"Daddy’s Uniform"
Looking up, I remember reaching for the bright green leaf whose outline was so perfect against the clear, blue sky, as if painted there. It is these memories that I cherish most. I was on daddy's shoulders, because I wanted to be taller, and I wanted to reach the leaves that were originally miles away. We were the perfect family in my eyes. My parents walked hand-in-hand, and I laughed as daddy tossed me on his shoulders. We were at a hot air balloon festival, one of the many fun events of my childhood that were spent in Heilbronn, Germany. My dad had been stationed there, and I had just started kindergarten. Life was exciting for me, and my family was what made it so.
We shared so many memorable moments together. We shared times of laughter and joy- picnics in the park, trips to the carnival, and walks through the zoo. And while every family has their moments, ours were never that bad. We ate dinner together every night, and on Sundays we always had a huge breakfast. In my eyes, life was perfect. But through the eyes of a child, life is always looked at in a brighter light than it really is. How was I to know that daddy's Army uniform meant more than just going to work? I had no idea that his uniform symbolized a fight for freedom, for the home of the brave. I would have never guessed that daddy's uniform meant that he would be taken away from us for random periods of time.
My world consisted of cereal and "The Simpsons," gumball machines, carousel rides, and journeys on daddy's shoulders. I had never heard of poverty, of innocent people dying under the strict order of a dictator, of war at all. I was a child. My small world then was as big as the one I live in now. I knew that his uniform was an ugly green and brown mixture that somehow went beyond its looks. How did I know that daddy’s purpose for his uniform encompassed so much? I didn’t. Not for a long time, either.
My dad got his first orders of deployment in 1991 for Operation Desert Storm. I was completely oblivious to what that meant, so when my parents sat me down and told me that daddy was about to leave for a long time, I simply did not understand. I knew my routine. I knew that I would see daddy everyday, always. Never would I ever have to say goodbye for more than a few hours. I didn’t have any reason to doubt that I would wake up and see daddy every morning. I knew that I would be able to hug him, laugh with him, sit on his lap and watch cartoons, eat dinner with him, get tossed in the air, and be tucked into my bed. I never guessed that all of these things would be put on hiatus. So when this did happen, I was devastated.
My mom and I had no way of communicating with daddy except through letters and the occasional phone call, which was rare. My mother came up with a creative way of letting daddy hear our voices: we recorded our voices on small cassette tapes and sent them in the mail to him. I remember making these tapes with my mom. She would ask me to recite the ABCs to my dad after I had just learned them. I was a stubborn little girl, and always trying to be funny in my own way. I pretended as if I didn’t know my ABCs, and I would wait until my mom left the room, and I’d whisper into the microphone my new capability of singing the alphabet. I was still in my own world, but I knew there was another one out there. I knew daddy was somewhere in his ugly uniform far away doing his job, and I wanted to share with him the pieces of my world that I knew he would smile at. I missed him. I longed for the dad that would carry me on his shoulders, the dad that would swing me around and laugh with me.
Operation Desert Storm was only a 6 month tour for my dad, which in comparison to other tours wasn’t that long. It’s true when they say “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.” When he came home, the three of us cherished each and every moment with each other. We eventually moved back to Texas, where I spent most of my childhood. My dad decided that active duty military wasn’t best for our family. He wanted to spend more time with us, and be able to be there more for me as I grew up. He joined the Army Reserves, and to me, it was as if Army life was over. I just missed daddy one weekend out of the month, which wasn’t that bad. It was just another job that he could come home from that very day. We even had the occasional family Christmas party that was sponsored by his new unit- 217th Transportation, also known as the “Tough ‘Ombres”. His uniform was usually tucked away, hung up in the closet behind all of the other clothes that represented so much more to me.
The years went by and I was in high school. Daddy was teaching me how to drive, which was more fun for me than it was for him. He was worried about the boys asking his little girl on a date. He played pranks on me throughout the week. I was quite the daddy’s girl. Nothing changed. So how was I to know that daddy would go away again? His ugly uniform was still tucked away in the back of the closet, only coming out every now and then. I barely ever saw it. All I knew was that his uniform meant business. It meant that he had work to do, and while I still associated it with him being away, I had conveniently forgotten that it also meant he could leave for a long time, too. But why would I worry about that? It had been over 10 years since he was gone last.
When those two towers fell, I knew something had happened. I knew that people were taking action against people that didn’t like us Americans. I knew that somehow daddy’s uniform was linked to this. The news had constantly talked about what was next, and I never thought it would be real until it came out of daddy’s mouth. Until I heard it in person, I wouldn’t believe it. My world began to broaden when I heard it at a fast food bar-b-q place that my mom, daddy, and Ryder, one of his soldiers, ate at. Then I heard it. Ryder said those words I just didn’t want to believe.
“Yeah, we’re going to war again.”
I figured that if I just kept eating and jokingly said, “Whatever,” that it wouldn’t be true. But when daddy nodded in agreement, I knew my world was being broadened and changed. I could comprehend the seriousness of it all now. I knew that those two towers being hit meant so much more than buildings falling. I knew that it meant more than attack. It meant that innocent lives were lost, and if nothing was done, it could happen again. So when daddy wanted to talk to me alone a few days later, I knew what was coming. I knew that the uniform would be out for a long time. The old green and brown uniform had been upgraded to a new digital green one, as if to say that this time, it was different. And it was.
Daddy was gone for a year. Twice. Operation Iraqi Freedom. I was a girl that was used to coming home to silly pranks, like daddy waiting behind the door as I closed it from the front. He knew he could get me every time. I was used to the Sunday morning breakfasts, and the grilled ribs on holiday weekends. But no, he was gone. I spent all of my junior year of high school, with my brand new driver’s license, without my dad. I spent my junior year of college without him, too. I couldn’t just call when I wanted to. I had to wait. But I learned a lot when he was gone. Mom and I grew closer. We’d send him care packages, and make sure that he always had a letter or e-mail coming his way. I learned that daddy was doing something that went beyond the normal job I thought it was as a child. Daddy’s uniform represented more than that.
Now that he’s home, and about to retire from the military after 27 years, I know that daddy’s uniform represents freedom, love, and standing up for those who can’t help themselves. Daddy’s purpose in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Kuwait went so beyond what most people do in their lives. All of the soldiers in that uniform work, fight, and stand up for what we cherish everyday. Those memories that we have with our families- they are supported by those men in those ugly uniforms. And while those uniforms appear ugly on the outside, they are actually something so much more beautiful.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
"Creative Nonfiction Memoir" - Advanced Composition and Creative Writing
Here's a story I had to write for two of my classes. It's just a rough draft, so if I make any more changes, they will be posted. Thank you, Lauren, for inspiring me to post it!! :)More items are to come, like poetry, and fiction :)
My Wake-Up Call
I remember the feeling of running into a brick wall, even though I hadn't. I remember knowing I was in pain, but feeling the numbness around my face. I remember thinking, "I really hope someone comes find me soon, because I might die soon." I could smell the horrible scent of blood and feel its warmth all around my face, knowing something bad had happened. It felt like minutes before someone had found me, but in reality, it was just an instant.
It was my freshman year of college, and I didn’t expect to hate it so much. Actually, I had been looking forward to college my whole life. Well, at least since 7th grade. When I previewed at UMHB, I loved it. It was the exact opposite of my high school experience- a big school that often made me feel unsafe when I walked the hallways. Previewing at UMHB seemed to give me the answer to the question I had asked for many years, “Where will I spend the best 4 years of my life at?” You can imagine my disappointment when I didn’t enjoy it, well, hated it my freshman year. Looking back, it wasn’t UMHB that I hated, it was my life, but we’ll get to that later.
When I walked on campus for the first time without my parents, I felt independent. I had a huge smile spread across my face that was hard to take off. What changed? Well, life happened. It was about 3 months into my first semester, and I felt like I had no friends. Not a single person. I began to look around at everyone and think that it just wasn’t fair. I thought I was a decent person, so why didn’t I have any friends? Then, my lack of friendships began to turn into judgments. I began crying randomly, and spent as much time in my small dorm room as possible. I didn’t want to be near people. I began feeling different. A change had happened that was so unexpected for me, the girl that was usually pretty happy. But this change wasn’t only inside. I began to look in the mirror and feel as if my appearance was changing, too. My eyes were getting very swollen, and I thought I was growing into someone I didn’t want to be. I even told my mom that I thought I was ugly. I began to gain weight, and blamed all of it on the stereotypical college experience. I was gaining the “Freshman 15” that I had heard so much about. Staying up late to study was to blame for my swollen eyes. Yet somehow I felt like the only student that was going through this. As I looked around me in class or in the cafeteria, everyone seemed so happy and content with the group of friends that they were making. I simply felt alone, and I was to blame.
It wasn’t until the last month of my first semester that I made a real friend. Her name was Rachel, and she “took me in” and introduced me to her group of friends. They were all so accepting, and my judgmental feelings for people began to diminish. We had movie nights and ate dinner together. I felt like I was finally making the friends that I was praying for. One of Rachel’s friends, Lauren, invited me to work out with her and go running. We decided to do the treadmill, and I thought I’d be great at it since I ran in high school. When I placed my hands on the pulse sensor, it told me my heart rate was in the 80s as I was running. I thought this was funny since I was running so hard, but figured that the treadmill was just malfunctioning. I noticed Lauren running a lot faster than me, and thinking, “Why can’t I run as fast as I used to?” Despite my new friends’ kindness, I still somehow felt different in a negative way.
Even though I had made some friends near the end of my first semester, I went home for Christmas break and found myself not wanting to go back. I wasn’t looking forward to a brand new semester because it held the unknown, and I wasn’t ready for it. This wasn’t the person I thought I’d be. I wanted to look forward to my college experience while I was in college- I didn’t want it to be something I dreaded. So, after an enjoyable holiday spent with my family, I went back to school with not much excitement. I went to classes, but found myself falling asleep in them, even when I would try to do my homework. I would get frustrated and blame myself for motivation. Who was this person I was becoming? How did the girl that was in all honors classes in high school become this slacker? I felt as if everything that was happening was my fault. Having friends didn’t help with my random moments of crying, and the constant feeling of being overwhelmed. I was at the end of my rope, questioning God and even being angry at Him.
It wasn’t until that morning, when the color red was what I opened my eyes to. When the whole world seemed to stop and all I could feel was the pain in my head. I remember thinking I was dead, or that I would be soon. But then I heard it. “Krista!” “Krista can you hear me?” “Are you okay?” I felt embarrassed. I had fallen and I was to blame for the blood on the bathroom floor. I was scared to move and look at myself in the mirror because I knew I fell directly on my face. I had never had such deep pain anywhere in my body. But I felt it. I felt it, even thought the pain was so intense that it numbed itself away. I felt that my face was different. My roommate, RA and RD were all there to help me. They eventually got me to my bed, and all I could say was, “I fell. How did I fall?” They asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, and I declined, mainly out of embarrassment. I wanted to study for my British Literature test that was taking place the next morning. I walked around campus feeling the stares. But who wouldn’t stare? I was a girl with two black eyes, a broken nose, and 2 chipped teeth. I’m sure there were questions, but I began to enter a state of apathy. I was so focused on the lingering pain that none of it even mattered anymore.
It wasn’t until two days later that I finally went to the hospital. My parents drove up, and the instant my mother saw me she began to cry. I had never seen her cry so much, and it was as if her tears washed my apathy away. The doctors took so many tests, but couldn’t find the problem. I thought the worst of things, “I have leukemia.” I really thought I was going to die. They had told me that I could have a seizure and that they needed to take more tests. I was so scared, but my parents stayed by my side the whole time. I ended up staying the whole night, and it wasn’t until the next morning that the news came. The doctors came in, and they told us that I had hypothyroidism, cardiac-effusion, and anemia. They told me that hypothyroidism causes weight gain, depression and consistent fatigue. The cardiac-effusion was a fluid around my heart that was causing my heart to beat slower than normal. The doctors then told my family and me that I was very lucky. They said that the state of my heart was so intense that if I wouldn’t have passed out, I could’ve died of a heart attack a week later. Everyone says that God tripped me that morning, which is probably true. I needed a wake-up call, even if it meant going through such a hard trial such as that. After my week of recovery in the hospital, I decided to take the semester off to regain my strength. God used that time to teach me that life is so precious and it is to be cherished. He was teaching me that I did matter, and that He is my strength. I am very thankful for the lessons learned. Sometimes you just need a wake-up call.
My Wake-Up Call
I remember the feeling of running into a brick wall, even though I hadn't. I remember knowing I was in pain, but feeling the numbness around my face. I remember thinking, "I really hope someone comes find me soon, because I might die soon." I could smell the horrible scent of blood and feel its warmth all around my face, knowing something bad had happened. It felt like minutes before someone had found me, but in reality, it was just an instant.
It was my freshman year of college, and I didn’t expect to hate it so much. Actually, I had been looking forward to college my whole life. Well, at least since 7th grade. When I previewed at UMHB, I loved it. It was the exact opposite of my high school experience- a big school that often made me feel unsafe when I walked the hallways. Previewing at UMHB seemed to give me the answer to the question I had asked for many years, “Where will I spend the best 4 years of my life at?” You can imagine my disappointment when I didn’t enjoy it, well, hated it my freshman year. Looking back, it wasn’t UMHB that I hated, it was my life, but we’ll get to that later.
When I walked on campus for the first time without my parents, I felt independent. I had a huge smile spread across my face that was hard to take off. What changed? Well, life happened. It was about 3 months into my first semester, and I felt like I had no friends. Not a single person. I began to look around at everyone and think that it just wasn’t fair. I thought I was a decent person, so why didn’t I have any friends? Then, my lack of friendships began to turn into judgments. I began crying randomly, and spent as much time in my small dorm room as possible. I didn’t want to be near people. I began feeling different. A change had happened that was so unexpected for me, the girl that was usually pretty happy. But this change wasn’t only inside. I began to look in the mirror and feel as if my appearance was changing, too. My eyes were getting very swollen, and I thought I was growing into someone I didn’t want to be. I even told my mom that I thought I was ugly. I began to gain weight, and blamed all of it on the stereotypical college experience. I was gaining the “Freshman 15” that I had heard so much about. Staying up late to study was to blame for my swollen eyes. Yet somehow I felt like the only student that was going through this. As I looked around me in class or in the cafeteria, everyone seemed so happy and content with the group of friends that they were making. I simply felt alone, and I was to blame.
It wasn’t until the last month of my first semester that I made a real friend. Her name was Rachel, and she “took me in” and introduced me to her group of friends. They were all so accepting, and my judgmental feelings for people began to diminish. We had movie nights and ate dinner together. I felt like I was finally making the friends that I was praying for. One of Rachel’s friends, Lauren, invited me to work out with her and go running. We decided to do the treadmill, and I thought I’d be great at it since I ran in high school. When I placed my hands on the pulse sensor, it told me my heart rate was in the 80s as I was running. I thought this was funny since I was running so hard, but figured that the treadmill was just malfunctioning. I noticed Lauren running a lot faster than me, and thinking, “Why can’t I run as fast as I used to?” Despite my new friends’ kindness, I still somehow felt different in a negative way.
Even though I had made some friends near the end of my first semester, I went home for Christmas break and found myself not wanting to go back. I wasn’t looking forward to a brand new semester because it held the unknown, and I wasn’t ready for it. This wasn’t the person I thought I’d be. I wanted to look forward to my college experience while I was in college- I didn’t want it to be something I dreaded. So, after an enjoyable holiday spent with my family, I went back to school with not much excitement. I went to classes, but found myself falling asleep in them, even when I would try to do my homework. I would get frustrated and blame myself for motivation. Who was this person I was becoming? How did the girl that was in all honors classes in high school become this slacker? I felt as if everything that was happening was my fault. Having friends didn’t help with my random moments of crying, and the constant feeling of being overwhelmed. I was at the end of my rope, questioning God and even being angry at Him.
It wasn’t until that morning, when the color red was what I opened my eyes to. When the whole world seemed to stop and all I could feel was the pain in my head. I remember thinking I was dead, or that I would be soon. But then I heard it. “Krista!” “Krista can you hear me?” “Are you okay?” I felt embarrassed. I had fallen and I was to blame for the blood on the bathroom floor. I was scared to move and look at myself in the mirror because I knew I fell directly on my face. I had never had such deep pain anywhere in my body. But I felt it. I felt it, even thought the pain was so intense that it numbed itself away. I felt that my face was different. My roommate, RA and RD were all there to help me. They eventually got me to my bed, and all I could say was, “I fell. How did I fall?” They asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital, and I declined, mainly out of embarrassment. I wanted to study for my British Literature test that was taking place the next morning. I walked around campus feeling the stares. But who wouldn’t stare? I was a girl with two black eyes, a broken nose, and 2 chipped teeth. I’m sure there were questions, but I began to enter a state of apathy. I was so focused on the lingering pain that none of it even mattered anymore.
It wasn’t until two days later that I finally went to the hospital. My parents drove up, and the instant my mother saw me she began to cry. I had never seen her cry so much, and it was as if her tears washed my apathy away. The doctors took so many tests, but couldn’t find the problem. I thought the worst of things, “I have leukemia.” I really thought I was going to die. They had told me that I could have a seizure and that they needed to take more tests. I was so scared, but my parents stayed by my side the whole time. I ended up staying the whole night, and it wasn’t until the next morning that the news came. The doctors came in, and they told us that I had hypothyroidism, cardiac-effusion, and anemia. They told me that hypothyroidism causes weight gain, depression and consistent fatigue. The cardiac-effusion was a fluid around my heart that was causing my heart to beat slower than normal. The doctors then told my family and me that I was very lucky. They said that the state of my heart was so intense that if I wouldn’t have passed out, I could’ve died of a heart attack a week later. Everyone says that God tripped me that morning, which is probably true. I needed a wake-up call, even if it meant going through such a hard trial such as that. After my week of recovery in the hospital, I decided to take the semester off to regain my strength. God used that time to teach me that life is so precious and it is to be cherished. He was teaching me that I did matter, and that He is my strength. I am very thankful for the lessons learned. Sometimes you just need a wake-up call.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Creative Outlet
I'm hoping that this can become a place for me to write stories, thoughts, poems, etc. So, stay tuned! I've been to knwn to think some pretty interesting thoughts :)
-k.q.
-k.q.
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