Living in the Family of Thousands

Living in the Family of Thousands

Living in the Family of Thousands

My mom married him when I was six
He'd done nothing else since his 18th
He's retired now, I give a sigh of relief aloud

There are things I won't miss,
Things that make me pissed.

I won't miss the Artillery on sundy morn
The fly-boys buzzing the house in their jets.

Navy guys. 'nuff said.

My youth, spread across a country

Making new friends, leaving the old ones behind
Always starting over.

New teachers who don't understand army brats,
and punish them for it

The sounds of screaming drill
Always so shrill

Seeing your mom kiss him good bye at the Airport,
while the civi's stare, knowing where he's going.

Being a single parent family again.

The base holding its breath,
Knowing someone's been killed,
Waiting for the Base commander and the padre,
and the guilt from praying its not yours.

The waiting.

Military Funerals.

The Gunfire.

The injuries.

The stress.

Your dad's occasional blank stare,
from things no one should ever see.

And the worst of it all
thing thing that really gets my ire.

People who think of you less.
'cause you're in the family of thousands.

And there are things I miss,
The things that make me cry.

The people who cheered,
when Dad came home.

The friendships,
Bonded by the above no civi would understand.

Seeing my Dad promoted.
Seeing him Decorated.

Watching him on Parade,
Chest held high with Pride.
"There goes Dad!"

The safety and security from knowing
There's always an MP with nothing to do.

The latrine shoveling of a wife beater on exercise,
and the surprise that's waiting for him in the dark,
He shouldn't of made everyone else look bad.
It only happens once.

Always knowing someone's got your back,
'cause you're in the family of thousands.

And I'm grateful for many things.
For thing goodness and charity of others.

For the flight home on Christmas,
After the crash,
Thousands of miles from home,
In that Hercules,
and the angels(Nurses?) on board who cared for us.
For helping me forget I was hurt so bad.

For the community who met us at home.
For the base surgeon who kept in touch with my doc,

Coming home to a house fully decorated,
complete with a tree, and presents,
to replace those smashed and scattered on the highway,

For the base Padre,
"Don't worry for a thing, The God-squad's here"

Is it easy?
No, it never is.

Does it hurt?
At times it does.

Do I wish things were different?
No, can't say I do.

Cause I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Living in the family of thousands.