A DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN MB ON ARMED FORCES DAY - BEST DAY EVER!

Today is Armed Forces Day. As a kid, this was a big event on the many, many military bases I grew up on. It was almost like the kickoff to summer, with only two weeks left until our teachers sagged with relief at our departure.

The day always started on the parade grounds, and we’d roll our eyes and do the head thing telling our mothers we’d be careful and, yes, we’d meet them at the designated spot on time. Then we’d race to the field and watch the troops march by - their uniforms crisp and their medals bright and shiny. We’d listen to the drum and bugle corp and hear the snap of the flags carried by the color guard.

The local JROTC would pass out tiny flags, and we’d tuck them in our back pockets. They would go on our bikes as soon as the boring speeches were over. And while the adults went on and on (they took forever!), we’d whisper behind our hands about what we wanted to do first because…

There were jets sitting nearby, begging us to explore, and tanks and helicopters to sit inside and pretend we were in command of them. We’d find the climbing wall, scamper over it, skinning our knees on the rough wood, and land with the wind rushing out of our lungs as our bodies hit the air-filled mats. On other bases, we zipped around the aircraft carriers playing tag or went down ladders into the submarines, feeling claustrophobic. This playground was the jumpstart to our hot summer days of playing make-believe.

There was always a picnic with grilled burgers, hotdogs, and paper plates full of watermelon. If it sounds like the Fourth of July, for us, it was. A special celebration for military families.

As the day wore on, the adult games would begin, and tired of looking at jeeps and planes, we’d flop on the grass to watch the branches go against each other. Tug of war was always a no-brainer. The Marines took that victory home at every base I lived on. My friends and I would watch their faces contort and turn purple with exertion as they pulled that white ribbon closer and closer to their side.

We’d check in with the parental units every hour to assure them we were alive and hadn’t bothered anyone. (MPs bringing you to the family blanket is NOT a good day.) Our mothers removed smudges of dirt from our sweaty faces, then sent us away with the instruction. “Come back when you hear ‘Taps.’”

Someone would shout that the ice cream truck had arrived, and we’d tear off to find it, wait in line for popsicles, and search for a tree to sit under and plot out the rest of the afternoon. And then it seemed like a minute later, we’d hear a lone bugler, and our world went silent and still. Every military kid who has ever lived on a base knows that the world stops with those first three notes until the last one fades away. Cars stop, and their drivers get out. The umpire of the softball game makes a “T” with his hands, and a hush falls over the area for ninety seconds of respect. Ingrained in us, we knew to stop our play and stand still, mouthing the words to the song. It’s a signal for the end of the day, but it was also a reminder of those who didn’t come back. Even as kids, we knew the heaviness that song meant. You knew when it happened on your street, and your friend that you played army with moved away, and you never saw them again, but soon after, a new kid would move into the duplex, and the cycle started again.

The end of Armed Forces Day meant dancing and fireworks. Being kids, dancing was icky, and my pack of friends and I thought it was gross. But..after the dancing was the fireworks, so we'd wait with irritated patience for the music to stop, and we’d hear that first pop and see the explosion of sparkles in the sky. Racing to the family blankets, we'd collapse like puppies. Dirty and smelly, with a ring of dirt around our necks and a Kool-Aid stain around our lips, we’d lay back and watch the showering of glitter in the sky. It had been a great day.