I am Proud This Morning!

I am proud this morning – proud of what ‘we Brats’ have been able to do here in 2 months – what our Congress has been either unwilling, or unable to do in over 3 years – create a icon that represents and honors Military Brats!  The BratPin.  As of this morning, 21 October 2013, the bill still languishes “in committee,” with a 2% chance of getting past committee, and a 0% chance of becoming law.  And today, we have “our” pin.

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In April this year I attended a Dining In, where I heard a ‘3-Star’ tell about seeing “the blue car” come to his house when he was 7 years old – to tell his family that their father had just been shot down (in Vietnam).  At that dinner I committed myself to the passage of HR 1889: Children of Military Service Members Commemorative Lapel Pin Act this year!  I told myself I was going to do “something” every day; to create awareness and promotion of this bill.

I began by “re-energizing” my US Representative, Bob Latta, R/OH, who introduced the bill, by visiting his office in Bowling Green, OH.  He wasn’t in, but one of his staff assured me that “the Congressman” was totally behind the bill.  Then I visited Marcy Kaptur’s office in Toledo,OH, D/OH, who is a co-sponsor of the bill.  And again, I was assured, by a staff member, that Ms. Kaptur was also “totally behind” the bill.  This guy was actually very helpful in that he explained exactly what I/we would have to do to garner support for the bill – telling me that the process could take upwards of 10 years to come to fruition!  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear; in 8-10 years I might be a “mort!”  I really don’t care to have my pin presented to me posthumously!

In July I made a You Tube video, essentially promoting HR 1889.  After the filming, the interviewer asked, “Don’t you think 3 1/2 years of ‘sitting in committee’ isn’t a bit disrespectful toward these kids?  You bet your ass I do!  Then he asked, “Why don’t you just design a pin yourself?”  and that’s where I decided to take a different direction.

And today, we have out pin!  The BratPin.

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Am I “spiking the football” here this morning?  You bet your ass I am!  I am so proud of what “we” have created here to honor ourselves, and all Brats!  It is also with great humility that I thank all of you who contributed to this project. As I have said all along, I didn’t do this alone… I hope all of you share in the pride of this effort this morning…

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Evolution of the BratPin

(I ‘pulled’ this off another blog I manage; bratpin.com.  After the first of the year I plan to hand the whole operation over to a ‘non-profit’ that supports military children.  There are a couple-3 posts I don’t want to lose…)

In December 2009 I asked my US Congressman, Bob Latta, (R/OH) to introduce legislation to the Congress to recognize and honor Military Brats.  At first I was thinking in the form of a medal of some kind or another.  Then I learned that Congressional medals (in the nature I was seeking) are reserved only for “serving military members.”  After 5 months, to his credit, he introduced HR 5333: Children of Military Service Members Commemorative Lapel Pin Act, (2010).

At first I wasn’t shot-in-the-head with a lapel pin – aren’t those for old guys?  Then, the more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me.  I learned early in life, ‘when the handwriting is on the wall, learn to read it!’

One of the provisions of the proposed legislation was to send the bill to the Army Department of Heraldry upon passage – for design, and approval of the pin.  “Oh crap,” I thought to myself, “I can only imagine what those ‘shoeclerks’ (bureaucrats) will come up for us!  After all, right from the very beginning, ‘they’ attempted to diminish a bit of our charm and identity by referring to us as “the children of military service members,” vs “military brats!”  (I can ‘appreciate’ that not every child of a military service member embraces the term ‘military brat,’ but I do – and that is what is important here!  LOL!)

Then it wasn’t too hard to imagine a very formal, government conference room wherein a collection of self-appreciating bureaucrats could congregate to design “our” pin.  Can you imagine the “bickering” that would have evolved?  Each shoeclerk with his or her “special” interest.  Why, we would need to all kids represented – be they white, black, Asian, Lutheran, LGBT, ‘special needs,’ what-ever!  By the time everyone got their “special interest” inserted into the design, the damn pin would have been the size of a medium pizza pan!  So this summer, when I decided to “go it alone,” I wasn’t too torn up that I would be bypassing the Army Department of Heraldry.

Sometime during the summer the “dandelion” came to my attention as a contender for the pin.  Again, I wasn’t all that shot-in-the-head with idea, but the more I thought about it, and read about it, the more sense it meant to me. And so I began looking around for dandelion ‘concepts’ to use… I wanted something with a dynamic vs. a static look about it – a design that reflected movement.  After all, we are so very transient ourselves.  This was the first design I looked at:

PD0 About the same time I began considering the image, I also began to concern myself with the shape of the eventual pin.  I wanted a pin that would be easily recognizable in shape – like an oval.  So, to get that, I had to ‘lose’ the figure blowing the seeds – yet I liked the concept of the seeds scattering to the winds… so, I essentially took a “puff ball” and had an artist “pull the seeds” out in the form of an arch.

So, the first version came out like this:

BPV1Kinda ‘boring,’ huh?  Then it was suggested (by Mari) that we add a dog tag chain as the border.  And Steve suggested we add the word “American” on the back.  So, Version 2 came out like:

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Two things I was not happy with: 1. the dog tag clasp looked like bailing wire and 2. the ‘order’ of the wording on the back of the pin – I wanted the word “American” featured more than the web site address.  So, back to my Account Rep I went again – and soon, Version 3 was came out:

BPV3He got the back fixed, but ignored the clasp.  (He must have thought I would miss it.  I didn’t!)  And so we continued to dance – round and round we went.  He told me it wouldn’t make a difference when the pin was produced, but I wasn’t buying it.  So I contacted a dear friend who is a graphic artist and he came up with this:

bpimageI sent this design to my Rep, and asked him, “How hard can it be?”  Finally, after being beat like a rented mule, he acquiesced and we went into production!

Today I am pretty happy with this design – simple, yet elegant!  And I think it does represent the Military Brat; with a sense of reverence and honor.  I deliberately kept the wording, “Military Brat” off the face of the pin because we will soon know who we are, and that is what is important!

 

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What’s the Point?

Last year (2012) I decided to make little wooden boxes for my kids, and grand kids.  The idea came to me as I listened to “The Littlest Angel,” by Bing Crosby about 2 weeks before Christmas.  That Christmas carol has always been one of my favorites…if not my favorite.

So, out into my shop I went.  I selected a specific wood for each kid; a specific wood I related to each kid.  Then I began cutting, fitting, assembling, sanding and finishing.  And after 4 or 5 days, I was finished.

BoxesEver so clever, perhaps cleverer than most, I decided to include a line from the carol that would only make sense when the boxes were lined up in the ‘proper’ order.’

DSCN1544 “…But the Lord chose the gift of the little box that a child had blessed with love…”  Words that have brought tears to my eyes so many, many years.  Tears I’ve shed alone, in silence…

On the table you can also see a few things that were once my treasures.  A flying glove, my USAF Senior Pilot wings, an Air Force Commendation Medal, and the broken wings I was awarded at UPT graduation.  (Legend held if we broke our wings on the ground, we would never break them in the air.)  As with the wood, I chose something special “of myself” to include with each box – things that I have held on to for years.  Each kid got something ‘of me’ that I thought ‘appropriate’ for them.

And I managed to get everything together in time for Christmas!  Keith and his family was easy – they live here in NW Ohio.  Dana and her family live in Colorado – but they received their little boxes before Christmas.

I can’t remember the sequence of events but Dana told me she figured out the line from the carol – she figured out the sequence of the boxes.  She went on to tell me that she thought I was ‘dying’ because I had given her my college class ring –  that it had brought tears to her eyes.

I then asked what the girls thought of the boxes, and she told me she was holding off giving the boxes to the girls.  She had a ‘reason,’ but I shut down ‘my listening ears’ as it didn’t mean anything after that – and I pretended that it didn’t matter.

I was out in Colorado this past summer and I happened to ask if the girls ever got their boxes.  I think they did, but it all missed the point.  How wonderful would it have been had the girls sat down and asked of the significance of the treasures included with their boxes?  How cool would it have been to have shared the secrets of my treasures with them?  And to see what they have in their little boxes – boxes that a “child blessed with love…”  A 66-year old child who is still a little boy at times… Today I wonder, ‘what’s the point?’

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Christmas in 1962…

It was a bleak, cold, dreary Christmas at Chambley AFB, France in 1962.  Chambley is in Northern France, in the Alsace-Lorraine district, just south of the German border.  Dear Old Dad was stationed there as part of the NATO/Air Force buildup during the Berlin Crisis.

We arrived in October 1962 and at Christmas we were still living in the BOQ (Bachelor’s Officers Quarters).  We had 4 rooms; one for my sister, one for Mom and Dear Ole Dad, and one for my brother and me.  The forth room was used for storage.

At some point during he lead-up to Christmas Dear Ole Dad call me aside and told me that “things were tight” that year – financially.  He went on to tell me that because I was 16 and had had ‘good’ Christmases, he and Mom were going to give most of the gifts to Bill and Deb.  I could see it was tough for him, and I was somewhat embarrassed for him – but I knew what he was saying.  And I ‘pretended’ that it didn’t matter…

And true to form, that year I received one gift – a metal Ford car that had to be assembled with nuts and bolts.  In actuality it was a neat gift, and I held on to it for a fair few years.  Then it somehow went by the wayside…

I wish now that I had held on to that car, as it was ‘special.’  I think I may have thrown it away, in anger, when I went on active duty in 1968 – when I left Gram’s house after graduating from college.  Little did I realize at the time, how my anger was evolving.  It is very clear now…

Instead of being mad at Dear Ole Dad for “being left out” (I suppose), I think I would have gained so much more in Life from feeling gratitude – that I received what I did… But I was a kid in those days; insecure, immature, scared and self-centered.

But today I can still see that car.  I can feel those tiny nuts and bolts and I am grateful…

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Recovery – The Trip Home…

I got out of Hazelden on 28 August 1994.  Felt real good.  When I got to the airport I passed by the usual “watering holes” I would have stopped by to kill the time.  Instead I opened “The Big Book,” and reviewed the 12 Steps.  I was determined to make this program work – I felt I didn’t have many other choices at that time.

While at Hazelden we were required to “take” the first 5 steps, and I felt real good about that.  So, I opened the book to Step 6, and began:

“Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.”

“Okay,” I thought to myself, “easy enough.”  I had been ‘beat up’ so bad this was easy.  “Go ahead God, take all my character defects from me – I don’t need them anymore.”  Now that wasn’t so hard, on to Step 7.

“Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.”

So I look around and seeing I was somewhat alone, I closed my eyes, folded my hands and prayed, “God, please remove these shortcomings of mine – I’ve had enough of them…”  Great!  Now I am up to Step 8!

“Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.”

“Well, lets see here – most of the folks I ‘harmed’ were in the Air Force,” I thought to myself, not even for a moment considering the hurt or harm I brought to my family, or my closest friends… And so, on to Step 9.

“Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.”

“Well, hell, most these folks are in the Air Force, or ‘gone.’  So, what’s the point?” I wondered.   And now, on to Step 10.

“Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.”

I was just ‘contemplating’ this when they called for boarding.  I don’t think I understood what they were saying anyway.  Saved!  Or, so I thought…

After I ‘made my nest’ on the airplane I managed to review and ‘complete’ Steps 11 and 12 on the flight from Minneapolis to Detroit.

“Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and he power to carry that out.”

“Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

Got off the airplane feeling pretty good about myself!  Pink cloud.  Then I learned how much God does love drunks, and fools!  Got those both covered – but now, after 19 years, I am beginning to “see the light.”  And for that, I am grateful…

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The Sweedish Girls, Again…

Don’t listen to ‘the Sweedish Girls,’ when staring too hard at this picture…

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwnu5PfGWzY

I learned the ‘hard way,’ and still haven’t learned…

 

 

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Growing Up Without Adult Supervision

I pulled this comment of Brain’s from a recent post here on LPB, “The Ramey AFB O’Club Pool.”  It captures the “essence” of my youth:

“Jeez, I swam there almost every day from 1961-1964!   Used to go to swimming practice at like 5 in the morning by myself.   Yes we’d wander the base completely unattended.   Go to the beach.   Where ever we wished.”

I can say this of living at Kadena (’53 – ’55), Davis-Monthan (DM) (’55 – ’57) or Ramey (’57 – 60.)  I had a childhood that was magic!  Probably not much unlike of many other “Brats.”

At Kadena, we played in the “boonies,” that we were told not to go into.  The habu’s didn’t mind.  At DM I played on obsolete airplanes in the ‘Boneyard,’ that we were told to stay out of.  And I logged my first (and only) 12 “Kills” in those old airplanes!  And at Ramey, we dug for lead at the firing range, we were told to stay away from.  Melted down that lead made great fishing weights.  Westover (’60 – ’62) was kinda boring, but at Chambley AFB, France, (’62 – ’63) we played in blown up WW II German bunkers.  Of course, they were “Off limits!”  And I (we) survived without continued “adult supervision!”  How did I (we) do that?

We didn’t destroy things as kids; we just played – outside!  From when Mom tossed us out of the house until the street lights came on.  Or maybe a little longer on clear nights when we would lay in the grass and stare at the stars…

Reflecting upon my childhood saddens me when I think about my grand kids.  They will never know the freedoms or the liberties I had as a kid.  Too damned many people these days “protecting them” for their own good!  Too much damned control!  If I were a kid today I would be incarcerated (for my own protection) by 3rd grade!  At 9 I was carrying my own pocket knife – and I carried one until “9/11.”

So, rather than anguish what my grand kids will never have, what they will never know, I tend to retreat into the recess of my mind, and savor the childhood I had…

“Play dates?”  Katie, Delaney, Garrett, Riley, Noah and Evan are SO screwed!  And they will never know it…

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Fine Dining at Red Robin

We have a chain of burger joints here in NW Ohio, “Red Robin.”  They serve good burgers, and great fries.  A while back, my “Burger Low Level” light came on, so I stopped by to rectify the problem.

When my server came up she asked what I wanted so I told her, “A cheeseburger, with fires.”

“And, how would you like your burger,” she asked.

“Medium rare,” I replied.

“Oh, we don’t serve burgers medium rare, Sir,” she told me.

“Why not?”

“Well Sir, it’s for your own protection.”  Of course it is – isn’t everything today?

So, I just sat there, staring at the menu, somewhat astounded.

“Sir?” she asked again.

“Well,” I replied, “I don’t know what I want, now.  I thought I wanted a medium-rare burger.  I have a master’s degree in management, have flown ‘fast-moving’ jets for years – I kinda thought that I would know what I wanted – but I guess I don’t.  This is distressing – not knowing what I want for lunch.  Maybe they shouldn’t allow me out of the home unsupervised.”  And I just looked up at her, with a somewhat perplexed look on my face…

Now she was becoming distressed!  So I asked her, “Where is your manager?”

She pointed to this “kid” standing about 20 feet away; a guy in a tie, looking pretty.  I then told her, “Why don’t you just go over to him, and the 2 of you take a hard look at me for a bit.  Then you two decide what I want.  It doesn’t matter to me anymore – I obviously, don’t know what the hell I am thinking!”

“Sir?” she asked, not quite believing what I just told her.

“I’m serious, it doesn’t matter anymore.  Just like at the home, just bring something to me you two think I would like – except oatmeal.  I am tired of oatmeal.”

And so, off she went. ..

I was dying inside, watching those two!   And not long after their conference, my lunch arrived – a medium-rare cheeseburger, with fries!

(Thanks John, for the inspiration to write this story… its been ‘in here’ for a while!)

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The Return to Say “Thank You”

In early September 1957 we moved into our quarters on “D” Street at Ramey AFB, Puerto Rico.  I remember that first bright, sunny Thursday, when Mom came home from the Commissary with a trunk load of groceries.  As I was helping her unload, she told me I was going to catechism on Saturday.

“Well, okay then,” I replied, “what’s catechism?”  And she went on to explain it was Lutheran instruction for confirmation.  I didn’t ask her what ‘confirmation’ was at the time – I didn’t want to look too dumb!

For the next 3 years I attended Lutheran Catechism every Saturday morning; and beginning the 3rd year, I went twice a week – Thursdays and and Saturdays.  The pastor was Chaplain Martin Baumgaertner – what a great name for a Lutheran  minister!  And he made the instruction so much fun!  I still remember the stories… I think I may have only missed 2 or 3 classes over the 3 years.

At Confirmation, Chaplain Baumgaertner told us that at some point in our lives most of us would walk away from the church.  I remember sitting there in the pew that morning, praying that it wouldn’t be me who walked away, but somehow knowing that I would…

 confirmation_1

In June 1994 I was ‘bankrupt.’  Physically, morally, emotionally and almost financially.  Every morning I would wake up and ask God, “God, please don’t let me drink today – only to open my first Bud Light by 0830 0r 0900!”  And I would drink all day until I passed out – usually 22 – 24 cans of Bud Light.  And the next day, it would all begin all over again…

Somehow I found my way into a local Lutheran Church one morning, here in Whitehouse, OH.  I had no where else to go…

I managed to quit drinking, but I was nowhere “sober.”  For many years I fought “Bob.”  I don’t think I actually “hit bottom” until well after I quit drinking.  I didn’t know how to “surrender,” nor do I think I wanted to.  I didn’t want to drink – I had proved to myself for many, many years that Bud Light could kick my ass – I just wanted to die…

I once got to the point of actually grabbing a weapon to commit suicide.  As I sat in a Metro Park down by the river, I considered 3 options: 1. pulling the trigger, 2. drinking and 3. getting honest with myself.  I first ruled out drinking as I sure as hell didn’t want to play “Stump the Dummy” with alcohol counsellors again.  The first time was rough enough.

Considering suicide, the lessons of my catechism kept coming back to me.  I knew it is a cardinal sin to take one’s own life, and the last thing I wanted to do was piss off God.

So I sat there for over 2 hours, languishing in so much anger and angst; all I wanted to do was die.  And I was so angry at God for not allowing me to die!  And through it all, through all my anguish, that chapel at Ramey sat peacefully in my mind.  I knew from the lessons of my childhood, that my life was not mine to take…

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This meant that I had ‘to get honest’ with myself, my last option.  And probably the toughest.  Damn…

So, one of these days, I will find my way back to Ramey – to sit quietly in that chapel, to just say, “Thank You…”  I am so grateful today for discarding Options 1 and 2.

(Thanks Julian, for the picture of ‘my church.’)

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No Habba Chicken Eggs

When we flew into Saigon, in C-141s, we would often stop by the flightline cafeteria for breakfast or lunch as the aircraft was offloaded and uploaded with cargo.  At that cafeteria they had this little “mama-san,” perhaps in her early 40’s or so.  She would look up at yo and ask, all in one word, “”Watchuwant?”

Need to take a moment here to explain, the “Oriental mind” operates in a different plane that those of us in the Western culture.  Doesn’t make it “right,” or “wrong;” just different.  Knowing this, this one day we decided to have some fun.

The ‘AC,’ stepped up and told her he wanted an order of ‘chicken eggs.’  She came back at him with, “No habba chicken eggs.  Habba fried eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs ah-over easy – no habba chicken eggs.”  The AC then ordered what-ever.

I was next up to the counter.  “Watchuwant?” she asked.

“Oh,” I replied, “I’ll have an order of chicken eggs.”

“NO habba chicken eggs,” she exclaimed.  “Habba fried eggs, habba scrambled eggs,” and so forth.  I gave her my order and stepped aside for the Nav (navigator) to order.

“Whatchuwant? she asked.

“Oh, I’ll have an order of chicken eggs” he replied.

At this time her temperature began to exceed the temperature on the ramp!  She was becoming HOT!

Acting oblivious to it all while in line, the flight engineer and loadmaster also ordered “chicken eggs” when came their turn to order.  By the time we left, she was ‘on fire!’  I don’t speak Vietnamese, but I can imagine:  “Stupid Americans!  No wonder they are ‘rosing’ war!  How do they fry jets?”  And so forth…

On our way back out to the jet, we past another crew, heading to the cafeteria.  We pulled them aside and told them the “chicken eggs” that morning were OUTSTANDING!

And we wonder, “Why do they hate us so much?”

(Now I’m off to the kitchen – to fix an order of chicken eggs…)

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