My memories basically begin at age 5.  Prior to that I was living with contestant involvement from every corner of my extended family but much of that time is lost to me.  How can this be?  Because in a matter of days – almost everything I ever know and loved was taken from me, ripped away and to a 5-year-old this is the equivalent to the end of the world.

            I had my mother, father and brother but that was it.  It’s a hell of a hard thing for a kid to understand and deal with but I’ve always been a survivor.  I remember my baby brother asleep in my mothers arms as she carried 3 bags and had me holding on to her shirt determined not to get lost across the acres of nighttime blacktop that separated us “military folk” from the other travelers.  I missed my grandma and my cousins and the rest of the gang.  I missed my second language and couldn’t understand the words I saw at the airport even though I could read fairly well at that age.  To say the least it was devastating but I was too scared to let my parents know, I was afraid that if I did, they would send me back by myself – I know that’s irrational but I was a kid – what did I know.

            To survive as a Military Brat you have to keep going no matter what happens and this is exactly what I did.  I spent 3 years in Germany and made friends with people from all over the world.  I saw different countries and fell in love with a multitude of cultures, the world was awesome and I was walking in it, loving every minute of it.

            There was a down side.  Sometimes my friends would move and I’d miss them but it didn’t hit me until it was my turn to leave – I was going away from everything I knew and loved…again.

            Imagine this, every friend you have, every teacher, co-worker, student, neighbor, store, road, country – is taken from you.  You move somewhere new with people that think you’re weird when you say things in a different language.  People who don’t believe you when you point to a picture in a history book and begin to tell them how the story is wrong.  The clothes you wear are completely different from anything sold or worn and you have strange and upsetting ideas of who you can/can’t talk to.  This is what it is like to move away and for an 8 year old it was hell.