Friday, April 24, 2015

Pringle Way [Guest Post]

I can easily identify some of the pivotal people in my life who, early on, shaped me into the woman I am today. Gretchen Christopherson, or Gretchen McLean as I knew her, is undoubtedly one of the most influential. I used to live in a small town, on a little street, with a yard filled with pine trees. Gretchen lived three houses down. She was my best friend by proxy and also my nemesis. By proxy because she was actually my older sister Emma's best friend and since I was the two-years-younger glasses-wearing-little-sister, I felt the need to argue with Gretchen over nothing and everything. The messes I got myself into 'cause of them two, the hours I spent in time out, and the seconds I spent trying to convince them I was cool, took up a chunk of my childhood. Embedded within those years, were the few rare times that it was just Gretchen and I, one of those times resulted in the two of us illustrating a mural on her driveway, in crayola crayons. Whoops, or shit dammit (according to our parents) I will never forget the two of us scrubbing her driveway with one hand while eating grilled cheese sandwiches (that my mom made for us) with our other hand. Who cleans with two hands anyway..

The other times I hung out with EmmaMae and Gretchen usually involved me cleaning Gretchen's bedroom while they did fun and important things. The thing is, they weren't bullies per se, but.. I was cleaning her room, even if I thought it was my idea, let's face it... It probably wasn't. Her dogs scared me always, her pool was my sanctuary, and every morning I got chewed out by the whole car pool crowd while we waited for me to finally put on my seat belt (because I refused). I had my first taste of Nutella in the McLean household. Surprisingly, I remember a great deal from that time. Gretchen was an extreme sass machine and she and I scared the bejeezus out of our neighborhood because we were constantly competing for Sass Ass Queen. I'm not exaggerating, she and I had some sort of illness where we were sass from sun up to sun down. Like heaven help all those other kids that walked home the same route as us, I'm sure none of them have ever been the same. Gretchen always had my sister's back, when Emm was beating up the second grader nincompoop that tried to choke me (a kindergartner) out, Gretchen was sitting on the curb holding me as tightly as she could. Then when we finally skidaddled home she bursted through our front door screamin' " Ms. Kim, Ms. Kim get ahold of the principal we gotta problem" and helped us tell the tale and iterate that this was in no way our fault. That's a story for another day though (Emma and the ass kickings she gave people on my behalf) {disclaimer: Emm basically just had to look at them and they'd run the other way}. So, those two gave me street cred, that I desperately needed because my mouth got me into a mess of trouble.

I was talking to Gretchen on AIM once when my dad was deployed to Afghanistan, we were catching up and she said "Wait, whatttt...you ain't pregnant or in jail yet? The whole neighborhood thought you were gonna grow up wild wild". Clearly she was joking but also not, I had this whole brainiac wild child thing down pat. The conversation shifted and Gretchen reminded me that my dad being gone didn't warrant me anything, no excuses, no free passes, and certainly no permission to act out. Maybe I needed the reminder, maybe I didn't but Gretchen and I had that kind of relationship. Nowadays we send emails periodically and for awhile we'd text every now and then, but we still have a relationship where we protect one another, love one another, and most importantly (to me) we understand one another. It's so hard to find someone that gets it and that's why I write this blog. I write this blog because I remember a time in my life where I didn't go a single day without Gretchen bursting through my front door, a day I didn't watch her and my sister play softball, or a time that I don't hear Britney Spears songs and think of her. (Gretchen could gyrate her little hips like nobody else, little dancing queen) I write this blog because of the people that just get it, Gretchen has been one of my cheerleaders through this project urging me to press forward. We have had several emails back and forth and it's time for Gretchen to share some of her story, I couldn't be any more honored to have her words on this space. The plan is for her to share a little at a time and her first installment comes today, so stay tuned because you're going to want to read the rest about a girl who went from "Brat to Bride" (Part 1).





Brat to Bride
I have been an Army Brat all of my life, but I grew up unlike most. I am more than just an Army Brat I am a Special Forces Brat. Special Forces is an elite group of soldiers within the Special Operations community who are “called upon to conduct critical missions in the face of overwhelming odds.” 

Before September 11, 2001 the majority our military was enjoying peacetime. This means the conventional Army wasn’t constantly deploying like they are now. They were mostly conducting training missions. In Special Forces peacetime doesn’t exist. There is always something going on in the world that our Special Forces soldiers get asked to handle.

My Dad was deploying constantly through out my childhood. He would be gone for 6, 8, or 10 months at the drop of a hat. (At least that is how I felt) Even though my Dad deployed regularly there are very few Special Forces bases, so unlike most Army Brats that complain about moving from base to base we had the luxury of staying at Fort Bragg. In turn we encountered a different problem. It seemed like every time I would make new friends, they would move away! 

My father is and has always been one of my hero’s! He spent 23 years fighting for what he believed in with all of the conviction in the world. He has always embodied what a Special Forces soldier is supposed to be. He took his job as an American Special Forces soldier as seriously as possible. He knew that at all times he was not only representing his
country, Special Forces, and the Army, but he was representing all of the those who had come before him. 
“I am a volunteer, knowing well the hazards of my profession. I serve
with the memory of those who have gone before me: Roger’s Rangers,
Francis Marion, Mosby’s Rangers, the first Special Service Forces and
Ranger Battalions of World War II, the Airborne Ranger Companies of
     Korea. I pledge to uphold the honor and integrity of all I am- in All I do.”
Growing up in an environment where your loved one is constantly
leaving is hard and I never handled it well. If my Dad deployed for six
months I was most likely crying myself to sleep every night.

My Mom tells a story about me when I was three. My Dad was deployed and had been gone for a few
months. He was finally able to call and I wanted to talk to him. I told him that I didn’t know why he just didn’t come home already. His response was the Army wouldn’t let him. I told him I wanted to talk to the Army then and I would fix it. (Even at three I had quite the attitude.) So my Dad put one of his friends on the phone and he said, “Hello this is the Army.” “Hi Army. My Dad said that you won’t let him come home. Well I miss him and I want him back. You need to send him home now.”

When I started kindergarten, my Dad was able to take a year off to finish his college degree. He did this through one of the Army’s educational programs. When he went back to work he deployed almost immediately. I was beyond distraught and I did not handle it well. I could see the guilt in my Dad’s face when I would cry but I couldn’t stop. I think a part of me felt that if I made him feel bad enough he would stay. Well he didn’t. Before he left for that trip my sister taught me what ended up being the biggest lesson of my life. Kirsten was 8 or 9 and I was about 5. She came up to me and told me that I was being incredibly selfish. How dare I make my Dad feel badly for leaving! He was leaving to go to these countries to help people. I had two parents at home who loved me very much and that our Dad was going to go help children who didn’t have anyone who loved them. How dare I take that away from them and how dare I make our Dad feel bad for wanting to help them!

From that day on I looked at my Dad and his job completely differently. I no longer felt abandoned. I no longer felt like my Dad would rather spend time in foreign countries than at home with my Mom, sister, and me. I knew what he was doing had a purpose and that it was meaningful. It still hurt when he was gone, but I had a new perspective. At that point in time I became a Patriot.



My Dad retired from the Army in 2005. The day he retired was like a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I would never have to worry about getting the news that he was leaving again. I would never have to wonder why he didn’t call home at a time he said he would. I never realized it but I had
grown up in constant state of worry. Would today be the day he would get deployed? Would he come home from his training exercise? The news said a soldier was hurt on a jump today, was that him? My childhood was an interesting one, but one that I wouldn’t change for the world. I learned the importance of being an independent woman from my mother and I was taught about the greater good from my Dad. Although I loved my childhood, my sister and I vowed to each other that we would never marry into the military. The lifestyle was not something we would put ourselves through again, especially not willingly.



“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.” 
Proverbs 19:21

{ Happy Retirement Mr. Jim}