no barrier; childhood is their bond. They are often arrayed in odd bits of Army clothing, or mother’s high heels. He is the general with the stripes on his sleeve; she is the angel of mercy sticking pins into her doll.
To create an Army Brat, heaven combined the courage of a soldier, the love of a mother and the faith of a child. To this the Brat has added the humor of a puppy, the gentleness of a breeze, and the cussedness of a topkick.
In life’s low moments when Daddy comes home exhausted from the field, and Mommy’s back is breaking from unpacking boxes, who is the dirty-faced angel who sets the example with a grin,
The Army Brat—
God bless them all!