It’s that time of year again. The celebration of our country’s freedom. The 4th of July remains one of my favorite holidays and, yet, I have a confession to make.
I hate fireworks.
O.K. Hate is kind of harsh. I strongly dislike fireworks. I’m not talking sparklers or the kiddy pack from Black Cat. Nope, what I dislike are the “BOOM” or “Pop.Pop.Pop” fireworks that stop me in my tracks for a half-second as I survey my surroundings. Many don’t realize that fireworks, a tool used to celebrate our freedom and those that fought for freedom, sound exactly like mortars and gunfire.
MORTARS AND GUNFIRE! Oh the irony. Let me first be clear to state that I’ve never faced direct gunfire or watched a mortar fall. I spent my last deployment in Baghdad on a protected Forward Operating Base. Protected, but not sound proof. There wasn’t a day I spent there that I didn’t hear gunfire or explosions. Some were close enough to shake my bed as I slept, while others were far enough to cause a slight pause before my next bite of chow.
A few months after returning from my last deployment, a new hospital only a half-mile from our house celebrated their grand opening with a surprise fireworks display. I was in bed asleep, when BOOOMMM. I sat up in bed. BOOOOOM. BOOOOM. BOOOOM. Tearing off the sheets I ran to our spare bedroom just as the crackle of the flares hit the sky. As I reached the window and saw the massive display of color right above the house, my heart slowed back to its normal beat. In that moment, I understood why veterans never flock to fireworks displays. Fireworks stop my pulse for a brief second, but imagine the reaction of an infantry veteran when surprised by an unexpected explosion, a combat survivor when the rattle of a fireworks display takes him back to a fire fight.
Do I want all fireworks displays cancelled? Fireworks banned in the United States? No. Continue to celebrate with bombs bursting in air on the 4th of July, however, please, please, only on the 4th of July. Respect veterans that fought for freedom by saving fireworks for the national holiday and only that day. Oh and don’t worry about me on Sunday. About the time the 1812 Overture plays, I’ll be snuggled on the couch watching it on television. Happy Independence Day!
You’d think I’d be used to this by now. With two deployments and numerous Army training separations, I feel mentally prepared to spend some time away from my family. Emotionally? Well, try not to ask me right after I’ve called home.
I’m trying to stay positive. South Carolina isn’t as far as my trip to South Korea this past March and the boys are in great hands with loving grandparents. Haus is loaded up with work and has our dog to keep him company while he plays Xbox, I mean, ahem… completes projects around the house.
The kids have yet to complain about their vacation to Grandpa and Grandma’s farm. At this very second, they are roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. Grandma set up a theme for every day of the two weeks we’ll be apart. Today was camping day. When asked if he wanted to talk to me again (o.k., so I’ve called them three times today), 4 and 1/2 year old Bubba replied, “No, thanks” and “Oh Grandma, think we can buy those irrigation boots?”.
Perhaps I will take a good friend’s advice and enjoy this solitude as much as I can. Soon enough I’ll be back to tantrums and dirty diapers. Amazing that even a day without my little ones the dreaded disciplining and diapers don’t seem so bad. So here’s hoping the next two weeks fly by. One thing I have learned over the years is homesickness has a way of vanishing the instant I see outstretched arms accompanied by an exuberant “MOMMY!”
“So, wait, your husband is NOT in the military?” Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been asked this question. I’ve always joked that there is enough Army in me for the two of us and wasn’t surprised to read recently that less than 6% of male military spouses are civilians. Most of the time, if a wife is in the military, her husband is also. I haven’t been able to find Army specific statistics, but comparatively the Army has less females than the Navy and Air Force so I’m sure the civilian male spouse percentage is even lower.
Neither Hubby or I knew what we were facing when we jumped into the Army life a little over eight years ago. Reality set in quickly when we moved into our first home, an on-post cinder block duplex in El Paso, Texas. Hubby started to despise getting groceries as a quick stop for eggs meant some drill sergeant accosting him about his sideburn length. Or how about the time he was told by the gate guard he couldn’t drive on post unless he took out his earring (an offense for a soldier, not a spouse)? That first year was tough on both of us, but especially tough on Hubby. He was still trying to figure out being married to me (a full time job for those of you that know me), let alone being thrust into an unfamiliar environment.
We combated assumptions with humor. One of my favorite things was to have him pick me up from work. Not sure why, but after announcing to other male soldiers in the unit that I was NOT married to a soldier, they immediately pictured my husband as a 5’5″ one hundred pound wisp of a man that straggled behind me with a sad puppy face. Imagine their surprise when my bronzed Hubby stepped out of our car, a 6’5″ two hundred and fifty pounder with Defensive Line written all over him. I’m still laughing at their reaction! Time went on and Hubby grew his buzz cut out and perfected a sole-patch under his lower lip in rebellion to Army standards. These subtle changes dramatically reduced the “Hey TROOP!” or “SOLDIER, why you out of uniform?” comments he previously received living on post.
Both deployments, Hubby’s position became invaluable. During my first deployment, he was a comfort to our Family Readiness Group, an organization dedicated to supporting families while their soldier is away. As the only male in this spouse support group, he served as Mr. Fix-it and human-kiddo-jungle-gym at meetings. We were stationed in Colorado for my second tour and Hubby became a single dad with an eighteen month old. Where do I begin to express my gratitude for such a task?
We’ve traded roles recently as he heads off to work while I stay at home with our boys. Thinking back to those first few years, it’s hard for me to now complain about Hubby’s work stuff left in a trail from the door when he comes home or the fact that he lets snooze go off five times before getting up. He never complained about anything during my active duty days, including my sleeping cot to cot with a bunch of dudes during field exercises or his required attendance as the only suit in a room of dress uniforms at military balls. I know that I couldn’t have done the Army without him and he’s certainly left big shoes to fill.
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