Goodbye Uncle Sam!

After living and enduring the life of a military spouse for the past 14 years, my time with the United States Air Force has come to a close. My journey and marriage to Uncle Sam (and my soon to be ex husband) has ended. It hasn't been easy, and it hasn't been perfect. Still in all, there are probably things I will miss. Can't think of any right now :), but maybe one day I will. It takes years to acclimate, accept, adjust and survive being a military wife. I believe it to be one of the hardest jobs a spouse can face. So I would like to take a few moments, to reflect and remember, that which I am leaving behind, and let my civilian friends have a little insight as to what being a military spouse is really all about.

Military life becomes so ingrained inside your head, that after a time you actually begin to think that the outside civilian world is the oddity! Everyone single person you know, everyone you have contact with....friends, neighbors, co-workers, doctors, dentists, bosses; everyone... wears Blues or camoflauge. Your son's pediatrician? Yep, camoflauge uniform, black combat boots with a white jacket on top! In time, you learn the geographical lingo like the rest of them. You stop referring to towns and cities by their given name, and only speak in terms of 'base location'. You aren't from Bossier City, you're from Barksdale AFB. Your husband isn't TDY (that's temporary duty...where they send your hubby off to wherever they want, to usually play war games or some stupidity) but no, he's not TDY in Las Vegas, he's at Nellis. And no, you are not about to pack up and move to England, you're going to Lakenheath AB, home of the British Royal Air Force. Yet, you actually do grow accustomed to seeing security forces all around you, standing at the gas station with AK-47 assault rifles strung over their shoulders, while you make a mad dash for some smokes and beer. And oh, the wonderous joys of bringing your excited children to the Commissary to pick up their birthday cake, only to be met at the entrance by scary looking military militia personel wearing their chem-warfare get up, totin' M-16 machine guns along with them....LOADED.

You don't have a spouse, you have a "sponsor", and you are classified as a "dependant", with no name, only a number. Which just happens to be, your husbands last 4 of his SS, followed by your marital code. (30 is 1st wife, 31 is 2nd wife) And the same goes for your children. Last 4 of the sponsor's social, ending with the child code.... 01, 02, 03 etc. I've lived for 14 years, as XXXX-31, and wondering when it would finally occur to the Air Force, that I am a 31, not a 30? HELLO??? SECOND WIFE!!!! Just one of the many perks.

But how about the lovely "Freedom of Information Act".... such a wonderful thing, it is. If we, as military spouses actually HAD IT! Freedom of information my ass! Maybe you civilians out there get a little bit of it, but we certainly don't. Always having to keep that mobility bag stocked and ready to go. Ready to be thrown inside the cargo bay of a plane headed to "we can't say". Middle of the night phone calls, in which you must then drive your spouse to the squadron hangar, and put him on some secret looking aircraft, headed for some "classified" unknown destination. You don't know where he's going, or when he's coming back. Try explaining THAT to your crying left behind children. "Mommy, where is daddy going?"...."I don't know, probably to go drop some bombs on our latest and newest enemy... you know, 'cause if they aren't one of us, they're the bad guys"...."But noooooooo! When is he coming home??"...."Sadly little 3 year old, your guess is honestly as good as mine, but hey! Don't cry! Let's go shop for (insert soon to be missed holiday here)! Freedom of information sucks!

Yet, even though your families lives are constantly in a state of confusion, afraid of what's next, you still give it your best effort to provide some sense of normalcy for your children. Casting to the wayside the thought that a set of orders could come at any given moment, (or worse, the unmarked navy blue car visits you in the middle of the night while the men driving it are carrying a carefully folded flag and are in full military dress), but I'm leaving the more depressive scenerios out of this.... so, you receive those orders, that will require you to pack and move (again) to another foreign city or country, forcing you to start all over, and all you can do is accept it, and take it with a grain of salt. You make new friends, enroll in new schools, change doctors, find a new home.....and then ooops, daddy's going back to war, (again) leaving you all alone in your new surroundings to pick up the pieces. Sadly, you just become used to the sheer madness of it all. You keep your same routine in place. You pack, and unpack, settle in and just adjust. Then one day you wake up, and realize, that it just doesn't bother you anymore. Except, after you make friends with some new civilian folks, and they are constantly talking about how their little precious babies are headed to grandpa's and grandma's for the night/weekend. You think to yourself, "damn they're lucky! I haven't seen my parents since last Christmas!" But that's just how it is... us military folk see our extended family about twice a year.

I know what you're thinking! Being a member of the Armed Forces has many great benefits!! All that tax free shopping, free healthcare, the works! But let me explain to you, exactly how all that great "crap" really works. See, in the Air Force, we have what is called, "Active Duty Military Personel have Priority". Please, let me explain it to you! Come along, and let's go to the BX, shall we? (and seriously, have you really SEEN the crap they sell there? Please... I'd rather shop anywhere, and pay the dang Boston Tea Tax, than waste my time at the BX) but ok, let's go anyway. We have our screaming kids in tow, (I think?) and we have all of our wonderful tax free goods. We make a beeline for the register, but ooops! What is this? Oh yeah..... Active Duty Personel have Priority. What does that mean exactly, you ask? It means you just landed on "lose the next 2 hours of turns", cuz you get to go to the back of the line baby! Yep, when in uniform, military personel get to go FIRST!! So back it up hooker, and take your screaming kids with you.
Scenerio numero dos: Your 2 month old baby, has been crying and riddled with a 105 fever all night long. You've got to drag yourself out of the bed at 7:00 am sharp, the minute day break hits. Because, yep! That's when the lines open for the 2nd Medical Group Clinic. Granted, you won't speak to a person, but you don't get a choice, so go ahead and call... call them! (this one is always fun!!) And by the way, you only have a 30 minute window, so dont mess around. Breakfast and the school bus for your other children are just going to have to wait! You call at straight up 7:00. Then you sit on hold for the next 30 minutes, and then at precisely 7:31, the automated voice answers, informing you that there are no available appointments for that day, and to please try back again....TOMORROW! And hell yeah, all Active Duty Personel have Priority!!!!!! Because THEY get to call starting at 6:30, and take ALL THE DAMN appointments! Better luck tomorrow honey, hope you're kid makes it through the night! (and yes, this is exactly how it works, no exaggeration)
Scenerio numero tres: God forbid you become "with child", because not only will you husband probably not be there for the birth, but will also miss about half of the future birthdays as well. Luck, just isn't on your side sweetie. But I hope you have a little bit, so just maybe, in an act of God himself, you might get the luxury of seeing the same OB/GYN doctor more than 2 x's in a row! Realistically, it just doesn't work like that here in military land. Just when you get used to undressing in front of the still unfamiliar physician, you arrive at your next appointment only to be told that suprise!!! Your obstetrician has... PCS'ED! (that would be a permanant change of station, or rather, has MOVED! You lucky civilian bastards!!!) So get to the back of the line, little pregnant momma, you're doctor just received some Active Duty Prioritization.... to another base! You gettin the picture, right?

But yes....no matter what is thrown at your way, you just become used to it all. The whole, "Im sorry, I can't attend the parent teacher conference because I have nuclear weapons training that day" actually makes you slightly proud. You tend to forget to be bothered that you and your children pull that short stick over and over and over. You are dependent XXXX-31! And almost, proud?! There comes a day, in which you not only learn the lingo, but you even understand all the confusing acronyms.... AFSC, TAC, SAC, ACC, NCO, 2A53X, OSI, 1st Shirt....(much like texting, but way harder!) Squadron Commander, Flight Commander, Group Commander, Wing Commander, Base Commander.... chain of command, Commander in Chief.

You strangely marvel at the dynamics and the beauty of the Air Power living beside you.... B-52, B1-B, F-15E, F-16, CV-22 Osprey, F-22 Stealth Fighter, SR-71 Blackbird. Amazing really. Front row, flightline exclusive seating for impromptu Space Shuttle landings. And I just can NOT leave out the fabulous Class 6! That's the military liquor store, 'cause yeah, us pregnant little momma's need our daily dose!)

All in all, it's not too terrible of a lifestyle; if you can learn to adjust to being just a lowly number in the system, a mostly single parent, used to seeing men run around with scary weapontry, obsessive boot shining in front of late night television, ironing camo during dinner, and always....always, remembering that you come last. Because like they say in the Air Force, "If we would have wanted you to have a wife and children, we would have ISSUED them to you!" Honestly, it's been an okay ride, and somewhat of a decent life. But I can seriously say now, "NO THANK YOU!!!! So long Uncle Sam, this chick ain't wearing THAT ring any longer! I'm out of here, and THRILLED!!!" Good bye, military. Good bye, Uncle Sam. Good bye, camoflauge. And good bye NUCLEAR WEAPONS!!

I've done my time. 14 years worth... I have the scars, and I have the knowledge. And frankly my dear Scarlett, I just don't give a damn. I don't want it anymore, and I'm good.



*writers note: If you ever, do happen, to find yourself inside a military establishment.... Do not speed. They don't like it too much. Just sayin..... :)