Dandelion (3rd Place)

The following essay is the third place winner of our 2026 Month of the Military Child Writing Contest. The theme was "The Beauty of the Military Child Experience." Congratulations to Isabella A., a high school senior!

A dandelion can put down roots anywhere with tiny yellow blossoms that are almost impossible to remove. Their long taproot allows them to grow prolifically, blooming wherever the wind carries them. Modest yet beautiful, dandelions brighten even the darkest grounds; they are stubborn survivors in unlikely places, found in lawns, gardens, and roadsides. I am a dandelion.

Dandelions are the official flower of the military child. Military children are hardy and upright; firmly planted in the rich soil of military culture, our durable roots reach deep down and draw from generations of service and sacrifice. Wherever we go, we carry a legacy that grows with every new beginning. I am a dandelion, though not in the typical way. I am the opposite. While almost every other dandelion around me was lifted by the wind and taken to new fields, my roots stayed still in the Bragg sandy loam, and they grew and grew.

From the minute I was born, everything around me was constantly shifting. Families and friends cycled in and out with every deployment, every change in station, every new beginning or sudden goodbye. Within my own house there was a constant shift as well. My father was an Army NCO who deployed often. The day I was born, he was in Iraq; 6 different aircrafts and twenty-four hours after my birth, he was home with us again, only for two weeks. When I was two, and my brother was a newborn, my dad was once again gone serving our country, this time overseas in Afghanistan. In 2013, we moved, and his new job as Assistant Inspector General for the U.S. Army Special Operations Command carried us to

Fort Bragg, NC. Here, my parents built our house, replacing the grass roots of an empty plot with those of our new home, anchoring us in a place where most families stayed just long enough to unpack.

The land surrounding that home became a field of dandelions, which grew wildly. The soil became familiar, warm, and steady, providing a sanctuary filled with love and support for the blowing seeds of other dandelion children to take root. Although these weeds blew in from every corner of the world, they were all the same. We were military children learning to start over, parents forging futures, families piecing together birthdays, holidays, and milestones in the gaps between inevitable deployments. In our little patch of earth, we grew together. We shared meals, celebrated promotions, danced to music from all over the world, and found every reason to get together in that backyard. Even though our relatives were hundreds of miles away, we were never alone. We found our family.

Being surrounded by so many lives that carried their own fears, hopes, and stories taught me something powerful: every flower needs someone who cares for it. Everyone needs someone steady to lean on. In that field of dandelions, through the gusting winds, driving rains, and seasons of change, I became the rooted one that others could rely on when everything else felt temporary. It was there, among the constant comings and goings, that I discovered the heart of who I am and why I want to be a nurse. I want to provide the same compassion, stability, and support that helped this dandelion bloom. No matter where someone comes from, what language they speak, or what they believe in, care is a universal need; one I hope to provide in every room, every shift, and every new beginning.

Looking ahead, I’m drawn to the roots that grounded me. I want to be the steady hands that shelter new seedlings as they break through the earth, or the gentle breath that helps carry fragile seeds towards the places where they will someday bloom. My upbringing in this type of environment has heavily influenced my decision in becoming a nurse, and my exposure to so many different family dynamics and cultures has strengthened my ability to connect with people from diverse backgrounds. Being a dandelion taught me resilience, and I hope to use it to help every person root deeply wherever they land.