More about Heartbreak and Being a Military “Brat” (23 Nov 11)

(I wrote this from work; the work computer doesn’t allow me to “cut and paste” to Facebook (or anywhere else).  So sorry for the delay in posting this!!)

Someone coined the term “Military Brat” some 30 or so years back, as the child of a service member, particularly one who lived on a military installation stateside or overseas (or over time, both).  We were “brats” probably to some of our friends: we were a lot worldly, some of us knew how to speak another language fluently, we probably had siblings who were adopted from another country or culture, and we always spoke wistfully about our “brat” friends – even the ones we didn’t get along with.

We would thrill at the prospect of going someplace we’ve never been to.  Not because “it’s new.” Rather because “we would be able to make new friends and maybe see So-and-so; his or her dad or mom was supposed to be assigned to the ‘umphy-umpth’ there…” 

When the big moving van showed up on our block, it was the signal for either elatement  – for someone NEW is going to come into your life; or sorrow, for someone you’ve known will be moving onward.

Our non-“Brat” friends would not “get it.”  They would not understand the strong bonds which those of us living on or near military bases would have for one another.  One truly “had to be there” – have to experience it — to understand it.  

As a child, my heart – as those of others growing up on or around a military base – would frequently break when my friends’ parents (or my own father) would have to be reassigned to another installation. I remember crying for two solid days because James Ellis’ father received PCS (permanent change of station – relocation) orders to someplace called “Fort Ord” in California.  My mom tried to raise my spirits by allowing me to get an extra comic book at the Pattonville bookstore but she knew in her heart too (she told me later) that no matter what she tried to do; there would be a part of my little heart that will always long for my first true “best friend.”

I gave one of my “dog tags” later to Karen Lee Becvar.  We kissed and hugged as 11 year olds did back then, tearfully saying those words which rolled off our tongues:

“I’ll miss you”

“I’ll never forget you”

“Please write and let me know how you are”

“Stay in touch please!”

Truth be known, there were a couple “I love yous” in that conversation as well, as Karen was my first female friend — and more.  Karen introduced me to religion in a way that I always will be thankful for.   She taught me how to “meaningfully pray”.  Not just repeating the Lord’s Prayer; but actually interfacing with the Creator and demonstrating while holding hands, our heads bowed low, that “when two or more people pray together, He is there with us.”  That was a LOT MORE than what I was being taught in Sunday school right across the street from her apartment building in Pattonville.

I would never see her again after January of 1971. Not for lack of trying.  In 1979 and again in 1993 I traced a Karen Becvar through telephone books living in Indianapolis, but she had never been to Germany in her life.  The last time I contacted her, she had a bit of pity on me as I explained to her my story of finding and losing the Karen Lee in my life.  She listened but concluded that “you’ll find her some day — but today’s not your day.”

Those phrases — “I’ll miss you”, “I’ll never forget you”, “Stay in touch please!” – and similar ones rolled off our tongues and out of our mouths so easily back then because the chances that we would run into each other later in life is, well, one of those ‘google’ numbers!  By the time I was 11, I was used to people coming into and out of my life like a revolving door.  It still hurt, but you learned how to insulate yourself from the hurt and pain.  You had to be brave. You have to have a strong front.  You have to lie.  You must move on.

Then America Online entered my life.  Praise God for AOL!

I was one of the first “account holders” of AOL. I used it to communicate with other volunteer Scouters. I used it to conduct research for my Master’s thesis paper. I used it to communicate with my wife when I was deployed around the world.

Brenda Kay Vockery – Jones now – was a pleasant and cheerful memory in my life.  Many of you who followed me electronically back in the earlier days (or from high school) knew that I had the greatest crush on her.  I followed the poor girl around like, well, like a lovesick puppy.  Well into my second marriage, I placed most of it aside.  That is, until I received the first of several emails from Brenda via AOL.  She was looking for something for one of her brothers when she came across my website featuring those bad high school black and white yearbook pictures (thanks FKHS).  There we were on either side of some script which explained why her image was there.  From that initial email, we restarted a friendship which continues to this day.

Not soon after Brenda and I started to email and catch up with our lives – and our new lives – then I received an email from an old high school girlfriend. My first “real girlfriend”, Belinda Whitcomb.  Bel – “Mushroom” I called her because of the mushroom-shaped patch she would always wear on her jeans – and I also communicated back and forth after a 20 or so year break in silence.  Now married to the man of her dreams, she and I talked about the “old times” and the “great times” in JROTC where we met and about our mutual friends – some we have heard from and others we have not but hope to some day.

John and his brother William (Billy back then; he wants to be called “William” now) Gay were the next two to email and ask “are you the same Mike Walton who tossed Matchbox™ cars with parachutes from the fourth floor windows only to see them crash on the sidewalk?”  (yes, it was me; but it wasn’t just me tossing them out the window – it was you and your brother and Jurgen Starks, and Maryann Holister and… ). We email each other back and forth every once in a while… just to catch up or for either to ask me Scouting-related questions.

And then, Tina Norskog wrote and said simply “I don’t know if you remember me, but I sure remember you.”

I sat and looked at the computer screen and cried while reading the short note.

The last time I recall seeing Tina was on a dreary day in the spring of 1974.  We sat on the curve outside the high school gym.  I missed my bus for some reason.  As I walked through the building, then outside in the general direction of my housing area, I saw her sitting there — cardboard box in hand containing her things from her locker.  She was leaving Fort Knox High well before the end of the school year.

I sat beside her on the curve, introduced myself, listened and asked questions. I learned some life lessons that afternoon:  Personal actions have consequences well beyond ones’ family – even a military one.  There were some rather STUPID RULES at that high school I loved that needed to be changed.  There’s a difference between love and lust.  That Someone made me miss that bus and to be there for this girl.

Like Chanel Simmons (who, a year later, gave me her necklace and a peck on the cheek after being told that she had to leave the high school), Tina and I never shared a single class together. I remember waving “Hey” to her in the hallway between classes.  I do not recall seeing her in the lunchroom when I was there. She was in band, but other than Brenda and my friend Cyndi, I didn’t know anyone in band.  I had no idea who Tina Norskog was until I sat beside and talked with her on that curve.

We eventually got up and walked along Morand Manor and Littlefield Loop and parted company at the top of North Dietz by the horse stables.  We hugged, she kissed me and told me those fateful words:

 “I’ll never forget you. Thank you!”

 “Stay in touch please!”

And I told her that I would, adding “Please write and let me know how you are”.  She gave me a relative’s mailing address. With that, she and her box went home and out of my life as quickly as she entered my life a short few hours prior.

We did exchange letters – a couple of them – while she was in Cody, Wyoming.  But the letters stopped and so did our communication.

Until that America Online email.

After my tears were pushed over with the backside of my hand, I wrote probably one of the longest emails I’ve ever done at that time – I wanted to know everything. I wanted to see photos (AOL just started to allow attachments).  I wanted to know when she was going to somehow come back to Kentucky (“Not anytime soon and I really don’t want to…” she responded.  I understood.)

After Tina, there were so many others – others who wanted to know if I’d married Brenda (no, she’s married and got two kids…). Or if I’ve ever finished the Scouting book (yes, but it’s in rewrites).  Or when am I coming back to see my parents (I do frequently; you know my mom’s not doing too well, right?).  Or where’s your brothers and what are they doing? (They’re doing fine and both of them are still in the Radcliff/E-town area).

Years later, during the first days of the social medium boom, friends I went to high school and college with started to reconnect with me – and I reached out to them.  Shirley Serini and I talked a bit electronically and I got to express my deep thanks to her for making me a great public relations professional.  Robert Walker and I talked about my gaff in high school (“Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance” and we played the National Anthem) and how cool I was (I was mud!) when I corrected the error.  People came out of the wood work, so it seemed. 

When my mom passed away, I reached out to my social network – my family’s rather small compared to others – and received warm embraces all the way around.  “I didn’t care for you, but I sure as hell respected your mother,” one guy wrote. “Stay in touch and never forget what your mom taught you…”
We have – through MyLife.  People I thought were, I don’t know, just gone – like Maxcine Robinson (Beach now), Gail Evans, and Dallas Miller – they found me through the electronic “hey you!” boards. 

And now, via Facebook and MySpace.  And Twitter. After the first part of 2012, through YouTube.  A great thing about all of this techno stuff is that we find *several* of our “military brat” friends via them.  We exchange notes with them.  We share photos and video snippets with them.  We arrange to go see them and rediscovered what we’ve really enjoyed and missed about being around them in person.  We get to see them after decades of not knowing – I haven’t seen Tina (Thomas now) in some 37 years.

Thirty-seven years.  We still had loads to share:  Photos of kids and grandkids (them, not me – not yet, anyways).  Remembrances of family members who have passed on.  Stories about mutual friends and what we used to do as kids… and how kids today just don’t “get it.”  How we used our imaginative, creative selves to do cool things back then that our kids and grandkids will say “Yeah. That was back in the Stone Age, wasn’t it?” as they returned to their electronics in their room.

As we get ready to enjoy meals with our families and friends, do me (and yourself!) a big favor:

Reach out to someone you haven’t heard from in a while.  Whether from high school, middle school or college.  Someone you used to “hang with” in Scouts or sports or at the radio station or on the block.  Just send a note asking them to have a great Thanksgiving.  You don’t have to go into glorious detail… just let them know you’re thinking about them.

The bonds of being a “brat” are very strong ones.  Your heart never stops breaking when they – or you – have to move away.  When the opportunity presents itself to re-establish those bonds, I truly cherish those electronic and personal reunions. It makes up for some of the heartache and downness.

Most times.

Karen Lee, if you’re out there – Happy Thanksgiving and thank you.