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Knews and Knotes

Once Upon a Day in Dodds Germany, April 15, 1988
(Click on picture below to get pdf)

My father was a career-soldier in the Army.  That makes me a military brat, a Brat.  I don’t know why military children would be considered Brats; but I acknowledge and accept that title with proud affection. 

The active military parent chooses to live within the parameters of military existence.  The accompanying spouse elects to accept that standard of living.  The children, however, are raised into a unique lifestyle.  From my point of view it’s not a bad life.  Being a Brat afforded me the opportunity of travel to eleven states and one country.  I attended seven schools, and most of the time I lived in a protected environment of a gated community with access to a movie theater, bowling alley, skating rink, swimming pool, and teen club.  How privileged is that?  But growing up, all I knew was life in transition.  Thankfully, my parents had five children, so I have three sisters and a brother, from oldest to youngest, five years apart.  They were my playmates, my best friends – they were my constants. 

My father put in for a tour of duty overseas so the family could experience life outside the United States.  We were sent to Paul Revere Village, a little Army base in the heart of Karlsruhe, Germany.  Paul Revere Village was a self-sustaining community with all the services offered stateside, but the American school housed 600 – 700 pupils from first to twelfth grade.  Karlsruhe American Elementary School included students from first to sixth grades while Karlsruhe American High School contained students from seventh to twelfth grades.  My graduating class of 38 was part of the 317 high school student population.  I counted each and every face in my yearbook.  

Even though it meant traveling across the ocean, I thought of our move to Germany as just another transfer.  It wasn’t until I became an adult that I recognized how unusual I had been reared.  How dissimilar my life experiences were from the general population.  And as the years passed I realized the impossibility of ever seeing my fellow Brats.  Then an innocent Internet query brought information that an East Coast gathering was held every Labor Day weekend right here in the Washington metropolitan area.  I made contact!  In 2000, I packed my bags and made the 35-mile trip to Ellicott City, Maryland, for my first touch with the past.  I didn’t want to miss a thing.  I arrived on Saturday to meet and greet, picnicked on Sunday and returned home on Labor Day Monday feeling refreshed and energized.  

I guess because we came from a small, overseas school, the emphasis is not on having graduated from Karlsruhe American High School, but on attending the school, period.  Everyone counts, even those who left school before graduating, and the tendency is to be recognized by the decade rather than by class groups.  For instance, at the gathering there were only three from my class in attendance and, perhaps five or six from my brother and sisters’ classes.  Together, we represented the ‘70s group.  That’s just the way it is, part of the bond of being a Karlsruhe alumni. 

This year I took a five-day visit to the mountain city of Asheville, North Carolina, to attend my first all-school reunion.  My sister, Yvonne (also a graduate of Karlsruhe American High School), decided to attend the reunion with me.  For a year we planned.  We registered at the hotel and reserved a car from the airport, but we kept flip-flopping about our decision to go.  Surely, there would be few people we actually knew from our time there.  Was it worth the effort?  

I wondered why it was so important to meet these strangers?  I had not formed any lifelong friendships in Germany.  There were a few people I hoped would show but the chances were slim.  Then I arrived and met all these new and wonderful people and I realized the commonality.  We all shared the same experience as we grew up and faced the same adjustments when our parents were no longer military.  We can discuss with understanding the peculiarities of Brathood, such as enduring inspections of your bedroom; coming home from school to find out your family has moved; looking forward to Thanksgiving chow at the Mess Hall; or standing at attention with hand over heart as the national anthem is played.  Sadly, we can also identify with the difficulties of acceptance into the “regular” world of civilians.  When Brats find themselves thrust into a regular school setting, they often find themselves on the outside looking in, rejected or ridiculed by civilian peers for things unique to our upbringing:  Our sometimes-odd manner of dressing (often a holdover from our last tour of duty), our changing accents (depending upon our geographical location), or our speech may be peppered with foreign phrases or military terms.  We, who grew up with playmates of mixed cultures and never noticed the difference, were … different.   

We have learned the art of adaptation, but for some it was not always easy.  At the reunion, the high school jock’s adoring fans once again worship him; he revels in the midst of attention that he has not received since his playing days.  It didn’t matter that the transfer stateside in his junior year meant the end of a dream because cemented friendships at the local high school translated into exclusion for the new wannabe.  At the reunion, the homecoming princess is once again lifted to a popularity status she has not enjoyed since her Karlsruhe school days.  Reality found her an ostracized loner after a mid-year transfer to a school that mistook her natural reserve for snobbishness.

 The Karlsruhe organizers worked with the Berlin Brats association to arrange a joint affair that culminated with a picnic at Chimney Rock Park in Chimney Rock, North Carolina.  Sports wise, the Berlin Bears had often been the bane of the K-ruhe Knights, but time has a way of calming down rivalry.  The viciousness of competition had mellowed into a playful banter that was enjoyed by all because, with maturity, we all identify with a common past that unites us in our present position – we are still Brats. 

Paul Revere Village closed in the mid-nineties.  For the nostalgic souls, the realization is bittersweet.  For us, there will never be a homecoming.  All we have are memories of carefree adolescent days in a foreign land.  Maybe that’s why some actually made the connection of deep friendship even though contact was lost over the years.  With the advent of the Internet there are many websites postings “in search of” and many of the lost are being found.  The discovery is exciting.

I spoke to two women who found each other a dozen years ago and have kept in contact through letters and e-mails. One flew in to Georgia from Washington State; the other drove across the border from Alabama to meet her so they could make the long drive to Asheville together.

I met two brothers who have been separated for many years.  One brother married while in Germany and found employment with an American contracting firm.  The other moved to the Florida Keys.  The German immigrant scheduled a month-long visit with his family so they could attend the Asheville reunion.  When the brothers arrived, they were met by their best buddy, who had flown in from Serbia on a 48-hour pass just to say “Surprise!”

So many instances stand out in my mind; unfortunately, I can’t share all of them.  I met so many new people whose faces will be remembered long after their names have been forgotten.  I was even able to connect with a couple of friends, though many have yet to find us or have no desire to reunite (but that’s another story). 

Was it worth the effort?  Of course it was.  The reunion wasn’t big by anyone’s standards.  Although Berlin had almost 300 alumni, our little school had less than 100; but we had a blast!  We talked, and reminisced, and commiserated, and played, and laughed, and danced … by the time it was over there were tears and hugs and promises made – until the next one.  Wait until the next one.