Army Brat: A Personal Essay
Veterans Day: Honoring a Father's Military Legacy
On this Veterans Day, I want to give thanks to my dad, uncles, and cousin whom all served with honor in the United States military.
My mom shared a story with me one day about my dad. My mother, an immigrant, a mom, a wife, with a degree in Public Health and a nursing degree, decides with a friend one day to go to the Air Force recruiter. She comes home to tell my dad about her decision and in true Carver Taitt fashion, his response is I signed up for the Army.
That’s my dad, a dive in with reckless disregard that served him well whether it was jumping out of a plane, donning a gas mask and going into a smoke filled roll, or doing training exercises in the Alaskan wilderness in sub -50 degree weather.
Youth spent bouncing around the globe from Germany to Alaska. I grew up in the 80s, knee high to a soldier.
Dad’s home. My older brother and I would rush to meet him and each grab a boot. The black kiwi polished boots scuffed from work with the length of the boot that went on forever in my eyes. Actually, just past the calf. Undoing the laces and loosening the boots for the epic struggle about to begin. One grabs the heel, the other pries the top open, pulling repeatedly. Children are not the most efficient at removing army boots. The easiest part? Really long socks. We’d laugh about his feet looking rough, but now I know his feet and body abuse were what provided for his family.
Back and forth across the pond, I went to elementary school at the now-shuttered Fort McClellan, Alabama, army base. In those days, regulations were relaxed, such as returning home before the sunlight was replaced by iridescent lights 15 feet above.
During the summer my mom would take us to visit dad at work. Frequently, my brother and I would run up to him, and he’d get into push up position, so we could both hop on his back. Proper formation, even with a 6 & 9-year-old draped laying in various positions, no curve in his back, locked arms, chest straight and touching the ground.
An amazing place to grow up. This community was self-contained, all classmates’ parents worked same company. There were undoubtedly class distinctions, but I was too young to grasp that my father saluting your father signified his subordinate status and vice versa.
Looking back, I have no complaints. However, the sacrifices one makes for a career are not always obvious. For instance:
Lawsuit Fort McClellan Alabama. Settle with Anniston Gadsden for any damage while we were on the base.
“Potential Exposure at Fort McClellan”
Not being a fatalist, but there was a thyroid cancer diagnosis ten years ago. Everyone wanted answers: where, when, why. Hmm, maybe Monsanto. Maybe not.
Before September 11th, I was unfamiliar with phrases like “thank you for your service,” “thank you for serving so we don’t have to,” “let me pay for your meal,” or “take our vacant seat in first class.”
For words unspoken. You represent what many Americans have forgotten about the American dream. An immigrant to this country at 15, working multiple jobs reminiscent of Homer Simpson, becoming a citizen, joining the military of your adopted home, serving your country while never forgetting the one you came from. You married wonderfully, raised three boys, and now have grandkids and great-grandkids.
All while still feeling the aftereffects of your service thirty years later. It’s called service-connected disability. If you ever encounter that phrase, offer them an extra thanks for putting their time and body on the line to keep the American dream alive for everyone else.