My Mother Was A Military Brat

Decent Essays
My grandmother once said, or at least I am told she once said, that she was concerned that my father should not marry my mother because she had no roots. My mother was a military brat. The longest she’s ever lived anywhere is seven years. She makes no bones about the fact that she doesn’t know where she’s from. Like the planes my grandfather worked on, my mother was a child of the wind, going here and there, and wherever destiny took her. I suppose my grandmother would say the same thing about me. I am a missionary’s child, taken wherever the call of God took my family. I didn’t grow up in just one place, therefore I have no roots. It’s a very Southern concept, “having roots,” and is as sacred to the Heart of Dixie as sweet tea and…show more content…
But even if that misfortune should befall them, they are still in the same spot they were planted in.
I am like a bird. My roots are confined to one area. My egg hatched in Auburn, and since then I have collected roots Auburn, Roanoke, Quito,Temuco, Santiago, Cullman, Florence, and Killen, and have woven them all into a nest that is currently nestled in the branches of Killen. My roost don’t trap me in one spot. I am free to fly wherever without hesitation, and if I so desire, bring back some leaves, or branches, or even more roots from the places I visit.
At some point I’m sure a storm of life, or an unexpected gust of wind will blow me out of Killen’s tree. So I’ll glide where the wind takes me, and rebuild my nest in a new tree with new roots.
I’m sure my grandmother thinks her little bird is an unstable wreck, and in some ways I am. My ADHD and scattered brains have turned me into quite the character. The payoff is worth it though. Why watch the seasons slip by the same old burrow when you can soar to the heavens and gaze upon the whole world?
I’ll always have my nest to come back to, and with each blustery, windy trip to a new tree, my nest of roots grows bigger and grander.

My senior year.
One glance down the halls of my high school, and one would think it was any ordinary day.
Kids laugh, talk, gossip, make-out, throw paper wads; nothing is different.
They don’t realize. They don’t remember that day. They don’t
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