I tend to think of myself as a military brat, but it’s a little more complicated than that.
When I look back on my childhood, I was practically a nomad until I was ten years old. I’ve been told by others that my life would make for an interesting book. Perhaps they’re right.
My Grandpa Rodgers’ health had been declining for the past few years.
In 2008, about six months after I’d separated from the Air Force, he suffered a stroke. Since I’d moved back to California after my military career ended, visiting him at the hospital in Fontana was relatively easy. Seeing him in that state, however, was not.
I started off 2004 on a high note. I was granted permission at the end of 2003 to move off base, and I was living in an apartment complex just across the street from the South end of Nellis Air Force Base. It was a one-bedroom, and it was the first time I had ever had a place that was completely my own. My dad gave me a kitchen table and chairs that he was no longer using, and I packed it into the back of my car during my visit at Christmas.
After returning to Nellis Air Force Base from my brief deployment in the Middle East, I was granted leave time. I drove out to visit my dad and his side of the family in California. While my relationship with my father hadn’t been the best since my parents divorced when I was young, the events of the past year had begun to force me to reconsider everything I thought that I knew.
I had a big surprise waiting when I got home for Christmas – my sister got married on my first day back.
