Veterans Day

Most people associate the military with rigidity, fighter planes, propaganda posters, marches, cadences. They always want to thank them for their service, and usually think their service consists of shooting people from the tops of buildings as snipers and performing barrel rolls over Iraq as fighter pilots.

But my military associations are much different. The pleats in dark navy pants, the stiff and colorful ribbon racks, the careful starching all remind me of my dad; whenever he would finally come home, I'd rush to the door to greet him, breathing in the familiar smell of uniform and feeling the scratchy fabric on my cheek as he gathered me in a long-awaited hug.

I think of being perched on my parents' bed as my dad went through the nightly ritual of preparing his uniform. We'd talk of whatever issue was currently plaguing me; his words of advice always came as steadily and effectively as the iron that removed the wrinkles from his shirt. As he burned the frayed edges and fly-away strings from his pants, he'd cut the extraneous worry from my life.

I remember waiting in his office with my brother. We'd play with the toy bombs and guns used to train for drills. One of us would plant the bomb somewhere in the building: a filing cabinet, carelessly unlocked desk drawer, couch cushions. The other would then try to find the object while the mastermind would laugh maniacally in triumph until the good guy deactivated the bomb, just in time. To me, this is what occurs in Air Force office buildings.

I remember Dad pulling up in front of the house in his AF cop car, sirens blazing. My brother screamed in terror (he was young) while Dad "arrested" my friends and I, cuffs and everything. I remember squadron holiday parties with Easter egg hunts, where my toddler brother loudly proclaimed "that's not the Easter bunny! That's a man in a suit!" and Christmas parties where my best friend was embarrassingly obnoxious and my brother broke the stick we were using to hit a pinata that was apparently reinforced with concrete. I remember trick-or-treating on base housing, the best place for treat-or-treating, and staying out so late people would start dumping their left-over candy into our outstretched bags.

I remember the freedom of walking to the Shoppette and to school, passing under a gigantic air plane statue every morning on my way to elementary school, skipping through the security gates on my way home, and calling the grocery store the commissary.

My childhood was marked by the multiplicity of military brats; half Turkish or Korean or from Hawaii and Alaska, we united in our ever-revolving life. Half your classmates would move away before the end of the year, but then you'd have pen pals all over the world.

But most of all, I remember the long months when Dad was gone. Mom struggling to be both parents, do all the duties. I remember my carefully penned letters and the phone calls with extreme delays as Dad's voice took twice as long to travel around the world.

I remember the extreme joy as Dad stepped off that plane and returned to us. His skin was extremely tanned by the desert heat, and he was incredibly skinny from the desert chow hall, but he was finally home. And my face scratched against the stiff fabric of his uniform and I breathed in the familiar smell, and I took away an entirely different conception of what the military is.

As the National Anthem plays and people standing staring up at the American flag and the camera pans over a crowd of military men and women, I know all the memories that pass through their minds aren't the same as the images that riddle military advertisements and popular culture. It's the smaller things, the real life things.

I appreciate my dad for so many things, but being in the military was just his job. I appreciate him for not making it his identity. He doesn't like when random people walk up and thank him for his service. He joined because he had no other options out of high school; there is not a lot separating a fast food uniform and a military one. While the military life does mean a lot of sacrifice, it also means a lot of benefit. Military members get healthcare benefits, GI benefits, housing, and a plethora of other benefits many Americans do not have. It's overly romanticized why people join the military--for every wannabe hero, there's ten that are just joining to survive.

So people might think I'm bad for not getting teary-eyed on Veterans Day, having been raised by a veteran. But really, the holiday is for civilians, not veterans. I appreciate the most important veterans to me every day of the year.