Free Air Force Brat by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page A

My
brothers and I all felt that it was an unusual statue to be found
in a country so determined to pretend that nothing had really
happened during the war. We loved the fierce expression on the
soldier’s face, and, of course, the “potato masher” that he seemed
to be caught in the act of throwing. As a child, the statue and the
fact that someone tended it appeared as a guilty declaration that
the Germans weren’t really sorry for what they had done. My father
explained to us that the statue was a village’s determination to
honor its war dead. After that, it saddened me that the people who
felt strongly enough to erect it and take care of it, felt they
also needed to hide it.
    While we kids now had a
television set for the first time in a year, we were only able to
get Armed Forces Radio & Television programs: Ed Sullivan , the Andy Griffith Show and Combat .
And while we loved Combat , we couldn’t help but wonder
why it was available to us while we were in Germany. I always felt
guilty watching it since the people it was really created
for—viewers sitting in their living rooms in the United States—had
the luxury of viewing the Germans as one dimensional bad guys and
we did not.
    During World War II, more
than 60% of Kaiserslautern was destroyed by bombs from Allied
aircraft. By the time we got there, construction for newly
established garrisons of American troops had already brought
significant economic growth to the area. The difference between the
France we had just left—the victors in the last war—and the Germany
we were entering—the losers—was astounding. France was poor,
backward and still peeing in the streets. Germany not only still made all the
trains run on time, but it was rebuilding what it had before the
war and was constantly adding new technology. Plus, from my point
of view, they had the best street bratwrusts, the most magical
Christmas festivals, and some of the friendliest people I ever
met.
    President Kennedy was
assassinated while we were living in Germany. My parents had many
experiences of being stopped in the streets by Germans with tears in their eyes to say how sorry they were to hear about our President. I
will always love France, but I can’t imagine that scenario
happening there.
     
     

EPILOGUE
    It’s possible that the term “military brat”
is only considered a derogatory label if you weren’t one. Most
military dependents and ex-military dependents are happy to refer
to themselves Navy, Marine, Air Force or Army brats. The tag
alludes to the inclusion of a special club, but I think it also
connotes a spunkiness that, perhaps, the appreciation of which,
only resides in the collective childhoods of boomer military brats.
It’s very likely that whole idea of being a “brat” was a part of an
age belonging to the Jackie Coopers and Spanky McFarlanes of the
world, when a child with gumption wasn’t automatically considered a
monster or disobedient, but actually the hero of his or her own
story.
    The military structure is, by definition, a
warrior culture. That’s its purpose. And it is this culture that
military brats live within and by which they are inevitably
shaped.
    One way or the other.
    I believe that a part of that culture is the
acceptance of loss. While I don’t have a formal study to back up my
view, I have found that the typical ex-military dependent reacts to
loss one of two ways later in life. Either they are very good with
things being taken from them and, unlike their civilian
counterparts, are able to shrug off the need to replace the lost
thing (or person) or they become completely stalled by the loss,
unable to move forward in any real sense.
    I’d argue that now, as an adult, I tend to
shrug off loss quicker than my peers because of a childhood habit
of seeing so many things go away on a regular basis—homes,
schedules, schools, best friends—my whole world really (although
not my infrastructure since the military was always there to take
care