Background
We don't remember the days; we remember the moments.
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Chapter 4
I'm going back a few years with this story. Thank you, Iza Deleanu for the memory. The year was August of 1986. My husband, Brian, had joined the Army and left home the previous December for Fort McClellan, Alabama.
I remained in our hometown with three little boys. Steven wasn't born yet. Greg was eight years old; Jeff was six years old, and Andrew was one. I learned quickly what being a geographic single parent was all about, along with being thrown into being a military spouse.
During this indoctrination, my husband completed basic training, AIT, (Advanced Individual Training,) and then he flew to Germany, our first duty station.
I discovered such things as waiting lists for housing. There was no housing for families in Germany, at this time, and there was a waiting list. Of course, I didn't understand that and wondered why he didn't send for us. All sorts of things went through my mind. Since we are still married, you can figure out that I learned about housing waiting lists. He arrived in Germany in June. We received orders to leave in September. We were separated for nine months.
My next problem was navigating the military system to figure out how to get household goods packed and sent to Germany. I, again, learned how to maneuver the military system. The secret, be more stubborn than they are. The old 'squeaky wheel gets oiled logic' works every time.
We were now ready to fly to Germany. Our first flight left from Quad Cities International Airport, in Moline, Illinois, and flew to Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. Our home was a small rural town in Illinois.
I was very lucky this flight was noneventful because Jeff, my ornery child, decided he wouldn't get on the plane. After all sorts of bribery, he decided he would get on the plane. If the flight had been bad, I wasn't sure I'd get him on the flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt, Germany.
Our flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt was on a MAC flight, Military Air Command. Our flight was to leave around ten o'clock that morning. Loading the plane with food, the catering door somehow broke. They had to have the replacement piece flown in from New York.
I'm now stuck in an airport with three young boys. Greg got sick to his stomach, Jeff was his usual pain in the butt, and Andrew had diarrhea. I had packed four outfits for him and plenty of diapers, but he ended up pooping all of them. I had to buy him new clothes and diapers at airport prices. Money was scarce at this time in our marriage. We waited in the airport for twelve hours. For real! My already strained marriage wasn't getting any better.
Finally, we loaded the plane. I see some hope. Nope, we got the pleasure of sitting on the tarmac for hours. It was really hot and crowded. Jeff, my wild child, chose to show his true colors and he had many.
The pilot announced we're ready for take-off. YEAH! But no, Andrew had tubes in his ears because of repeated ear infections. Guess what? Once the jet started rising so did the pressure in his ears and he screamed the entire flight, almost a full nine hours. My anger for my husband rose.
I did everything possible to get his ears to pop. I had weaned him and went back to nursing, hoping it would help. I tried a sucker. The stewardess came to help. I walked the aisles. Nothing worked. The good news is this was a MAC flight. The families had center seats. Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor along the sides. As I walked, the soldiers had sympathy and made comments about their spouses having to go through the same thing. I began to understand the military community a lot better, but it still didn't get my husband out of trouble.
Andrew was still crying but we landed at Rhein-Main Air Base, just outside of Frankfurt, Germany. My husband was waiting and very happy to finally get his family back together.
I handed him the boys. "Here's your kids!" I searched for the window for the next flight back to the US. Brian did talk me into not making any hasty decisions. Long story short, I survived twenty-three years as a military spouse. This past Saturday we celebrated forty-seven years of marriage.
When we returned after our four-year tour of Germany, our seats on the flight were separated and I refused to sit with Andrew. Brian had too. The funny part was the other two boys, and I sat beside drunk National Guards men, who had just finished training. Probably another story about the return flight. LOL Andrew would've been the better choice. Be careful what you wish for.
Author Notes
Please read Iza Deleanu's story 'Stranded At Home'. It's worth your time and is what helped me remember this incident.
Thank you, Google Images, for the photo of a Mac flight. In the 1980's there were not seats on the side. The Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor.
This post is a little under 800 words.
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