cincibuck
You kids stay off my lawn!
Day 7
You have to time Space A travel around the peak needs of the current troops. Saturday morning at Heidelberg I was suddenly swamped by all these polite and strangely mature young folks in academic regalia. Their graduation meant that military families will soon be on the move, and my free trip home will be at risk if I don't get to the air base before them. I headed off for the end of my brief experience, planning my exit and thinking about those graduates.
We think and state our affection for the men and women who serve and we seldom give a thought to the families who move along with them, and serve in their own way. They are up rooted from friends and a sense of home every three or four years through an entire childhood. They live in "Pleasantvilles" around the world, a small Petri dish of American life surrounded by barbed wire and security posts. They weave in and out of concrete and steel barriers to enter their "neighborhod" on their skateboards, bikes, and first cars. They are asked for identities when they want to swim, buy a coke, go in or go out, surrounded by languages and cultures different from theirs and all the time they are trying to fit in with an America they seldom get to enjoy.
Now many of them will be off to college somewhere in the States while siblings remain in Germany, Mom/Dad prepares for another tour in the sand box, or the family moves to yet another post. They will take some of what they have experienced with them.
Some, like the twins in my fall semester 101 class, will deny it happened to them, state there is nothing of value they saw in their travels, stew in anger at being robbed of normal teen life.
Some, like the 'Army brat' student in my 200 class, will share their experiences, state things -- not to be smug, but to share -- that reveal wisdom gained by seeing so much.
Some, like the son of an old Ranger sergeant in my class this spring, will be anxious to walk in Dad's boots, thinking of glory even as the wise sergeant tries to tell him "it's not what you think it is."
They have served. They've been held inside caserns and stateside posts and bases. They've fretted with departures and homecomings and helped shoulder the pain of the peers among them who have suffered the loss of a parent. They've witnessed PTSD up close and personal and lived with the knowledge that everywhere they went there was someone watching, looking for the opportunity to harm them.
So, from someone who annonymously watched you members of the Class of 2009, Patrick Henry High School, Heidelberg, Germany, as you finally combed your hair, shined your shoes, parked your attitude, and became oh-so-adult for a few hours, allowing parents and grandparents to be affectionate, I want to say how much I appreciate what you have given to this country already. You have served us well and deserve more attention and praise than you will ever receive. Good luck and Godspeed.
You have to time Space A travel around the peak needs of the current troops. Saturday morning at Heidelberg I was suddenly swamped by all these polite and strangely mature young folks in academic regalia. Their graduation meant that military families will soon be on the move, and my free trip home will be at risk if I don't get to the air base before them. I headed off for the end of my brief experience, planning my exit and thinking about those graduates.
We think and state our affection for the men and women who serve and we seldom give a thought to the families who move along with them, and serve in their own way. They are up rooted from friends and a sense of home every three or four years through an entire childhood. They live in "Pleasantvilles" around the world, a small Petri dish of American life surrounded by barbed wire and security posts. They weave in and out of concrete and steel barriers to enter their "neighborhod" on their skateboards, bikes, and first cars. They are asked for identities when they want to swim, buy a coke, go in or go out, surrounded by languages and cultures different from theirs and all the time they are trying to fit in with an America they seldom get to enjoy.
Now many of them will be off to college somewhere in the States while siblings remain in Germany, Mom/Dad prepares for another tour in the sand box, or the family moves to yet another post. They will take some of what they have experienced with them.
Some, like the twins in my fall semester 101 class, will deny it happened to them, state there is nothing of value they saw in their travels, stew in anger at being robbed of normal teen life.
Some, like the 'Army brat' student in my 200 class, will share their experiences, state things -- not to be smug, but to share -- that reveal wisdom gained by seeing so much.
Some, like the son of an old Ranger sergeant in my class this spring, will be anxious to walk in Dad's boots, thinking of glory even as the wise sergeant tries to tell him "it's not what you think it is."
They have served. They've been held inside caserns and stateside posts and bases. They've fretted with departures and homecomings and helped shoulder the pain of the peers among them who have suffered the loss of a parent. They've witnessed PTSD up close and personal and lived with the knowledge that everywhere they went there was someone watching, looking for the opportunity to harm them.
So, from someone who annonymously watched you members of the Class of 2009, Patrick Henry High School, Heidelberg, Germany, as you finally combed your hair, shined your shoes, parked your attitude, and became oh-so-adult for a few hours, allowing parents and grandparents to be affectionate, I want to say how much I appreciate what you have given to this country already. You have served us well and deserve more attention and praise than you will ever receive. Good luck and Godspeed.
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