I grew up knowing “home” as most civilian children do. It was the structure I lived in for most of
my childhood. It was the town where I
went to school and church. It was where
I played, rode bikes, participated in sports and danced. I
lived in the same house, in the same town for 12 years. To this day I know it well, and have never
lived anywhere as long as I did there. I
have great nostalgia about that town, that house. I smile each time I think of the friends and the
memories. I’ve probably even
romanticized it all a bit over the years.
There’s a comfort in knowing that one place, some sort of solace in the
uninterrupted monotony of it all. And it
has left me to wonder if my own children will ever know home.
Over a decade and 3 children into this military life, we
have moved 9 times. To date, our
youngsters don’t really remember the moves.
They know we talk about a house in Jacksonville and that we haven’t
always lived in the same place. But there
are moves to come that they will experience with all of the adventure a PCS
holds; in addition to all of the stress and emotion. I have to admit that there is a part of me
that is pained when I think that my children may never return to a town
(whether in their minds or in their travels) and instantly be transported to a
place in their lives, long past, that was fully of joy and discovery and family
and love.
As I wrestle with this thought I am struck by something my
mother-in-law said years ago. My
mother-in-law is a military brat, specifically a Marine Corps brat, just like
my own children. She never knew home in
the sense that many civilian children do.
Yet, as a mother herself, years after leaving her last base, more years
in fact than she had ever lived on base, she found herself at MCB Quantico for
her son’s OCS graduation. She had never
been to Quantico before. My
father-in-law joked, asking if it looked familiar. With the same gleam in her eye, the same
nostalgia, the instant transport to another time, she said, “No, it just feels
like home.”
In that simple statement I have found such great comfort and
truth. My children’s sense of home may
not be my own, but it is no less strong.
In the midst of an ever -changing lifestyle there are still constants
for them to cling to, even if it’s an MP checking IDs, little red signs with
gold lettering, old brick buildings, a salute, a uniform or Taps in the evening.
