| Father’s Day from a
military brat
By KEITH POUNDS Guest Columnist
I rather enjoy the chauvinistic way I perceive Father’s Day. See, the majority of people have ordinary father’s who work ordinary jobs. Those of us who grew up with military fathers were reared in a much different environment. In fact, most Americans can’t possibly understand military service at all the way my family does. Samuel Pounds served as a Dragoon in the Revolutionary War and fought at Briars Creek and the Battle of Cowpens. William Pounds served as a corporal in the 1st Virginia Regiment. Another of my direct ancestors, Abner Bickham, received a commission as a captain by John Houston, then governor of Georgia, and served in the Continental Army fighting at the Battle of Cowpens and the first siege of Augusta. I have an uncle who was taken prisoner by the Japanese in the Philippines and miraculously survived the Bataan Death March. Yet another served in Korea, and my father earned a Bronze Star for his service in Vietnam. My cousin and I served during the Lebanon/Grenada and first Gulf War eras — me as a Navy hospital corpsman and he as an airborne Ranger. It is to this family history that my grandmother alluded when she always said “you kids come from good stock.” She used it to remind us that we were expected to behave better than other kids and that more was expected from us. She did so because we were the children of American fighting men. Many kids grow up in the same hometown as did their parents and go to the same schools as their parents and older siblings. But not military brats. As our fathers received orders for a new duty station every year or two, we were constantly being pulled out of school, ordered to jump into the back seat of the family station wagon and drive across the country in order to be enrolled in a new school. Just about the time we’d begin to feel comfortable in that new environment, Dad would receive new orders, and off we’d go again. We grew up around military bases where many of the other kids were also military brats, so we were surrounded by kids going through the same thing. The fathers of all the other military brat kids were just as clean-cut, just as disciplined, just as strict as was my father. We grew up with our fathers in the home. Sure, our fathers deployed often, or had to go out in the field for training for a week or two at a time. But mine was the father figure, and the life of our family revolved around his military service. No, many of our fathers didn’t pamper us, nor console us much when we scratched a knee, or broke an arm. We were the children who were taught to shake hands and confidently say “good morning, sir” by the time we were in kindergarten. We were the children who spoke when we were spoken to. We were the children who sat in the back seat of the family car driving on base and felt the ground shake as dozens of tanks rolled by and helicopters flew just overhead, every day. We were the children who waited for our fathers in airports as they returned from places we could hardly pronounce. We were the children who watched the nightly news religiously, hoping to see a glimpse of our fathers in Vietnam, or Grenada, or Kirkuk, or Afghanistan. We were the children whose Dads wore Army fatigues to work, and when you’re a kid that is just too cool. Yes, our fathers killed people. And they killed a lot of them. But they made your fathers safe and able to be home with you and your mothers every night. Our fathers provided that blanket of freedom that your families enjoyed. We grew up being disciplined by the very warriors who made America the most powerful nation the world has ever seen. We grew up in the homes of the fiercest warriors ever to have lived. We were raised by 20th century Spartans. And because of our fathers, many of us became 21st century Spartans. So spare me your stories of the mythical characters of Odysseus, Achilles, Hector, Heracles and Perseus. Those remote stories sound romantic to those who’ve never actually lived with warriors. At my father’s funeral just a couple of years ago, a gentleman about the same age as my father came up to me, looked me straight in the eye, shook my hand and said, “Son, I’d have taken a bullet for your father.” To this day I don’t know who that man was. But I know he meant it. They were 20th-century Spartans. Sgt. First Class Bobie R. Pounds, U.S. Army, retired: Happy Father’s Day, sir! Mr. Pounds is the author of The Psychology of Management. His writings can be viewed at keithpounds.com.
MUST SEE!!! - PICTURE ONE - Bobie's
Love Abounds - a Golden Halo!
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