As I've moved, I've noticed that the people I've met don't have the same perspective I have. Now, I'm completely cognizant that we all view the world just a little bit differently, because it's the world as pertains to us that we view. And us is all different.
However, there are different subsets of us. One of those subsets is the US Military. It's kinda got its own culture going on. I won't elaborate, just nod your head, okay?
There are smaller factions in the Armed Forces, one of which is the Army. Going even more specific in our us classification, and you get to the Rangers. Rangers are the SEALS of the Army. The toughest of the tough. The roughest of the rough.
My Dad graduated second in his class.
Due to a terrible car accident, my mom was severely head injured and unable to care full time for my three year old self and my 3 month old baby brother. This left Dad with the bulk of our care.
He really did a pretty good job, too, considering. He tried to braid my hair before school. He made sure we ate healthfully. He tirelessly and painstakingly explained the answers to all our questions. He was open, honest and loving in his interactions with us. He was the most popular dad and he was my hero.
Yet, he was still a Dad and my raising was not the most...genteel. I grew up around rough, rambunctious old cusses who promised to risk their lives for our country. When I cried, I got a brief hug and a "tough it out". My boo-boos were not kissed, they were squeezed (to flush out debris), then doused in the strongest germ-killer we had. Movie night was old westerns and war movies. Family vacations were old Civil War battle ground marches (don't believe me? We have pictures of 5 year old me next to one of a ton of cannon ball monuments at Chicamauga.). We played He-man, not She-Ra; War, not House; built forts, no Barbies. When I had a cold, I got the yellow Listerine. Canker sore? Salt. Just one trip to the grocery store every 2 weeks. Day 12, and there's no milk? Go for the powdered, or tough it out, kid. 'Yes, sir'; not 'yeah'. The standard for respect and obedience was high and the consequences for insubordination were steep.
Forget stability. We were in the Army! We moved every one to two years, and when school was out, my brother and I went to live with our grandparents in Tucson for the summer. It was hard, but not the hardest (as Dad frequently reminded us). Actually, it was sometimes kind of fun. A kid on a military fort has a lot of freedom. Dad explained, "The last place a crook wants to be is on an area of land populated by people who've been trained to kill." We were given the run of the place and ran our own lives most of the time.
Were it not for my life circumstances, I think I would have turned out pretty girly. I've always been rather sensitive, observant, initially shy and feminine. But how would anyone turn out after the childhood I've described? All my thoughts were formed under the guidance of a man; so I kind of think like one. I had to make do without much expectation of anything stable, or even any resources; so I like to get by with what I've got. Instructions were not always calmly spoken; so I have a tendency to bark out commands. Our house was very no-nonsense; so, though I'm truly shy, I can be rather frank. I had to keep to my father's schedule; so I like things to run at maximum efficiency. I had to make new friends every 2 years; so my personality is rather flexible.
Though I was slow to notice the differences, I've been gradually mentally chronicling all the ways my unique upbringing, and resulting outlook, collides with the rest of us. I'm going to try to share these occasionally painful, frequently hilarious ways here. Maybe on Fridays. Look at the Blog title. Phew! Still not called, "The AnalRetentivery". We'll see.
Oh, and on an Army fort? An enthusiastic yes, is "Hooah". It's as ubiquitous as "ya'll" in the south, and just as easy to decipher who is an outsider by the way they say it.
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