Understanding My Dad

Maybe not understanding him completely, but I feel like this past year I’ve grown to understand him a lot better than I ever did when living at home. And that’s saying something.
This sort of has occurred to me before, but I never really thought to write about it. Well, here I am.
 
Let me give you a little bit of background into my family before I go off explaining my oh-so-profound revelations. First of all, we don’t call him “Dad”, he’s Pop to us. Always has been, always will be. When I was a little brat ages ago, he was Papa or Poppy. Second of all, out of all my siblings’ lives, he was around for most of mine growing up. He had retired from the Army in about ’96, 22 years of active service as a tank crewman; a 19K by Army MOS designation I think, or a 1812 to translate to Marine terms. I was just about to turn six when he got out. Most of my brothers’ lives had been spent with him deployed or in the field.

My Mom raised us pretty much alone, my oldest brother (who is sixteen years older than myself) helped out. We all did our part, actually. We were a well-oiled German engineered machine while Pop was gone, as Mom would joke around.

”Zhere vill be order und discipline!”
That was a poor attempt at communicating my mother’s accent. And her odd sense of humor. If any of you have met her, you’d have laughed a little at that. You also would then promptly remind me how much you love my crazy little German mother. Well, I love her too. Very much so.

Sometimes I wonder how much she has rubbed off on me. Probably a lot more than I’ve realized.

 
Anyway! Back to the topic at hand.
Pop.
He’s fairly rough around the edges, cantankerous, grouchy, sarcastic and always has to be in charge. He is also a man of routine. Part of that comes with old age, I’m sure. (And I suddenly have realized that sounds a lot like me. Auuugh.) He might be retired from the Army, but he works for the Navy as civilian DoD police. We call them ‘Blueberries’ out here, due to their dark blue/black uniform. And also because a good number of them are a little… Shapely.

I’m certain without my Mom, he’d be less civilized. She also might instigate part of that cantankerous old man-age. But isn’t that what married couples do after… Uhhh… I think it’s somewhere close to 35 years of marriage? Regardless. It’s a high number that I don’t think I’ll see for myself. BUT I DIGRESS. That’s a story for another day.

 
After twenty-two years of being in the Army, or any branch for that matter, you develop a mindset that life is supposed to run a certain way. You have habits and routines because much of your day revolves around a regimented schedule. I see that now. I knew that before but at the same time, I didn’t really know. You catch my drift? Well. My very little time spent in the Marine Corps has shown me this. And I can understand why small, stupid stuff would piss Pop off. Why he expects things to be done a particular way.

Pop joined the Army thinking it’d be a single enlistment stint; he joined because a high school buddy joined. This buddy of his thought he’d go career. He ended up getting out after his first enlistment. Two decades and some change later, my dad is a First Sergeant. His retirement only pays him as a Sergeant First Class (our equivalent to a Gunny), simply because he didn’t have enough time in grade as an E8 before he left. Go figure.

I get up everyday I work, and do more or less the same thing. I deal with the stupid bullshit we all have to deal with; Putting up with fools and whores, assholes and some ridiculously silly rule because someone ruined it for the rest of us. I do my job, I do it in a very particular way, and it’s the same. Day in, day out.
I see the crap we deal with on all levels. What my NCOs and SNCOs deal with, what my peers deal with.
I can see how by living like this for twenty-some years, you get set in your ways.
 
I never anticipated that one of the things I’d gain, quite inadvertently, from joining the Marine Corps would be the ability to relate better to my dad. (Also to my brothers)
Don’t tell him, but I’m really happy I can now.
Through high school and college, we butted heads more than a few times. Such differing opinions on life, politics, uhhh… Boyfriends, what I should do with my life, etc. Those typical teenage/young adult things that happen to make life a little more turbulent than necessary.  

 

Anyway, I should wrap this up. The hour is late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. Back home it’d only be midnight. Nights really have me jacked up.

 

Pop, sometime early '90s?

Christmas 2011

Yes, we wrapped it in a copy of the latest Army Times.
He looks so serious, but he was happy with it. His face is just....

Naturally that way. Haha. :) 

Shadow box was a joint gift from all the kids.

My idea, and we liked it. My dad did too.

Hand put together by the family paratrooper and myself.

 

We also got him shot glasses. One representing each of us. He was confused when he pulled out the one with the seal of the Marine Corps on it. That's how I broke the news I'd be going to Parris Island the following month, and not to Ft. Jackson for the Army. He was a little crushed. He thought his little girl was going to go put on the same Army green he had. Little did I know at the time, I'd see him tearing up on Family Day a few months later. Apparently, he brags to anyone who listens that his little pigtailed girl is a jarhead. Love you Pops. :)