Moving Stationary
After the third move, you recognize the rotating door of people never changes. Military brat life is static, always interesting, always changing. After a few years 'on the road' you either create an identity for yourself, or make a playground of your own mind.
You realize you can be whoever you want to be, say what you want to say, because, not before too long, you'll be gone, to either be remembered completely, or forgotten forever. Accepting and embracing this concept provided for much of my childhood entertainment.
You never got to know anyone, no one ever seemed to really get to know you. My parents always ask me unanswerable questions about people I met as a kid, "You remember Tom, he was on the California with your dad!" No, no I don't remember Tom, he was just some other really tall figment of my past. I'm sure I could conjure a picture of some generic looking Navy fella in my head, but wouldn't that be doing the semi-non-fictional "Tom" a disservice? The constant relocation did a number on my already limited social skills. After the sixth or seventh move, I realized how much more comfortable I was being in my own head. Adult onset autism at the age of 12.
It wasn't all negative though, unique upbringings breed unique people, and if anything, I feel I fall into that category. The constant change forced me to re-adapt on an almost semi-annual basis. I'm sure I met a lot of really interesting people. The social and economic climates were always changing, had I been slightly wiser, with a better grasp on vocabulary I would have documented it all. Unfortunately, all I'm left with are pieced together memories of different foyers, different rooms, different faces, and different feelings.
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