Just between us girls

MILITARY BRATS ...

On this Memorial Day all across the country, patriotic music is being played, speeches are being given, flower and flags festoon military graves, and we pause to honor those who have served their country so valiantly and paid the ultimate price. But there are others who have paid an enormous price as well - the children of soldiers, airmen, sailors, and marines. We call them "military brats" - they are the children of warriors.

There are millions of military brats today - from the tiniest tykes whose dads and moms are serving overseas in Iraq or other hot spots, as well as at military bases here in the US ... to middle-aged Baby Boomers whose dads (and a few moms in those days) fought in WW II, the Korean War, and of course, the Viet Nam War. These military brats were drafted at birth - they had no choice about whether or not they wanted to live a military lifestyle. And they, like their warrior fathers and mothers, have paid an enormous price to protect the freedoms and privileges that most of us take for granted.

I am one of those military brats. I was born in Orange, California, and my mom and I sailed to Japan when I was nine months old to join my dad, who was fighting overseas. I didn't see US soil again until I was almost three years old. I spent my formative years moving from base to base -- from Texas to Montana, from California to Virginia, from Germany to Illinois, from Dover to Puerto Rico. I was at home nowhere - and I was at home everywhere. I learned to make friends quickly, because I knew I would lose them quickly. We were like traveling gypsies, moving from place to place, packing and unpacking ... only to do it all over again six months or two years later.

Such a lifestyle has its advantages, of course. I got to see the world, live in Europe, learn a foreign language at an early age, taste exotic foods and see interesting places that many people only dream of. I got to have adventures and enjoy experiences - all at government expense.

But there was a price I paid, too - like all military brats. Loneliness, wrenching departures from beloved friends, having to change school umpteen times, and sometimes living in places I didn't like.

The biggest price I paid, along with the other kids, was enormous anxiety. For you see, Death was always lurking around in the background ... but no one ever talked about it. For when you are the child of a warrior, you never know for sure when your daddy (or mommy) is going to be called to fight a battle somewhere ... or who might be killed in training exercises or plane crashes, even in peacetime.

My dad was a pilot in the Air Force, and I can't tell you the number of times I lay in my bed at night, overhearing my mom on the phone in the other room, as she called the control tower to ask what Major Gallagher's ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) was. I worried ... what if my daddy doesn't come home? What if his plane crashes? When I was eight years old, my best friend up the street lost her daddy when his plane crashed into the side of a mountain - and it wasn't even a war. I knew if it happened to her, it could happen to me, too. It could happen to any of us military brats. We all grow up with a fundamental awareness of the precariousness of life and fearing that our warrior parents could be killed anytime, anywhere.

So today, Memorial Day, let us remember not only the brave men and women who died serving their countries -- let us also remember the brave boys and girls who died a thousand little deaths waiting for their daddies and mommies to come home each night. Military brats serve their country too, and they pay a price every day of their young lives. Remember them. Thank them. Hug them.