Growing up BRAT style

To me, growing up a BRAT, well as a child it was the only thing I knew, I was born a BRAT. By the age of 10, I had only spent two years stateside (and not in the same state) the other 8 were spent on a small island in the Pacific.  I spoke Okinawan (a Japanese dialect) almost before I spoke English.  I learned to count on an abacus and could count to 20 on one hand.  That part was confusing when we transferred back to the states and no one else in school could.   Ramen, rock candy, rice candy, Felix the Cat gum and fresh from the fields sugar cane weren't available in the states.  Living on the economy (which is code for *not on a Military Post*) was tough, no one even knew what any of those things were.  I was warned by my mother not talk about my father being in the Army or where I had lived because it wasn't safe.  In the late 60 and into the mid 70's being in the Military by choice was not a popular career move, according to some. For one of the two years we were stateside my father spent his time between Korea and Vietnam, anyone can figure out why my mother feared for my safety and warned me not to say anything.

By the age of 10, my dad had been reunited with us and life went on. He received his orders and we moved...again. I spent the next 4 years in one place, in one school system and I was back in my element. It was wonderful to have the same address and phone number for those years and even though I didn't keep the same friends, due to their Sponsor getting new orders and them moving.  Just living in the same house for more than a single year was a huge comfort, it was home.  When my dad came home and announced that he was being transferred, excitement and the dreaded fear of being the new kid...again, started to set in.  We were moving overseas again, to Germany and at least this time, we'd be there before the beginning of the new school year.

We moved to a small town on the German economy called Wollstein. It was a fresh, new experience. No American TV or radio stations, and the only German words I knew at that time were socially unacceptable.  I had learned those from the times I spent with my maternal Grandmother, although I don't think I was actually supposed to know them.  From Wollstein we were finally able to move on to the Post and into temporary Quarters and had access to 1 AFN tv and 1 AFN radio station. *Armed Forces Network* and it was great, limited air time, but it was in English and it was awesome!  Within a few months our permanent Quarters was ready and we moved again. I use the term Permanent loosely, because growing up BRAT style means nothing is actually permanent. 3 moves within one year, but at least I wasn't the new kid. There is always a silver lining if you look at the little things.

During the time spent in Germany, I learned more, did more and saw more than some people do in their lifetime. It was truly an adventure.  When my father came home with his new orders and we were getting set to move again, it was like going home because we were going back to the same duty station we had just left 3 years earlier.  We landed at McGuire Air Force Base and hit the ground running. This would be an easy move, or so I had thought.  Having live there for 4 years before going to Germany, I felt at ease.  That ease was short lived because I had forgotten an important rule, in the Military, nothing is permanent.  We drove passed our old Quarters and neighborhood, none of the faces were familiar and the engineers had painted all of the houses different colors in our absence. It was basically the same, yet I didn't feel like I belonged.  We moved into our new Quarters in a different part of Post and life went on.   School went well that year, even though it was on Post, it was in the county's Public School District so some of the faces were familiar.  Very close to the end of the school year, my father came home one day and made the announcement that he was retiring.  ACK...I had one year left until graduation!  Being the new kid was bad enough, but being the new kid in my Senior year was something that even I couldn't understand and truly feared. I knew the area where we would soon call home, it was where my mother grew up and her family lived.  She was going back to a place she had called home before marrying my dad.  I was looking forward to getting to know my mom's family but dreading my father's retirement and being the new kid in my Senior year.  I wasn't ready...just one more year. My pleas fell on deaf ears. We BRATS were often in the shadows of Military life, and little attention was ever paid to us, it was part of growing up in a Military family.  I managed to graduate 6 months early with the help of my mother intervening with the school board and had I have gone to school anywhere within the school district previously, I could have skipped my Senior year completely. But my mother worked her Army Wife magic and did the best she could for me. I spent 3 hours per day for the next 2 months and by January, I had my diploma.

I had entered into the Civilian part of my life and I did what we BRATS do best, I adapted to my new environment and life went on.