Freedom, In Practice
This July, with the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, I find myself more reflective than usual about my relationship with my country. That relationship started long before I became a military spouse and has always been a present part of my life, but it’s evolved over the years.
I spent my young childhood in New England, where revolutionary history feels close, and the stories of the revolutionaries — their bravery and their ideals — sparked my young imagination. I spent long afternoons with dog-eared revolutionary historical fiction, relishing the books with young female heroines. My prized possession was a redheaded doll named Felicity, a colonial girl with a revolutionary spirit who may have influenced my adult hair color and, in some ways, my career.
As I grew up, that imagination turned academic. I studied political science, interned in the U.S. Senate and spent law school buried in the nuances of the Constitution and criminal law. Eventually, the theory became practical. I joined a federal law enforcement agency and took an oath to support and defend the Constitution. I genuinely loved the mission of serving and protecting my community. Then, while working at headquarters in Washington, D.C., I met a Marine.
My relationship with my country evolved yet again. Although I was already deeply committed to public service, becoming a military spouse closed any remaining gap between my personal life and the United States. My most personal decisions, such as when to have a baby, have been made in the context of the needs of the military and the country.
Those same realities ultimately led me to step away from my own career after 12 years: a PCS move to a location far from even a satellite office, combined with the near impossibility of securing emergency child care if both my husband and I were called to respond at the same time.
And now, this year especially, as I watch multiple unfolding military conflicts on the news, I’m no longer a removed citizen. I’m a military spouse and a mother, wondering when, and for how long, my husband is going to be gone.
In quiet moments, I think, why did we choose this for ourselves, for our family? How do I explain daddy’s military service to my children, who only know that their dad left unexpectedly on Christmas Day?
The answer I come to, again and again, is the same thing that touched my little girl heart all those years ago. The American ideals that we believe to be self-evident and hold dear — freedom, equality, justice — are worthy and still worth working toward. They aren’t just old words; they are goals we’re trying to reach — for our family, our community and our country. It may look different for each of us, but I think we’re all aiming for the same place.
Right now, my children are little. They don’t understand mommy’s abstract pontifications about the nuances of freedom. (My law degree is wasted on them.) In some ways, though, that’s good for me. It brings me back down to earth, to what matters most in our country and in our home.
At this age, my children can understand these principles in simple ways. They learn about freedom at the dinner table, during rousing conversation where sometimes we disagree but always, always love each other.
They learn about equality in the neighborhood, when we invite all the kids to join in our games. And they learn about justice at the playground, where we talk about how the rules apply to everyone, and why we speak up when we see someone being treated unfairly.
My relationship with my country is no longer the uncomplicated love of a child reading a storybook — it’s more informed, more nuanced, more lived — but that childhood spark remains. I read those opening paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence and still find myself thinking, “Yes, they were really onto something here.”
It’s that something that reaffirms my hope for my country, for the ideals we’re striving to embody. It’s that something I keep coming back to in our service through all the seasons of my life.
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