• Anna V.

The Road-Map Called My Home




To all you military kids out there. I recommend reading this out loud. When I did, I felt so empowered; so free when I read it. It makes you really realize just how powerful your own Road-Map is.


Because home truly is a Road-Map.


"Where do you live?"

Response: "You have to be more specific."

Blank faces look at me.

"I've lived in state one, state two, state three... state I've lost count by now."


Please check all that apply:

State of residency:

Are we talking at birth? Now? Where I lived five years ago? Are we talking about the place I lived for ____ years? Or the country that I lived in for ____ months? Are we referring to the place where my sibling was born? Are we talking about districts, counties, or specifically states?

YOU HAVE TO BE MORE SPECIFIC!!!!!


School:

"We've been best friends since pre-school."

Me: "I've have known you for a week and you are my best friend. Also, what technically do you classify as a 'best friend'? I have like 30+ of them."


Mom peers at GPS. Dad opens that large map that all the kids look at and asks, "What on the Planet Earth is that?" Because no one has seen a map that big before.

Dad points to a point on it, and we all lean in squinting because the words are in an unjustly small print and none of us can read the ink.

"That," Dad says, "is our home."


Home. What a strange word. What is home?

My home is nowhere.

Or that old saying on the signs (the signs we ALL know our moms put in our house somewhere that read "Home is where the Army (or military) sends us!" And we all look up at it and think.

"Well, honestly, that's about right."

Because home is where the military sends us. Home is that house we get on post or anywhere, the excitement we all have when we enter that nearly empty house (except for ALL those boxes), and we run around, calling rooms, hoping to get to the room with the most windows or the most space and claim it as our own.

"I claim this room in the name of ME!"

That feeling that we can start over.

Again.

And again.

And again.


Then we move again.

And again.

And again.


Back in the car, plane, or train. Boat, motorcycle, or RV. That big moving truck we all wonder about, thinking about what would happen if we pull a Flat-Stanley by packing ourselves away and ship ourselves to who knows where.

Aristocats? Galore. Ship us off to our next duty station.

We're ready.

Aren't we?


A great woman always said, "Home is where the heart is..." Belle, you're right, right? Home is where our heart is... in us?


And what about the cliche military sign? What about that?


Home. What is home? A movie? A book? A concept? A place? A word? A song? What?

Home.

Home.

Home.

Maybe, just maybe, if I say it a few more times it will make sense. Sink in.

Home.

Home.

Home.

Hope. Oops. Spell check. Home - no, Hope.


That hope that we can figure out what home is to us.

What if home isn't just where our heart is? Our heart is in us, but don't we find home in every state we live in? Our beings aren't in those places.

Home...

Home...

What's the point?

Home is different to all of us, isn't it?

Home is something different. Home is the heart, the state, place, book, house, song, movie... anything. Home is that thing that keeps our memories.

Our childhood.

Our life.

Our friends.

Our everything.


Home is not only where the military sends us. Home is not only where our heart resides.

Home is here.

Home is EVERYWHERE.


We aren't anchored to any one place, time, or location. We are special. We are loved. And remember, home, no matter where you are, is everywhere to us. And because of that, we are truly Military Kids.

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