In my eighteen years of life, my father has been present for half of the time. He isn't a deadbeat, he's still happily married to my mother, but he made the ultimate sacrifice for our country in 1996 when he joined the United States Army. He joined because he wanted to serve our country and also be able to support his family with a stable financial income.
He joined the Army Reserves with high ASVAB scores, and worked his way up to Chief Warrant Officer 3 while also building a family at home with his highschool sweetheart. Being in the reserves, he was not active duty, so he was able to build his family in his hometown, only leaving every few weekends for training.
However, after the attacks on September 11th, our family dynamic changed dramatically. I remember vividly the first time my father told me he was leaving for Iraq. I was four years old, in my favorite pink plaid dress, and it was my turn to choose where our family would eat for dinner.
As I approached my mother and father and infant brother on our front porch steps to tell them that I had finally made my huge decision that we would be eating at Hoss's that night, I saw the tears in my parents eyes. That is when they told me that my father would be leaving for Iraq for the next year. I was four at the time, getting ready to start Kindergarten. I thought that him being gone for so long was the hardest time of my life.
After he returned, we tried to make life as normal as possible. When he was gone, I matured way quicker than my peers. I had to act as a second parent by helping with my younger brothers, cooking, cleaning etc. while all my other friends spent the day running around in the streets.
When my Dad returned from a year of action, he decided that his desk job as a mortgage broker wasn't exciting enough for him, so he joined the Pennsylvania State Police. He was gone for another eight months, training for his new job that would schedule him crazy hours, restricting our time together even more.
Again, in my fifth grade year, my father left for Iraq, this time for sixteen months. I remember feeling like we needed to give back to my dad and his friends, so I organized for everyone in my class to each write letters for the soldiers to lift their spirits. This again, was grueling to endure, making each nightly prayer and birthday wish for my Dad to come home.
Again, when he returned, things were different. Now that I was older, I learned to value every bit of free time I got with my father. I valued the moments he would make me rake leaves with him, when we would sing along to music in his truck, or when we would play soccer together at the field near our house. I never knew when he would be taken from us next.
The third time he left was the hardest for me. The first day of summer before my senior year, my parents told me that my dad would be leaving for the duration of my senior year. I was in one of the happiest states of my life, prepared for the best summer ever, that was completely destroyed on the first day of summer.
This time would be different, with my knowledge of the war in Syria, the limited communication and the importance of my senior year. Luckily, due to health complications, my father could not go. However, he still spent the entirety of my senior year in Virginia, and is still there to this day for medical examination.
Being in a military family taught me to be grateful for the little things in life. Every moment I get to spend with my loved ones I try to cherish because I know things can change at the drop of a hat. I am extremely proud of my father and all the sacrifices he has made to protect our country. I love you Dad, thank you for shaping me into the person I am today-- even if you're an ocean away.
