MOVING

From birth, or at least my first memory after, I can remember constantly moving. Not for reasons such as homelessness or staying with different family members because of discord. Rather, it was due to the fact that my father was a member of the United States Air Force (USAF). Some would describe those who grew up in this type of environment as "military brats," though I avoid use of that term when describing myself. This lifestyle is typical for anyone who has grown up in a military family and household. As a result, my father would quite often and at any given moment receive orders to PCS (permanent change of station) to a different base or installation. Though I was born in Massachusetts, I was only there for a few short years before my dad got orders to go to the other side of the country — California. We lived there when I was a toddler and through pre-k, and therefore, I do not have many memories. However, one of my earliest memories of being there included experiencing an earthquake (surprise!), where afterward, I can recall my mother going to the balcony to confer with our neighbors about what just happened. "Did you feel that? Are you okay?" I'm sure were the first things out of their mouths. I must have only been three or four years old, but that event was scary enough for me to be forever imprinted in my memory. Who knows, it may have been a 3.5 on the Richter, but in my mind, it was a 9.8.

Another thing I recall while there was driving on the expressway and always passing the most gigantic, humongous toy store that ever existed, complete with King Kong-sized nutcrackers in the enormous glass windows, enticing every child and child-like adult to want to come in and see what this wonderland had in store. If I never verbalized my desire to enter into this wonderland of toys and amusement (which I find hard to imagine), I'm sure my body language would always indicate my willingness to enter into its heavenly gates! Unfortunately, I never had the chance to see what existed beyond the nutcracker guards and what I imagined were gingerbread walls.

While we were living in California, my father and mother ended up welcoming one of my dad's sisters into our apartment for some time. My dad came from a large family, sixteen brothers and sisters total, to be exact. One of my grandparents on my father's side, whom I never met, died around this time, and therefore, several of the younger siblings were being sent to live with an aunt. In order to not overwhelm this particular aunt who was taking in the younger siblings, and since my parents were in a position to help, they graciously offered a place for my younger aunt to stay. My aunt was seemingly adjusting to this new living arrangement and the loss of her parent. Coupled with the fact that my mom is and was very strong-willed, the two clashed, to say the least. Not only that, but my aunt and my brother were relatively close in age (a five-year difference), so this relationship became contentious at times.

One of these instances occurred where we were all in the kitchen area and everyone was yelling, my mom telling my aunt to get out of the house. My aunt refused. This was just after my aunt and brother had gotten into a fight and were chasing each other around. Glass was broken, and I can't recall if it was from a jar of jam or from something bigger, like the back patio sliding-glass door (which, thinking about it now in retrospect, I highly doubt was the latter!). But I recall being scared and just wanting everyone to stop yelling and fighting. At no older than the age of five, I just wanted it all to stop immediately. My cries seemingly went unheard, and the fighting continued. Though I can't remember exactly how it resolved, this event stood out to me as one of the first times I had language and could not use it effectively to quell the chaos that was around me. I hoped my sobs and cries would cause everything to cease and desist. It was terrifying.

My memories of California are sparse, given my age. However, after leaving the West Coast, we moved back to Massachusetts for my kindergarten year. There, I went to two different elementary schools: one was on the military base near Concord, Massachusetts, and one was off-base in the town that was on the South Shore of Boston, about thirty miles south. What was great about my first kindergarten teacher was that she also happened to be my brother and sister's kindergarten teacher as well. Despite all of our moving, we all still ended up with the same teacher, Mrs. Kessel. She was the best teacher, who, in my adult years, I've ascertained as simply the best woman and soul that anyone could know and have as a teacher. She was caring, loving, and endearing, and she truly cared about each and every child that walked into her room. We actually kept in touch with her throughout the years (and still do), to the point where she attended my college graduation in 1997. She was my teacher in 1981. To me, that was so special and a great example of education coming full circle. Not many people can say that they have been able to keep in touch and maintain a relationship with their first teacher, and for that, I am grateful.

Afterward, we moved off base for my first-grade year. My sister Nikki, three years my elder, attended this school as well and hence was the only person with whom I was familiar. As my years there progressed, I made a decent number of friends and enjoyed my time there. I was able to get through first grade before we had to up and move yet again. This time, it was to a state we did not know much about in the middle of the country. When I heard the name of the state, I could only picture rolling tumbleweeds, covered wagons, and vast undeveloped, desert-like areas. The state was Oklahoma.

Moving there was culture shock, to say the least. First of all, geographically, it was in a place with which none of us had familiarity. My mom was born and raised in Massachusetts, and seeing as how my sister and I were also born there and spent some time there as children, there was a level of comfort. Not to mention that all of my mother's side of the family still lived there — my two aunts, four cousins, uncle, and grandmother, or Nana, as we referred to her. On the other hand, my dad was from Louisiana, the south, where most of his family still resides. Their reach actually spans from Georgia to Houston, Texas, primarily, as well as to Germany. My brother was born in California (L.A.), where my mom was at the time working and living with friends, so there was that knowledge of the West Coast. Yet none of us had any prior knowledge of what to expect from the state that exclaimed to everyone that it was mediocre at best — "Oklahoma is OK," as was emblazoned on all of the license plates at the time. Regardless, this did not stop us from doing the research on this state....