When a service member separates from the military, they become a retiree or a veteran. They’re still celebrated on Veterans Day, and if you’ve ever been to a sporting event where all those who are serving or have served were asked to stand, you know the recognition extends to any patriotic holiday.
And rightfully so — they served to defend our freedoms. You’ll always find me clapping loudly and forcing my humble husband to stand up and be recognized. There are license plate frames and those sweet, sweet hats that let the world know there’s a veteran present. There are annual sales that are extended to us — just one more reason to shower veterans with appreciation.
As the spouse of a retiree, I am grateful that many of the earned benefits and discounts extend to me. No one got me a hat, but I’ll persevere. But what about our kids? This time last year, they were military kids — the only kind of kids they knew how to be.
Now, they’re not anymore. Are they former military kids? Veteran kids? A veteran’s kids? We can workshop the phrasing, but my concern remains the same: Our kids — and all military (and former military) — kids served too.
If you’ve ever held your child as they cried because they missed their deployed parent, because they’re devastated to leave their friends or because they were having trouble fitting in at a new school, you know without a doubt that military kids make sacrifices that aren’t recognized when their parent separates from the military.
There are no identifying hats or license plate frames for them. No discounts, no holidays. They’ll eventually lose their military ID cards, base privileges and their health insurance — but hey, that endearing nickname of “brat” is for life (she said sarcastically).
I’ve heard my own husband (a military brat) lean on that statement anytime he’s asked where he’s from. And what I find interesting only now that he has retired — I’m no longer a military spouse and the kids are no longer military kids — is that he always uses it in the present tense. It’s never: “I was a military brat.” It’s always: “I am a military brat.”
This small distinction is important, and not just because I’m an English-language nerd who geeks out over a hearty debate on usage and tense. Continuing to claim that title after military retirement or separation — even well into their adulthood — signals that being a military child wasn’t just a thing he did for a few years.
It is part of his makeup. The places he lived while his dad served opened him up to new places, shaped his social skills and made him great at adapting and flexing when needed.
I’ve seen the same impact on our own kids. They’ve experienced lifestyles and cultures all over the United States and all over the world. Military life has made them curious, inclusive and flexible.
It’s made them expert packers and unpackers — independent, resourceful, respectful and patient(ish). And for better or worse, it’s pushed them to grow up a little faster than many of their civilian peers and taught them not to take moments and special people for granted.
None of that goes away when their parent leaves the military. It’s in their makeup (as is their knack for sarcasm, but I’m taking most of the credit for that). Our time as a military family might be past tense now, but we go forward writing our next chapters shaped by the experiences behind us.
For all the moves, all the schools, all the nights missing their dad, for all the times their mom forgot something because she had too much on her plate — for their service and for their sacrifice — I’m going to go ahead and celebrate our kids during the Month of the Military Child.
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