She Won't Remember...

This week I was watching Sam-I-Am excitedly yell "helicopper! hellicopper!" as a helicopter landed pretty much in our backyard and the moment made me overwhelmingly sad. Right now, when her dad goes to "work" he drives a HMMWV (humvee), his office is in the middle of the desert (The Box), and he's training/testing fellow Soldiers to make sure they're ready for whatever Army may throw at them. He sleeps in the back of a vehicle without doors or windows, under the stars. He's found 800 different ways to eat grilled meat. He speaks several new "languages": Scorpion Team verbage, OPS Group verbage, and just general desert-isms. He wears a uniform that has been out in the sun so much it's almost white. He wears boots that are so caked in dirt that the one time it rains every time he's out in the box, the rain just beads off his boots. He comes home dirtier than I ever thought possible, until the next Rotation. He never ceases to be amazed at what the Rotational Unit (RTU) did this rotation. And she won't remember any of this.

She won't remember a time when her dad was gone fighting a war for her freedom. She won't remember a time when he wore his Dress Blues for formal events--fussing the whole time about being in a monkey suit. She won't remember the tanks and bradleys that were more normal to see than not. She won't remember being able to tell when the Rotational Unit had arrived due to the lines at Subway. She won't remember the sand storm that always rolled in as the RTU rolled out to The Box. She won't remember the piles of painted rocks left for us by those who came before. She won't remember the crappy housing that we all had, but made the best out of. She won't remember the sadness and worry that went along with Deployment Ceremonies and she won't remember the joy that oozed from everywhere at Homecoming Ceremonies. She won't remember how peaceful, sad, rejoice-full, excruciatingly painful, and hopeful Taps sounds at 11pm from the post loudspeaker. She won't remember being the only one who didn't freak out every time there was a sonic boom. She won't remember playing "beat the Flag!" our desperate attempt to get to the Commissary before they started the Flag lowering ceremony and clogged the intersection for 10 minutes.

Soon her dad will get up, put on a different outfit every day and go to work for not days at a time. Soon, her dad will start doing bedtime routine because he's able to. Soon, she won't be moving from house to house. Soon, not every dad will look just like her dad. Soon, she'll have grocery stores, Wal-Marts, Targets, and gas stations instead of Commissaries, PXs, and Shopettes. Soon, her dad won't be bringing all of his friends home via Radio. Soon, seeing a Soldier will be an out of the ordinary thing (except for family reunions...). Soon, she'll never really understand why The Star Spangled Banner and Amazing Grace by bagpipe makes her mommy sniffle sob.

But she'll always know about how lucky she was that her dad was a Soldier. She'll always be proud of him for protecting her and her country. She'll always pray for those who continue to serve their country and fight for our freedoms at whatever the costs.

We won't let her forget.