Army brat. Navy sister. Marine wife.
No matter what I do, I can’t escape men in uniform.
Today, March 1, 2011, somewhere in Dallas, 12 days shy of our one-year anniversary, my husband (AKA The Bagpiper), will be swearing into the United States Marine Corps.
EDIT: At 1:08pm CST, I received a text message from the Bagpiper saying, “I’m a Marine again!!!”
We’ve been waiting for this day for almost ten very long months. After a lot of paperwork processing and a lot of waiting, he’s officially back in the Marines. He was a Marine out of high school; he was a bandsmen who served four years and did two tours in Iraq. Afterward, he served two years in the National Guard Army Band.
And now he’ll be a Marine again.
When I told my friends about The Bagpiper going back into Marines, the usual immediate reaction was, “OMG. Are you serious?! How do you feel about this? Are you OK with it?”
Of course I’m OK with it. You don’t think he up and started the process of re-enlisting without talking it over with me first, do you? Besides, my grandfather was in the military and served in WWII. My dad was in the Army. My uncle and cousin did the Air Force. My brother is in the Navy. One of my best friends in the entire world is in the Navy. The Bagpiper’s dad is retired Navy. His mom is a very active volunteer for the Dallas USO. It’s safe to say that not only do I wholeheartedly support the troops, but I am not averse to life as a military wife.
This is usually followed with, “But what if you have to move? Are you OK with moving?”
I don’t kid myself, I know we’ll have to move. For one, there isn’t a Marine base in DFW. Secondly, while we were in the process of talking about his re-enlisting, we researched Marine bases and which ones had Marine bands. We knew prior to his re-enlistment the possible places we would be sent to.
And yes, I am perfectly OK with having to move.
Mostly because moving isn’t a new concept for me. I grew up an Army Brat. My dad was in the Army and from the time I was born until the time I started middle school, I did nothing but move. I’ve also traveled a lot.
Perhaps it takes a special kind of woman to be a military wife; it can’t be easy for some to move every two or three years. I watched my mom do it, and I know what it means to move around a lot.
So here I am. Twenty-seven years old, married to a Marine bandsmen and about to embark on life as a Marine wife.