By Alexis Taylor
AFRO Managing Editor
ATaylor@afro.com
One of my earliest memories as a child is a night from the early 90s. In my family’s small, but sufficient MacDonald Manor apartment in Chesapeake, Va., a scene plays out.
My mother and I are in the living room. It’s the middle of the night, but this night, we both lay on the couch awaiting a single moment. Finally it arrives.
A jingling of keys. The commotion of bags on the other side of the door. And at long last, my father, in full uniform, walks through the door with his military green duffel bag in tow.
Though he had less than 72 hours to make the hours-long drive to Virginia, see his family and head right back to the military base where he was training, he did it.
He came home to see his wife, his namesake, Allen Taylor III, and his baby girl.
For a moment, all was well. I loved seeing my dad in his uniform. I still remember being elated and the rush of energy that went through my tiny body when he arrived…but it didn’t last long.
Before the sun could fully come up…a call came in. His Army unit was being called into battle. He needed to report for duty– stat.
One cannot describe the heartbreak.
Though the memory is fuzzy, it’s still buried deep. I cried. I kicked. I screamed. Why would he come home and then immediately leave? Whew…even now, as an adult it still hurts.
And that’s what it means to be in a military family.
Pride…and sacrifice.
Looking back, my upbringing on military bases around the world afforded me an opportunity to get Christmas ornaments from the Nürnberger Christkindlesmarkt in Germany, take in the deserts of El Paso, Texas and call the great state of South Carolina home for a little over 10 years. On the other hand, it meant never having cousins, aunts, uncles or grandparents nearby. It meant changing elementary schools three times before third grade and never really being able to say “you remember, in kindergarten…” to any of my peers.
Being a drill sergeant’s daughter meant discipline and work ethic, but it also meant anxiety and stress.
After serving in Desert Storm, my father returned to the Middle East for Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) and Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) in Afghanistan. But all of that was after his time in Panama for Operation Just Cause.
Though we were thousands of miles away, the family did every deployment with him.
Though we may not have been struggling with 110 degree heat, living in makeshift barracks, dodging bullets or fighting our way back to base, my mother was holding down a household with three kids and a nursing career often interrupted by a change in duty stations. I was sweating it out in middle school, trying to focus with a parent in a warzone. And somewhere, we all grew accustomed to weeks on end with no communication, just waiting for the phone to ring with high hopes that someone was at home to answer.
Today, I know that my family is in a group of lucky ones. Our drill sergeant turned sergeant major was able to walk through the door again and again.
I am happy to see November recognized as National Veterans and Military Families Month, with celebrations for veterans, but also, the families that keep them going.
This month, I encourage all to honor the veterans in their lives, but to also find a way to support their families. It could mean helping that Army wife that is on her first deployment or calling legislators and asking them to support the Military Spouse Hiring Act. It could mean encouraging your child to welcome the new military kid into their friend group or simply sending a thank you to a military family. Because the truth of the matter is, when one person enlists, the entire family answers the call to serve.
