Your piece brought me back to the night I spent babysitting, crying and watching cars full of couples heading for the junior prom. My dress was in my closet, and my boyfriend was in the hospital after an explosion in the chem lab storeroom the afternoon before.
I am old now too. I remember my old boyfriends, the one really good one that got away, the starter husband who made good babies but was an abuser in the end, the girl I was, the feelings of being in an airplane leaving, always leaving.
One really great one that got away too - in my early 20’s not knowing how to handle a relationship carefully enough. Regrets! But a good husband and children I would not trade- and super grandchild so meant to be. Ah, yes.
Lucian, I’m sitting here crying after reliving my Army brat childhood through your words. You put it so perfectly and honestly on the page. I often try to explain this in regular conversations to people I meet after they have told me their stories of growing up in the same town, still having the same friends they learned to ride bikes with, meeting their future spouse and later having children and growing older in that same town. I have no concept of that even after marrying a West Pointer when he flew Apaches at Ft. Hood and Ft. Rucker and getting out of the Army. We moved to Warren, NJ and have lived in the same house for the last 30 years. During that time, I went active duty , from Reserve status, just prior to the Gulf War and was stationed at West Point for a year as an officer in the Army Nurse Corps at Keller Army Hospital. It was the first time I felt “seen” again because I was back in my element. No one but another military brat will ever understand the life and I wanted to Thank You for putting the experience down on paper so eloquently.
Lucian, did you ever find out what happened to Fawn and her family? How sad that your mom was so afraid of her, afraid for you. Your writings about your life suggest that you've been remarkably, wonderfully fearless in your own life. Something I admire and envy.
I too was a brat. Air Force, not Army, but I know the experiences are the same. And I will respond to the question. Did you ever find out what happened to Fawn? If that had been me, the answer would also be that since I moved to 12 different schools in 12 years, there was no energy to keep track of the many who went through my life. There are a few I remember, but so many are lost, other than a hazy feeling they may have elicited in me at the time. I became compartmented. Outwardly, open and friendly, but inside, very protective of the part of me that ached and hurt each time we moved, and new friends needed to be made. Not my choice, not my choice, but the casualty of my mother and my sister and myself was lost. My father's service honored, but not the ones who were taken from place to place to ever another place. To settle, to make new acquaintances, for friends hurt too much when you lose them. Over and over again.
Thank you for sharing this. People vary in abilities to make friends, adapt to new surroundings and cultures, and be OK with rapid changes. The military's family life could be enjoyable for some and a serious challenge for others. Those of us staying in place probably couldn't have comprehended the ongoing disruptions some schoolmates lived with.
These are always my favorite. I don't remember when, but I remember Fawn from past pieces you have written. An old friend of mine. Happy to hear about her again. And it reminds me of my days as an army brat as well. fortunately, I didn't move as much as you did, but I know the drill well, having been dragged out of High School the summer before my senior year on a move to Puerto Rico, just as you were arriving from who knows where. Thanks for plugging these pieces in now and then.
Beautifully written, Lucian. I’ll echo Laurie above and ask if you know what happened to Fawn and her family. She sounded as if she could have married “up”.
I’m a few years younger than you and because of family moves in the late 1950’s and early 1960’, I went to a different school between third and ninth grades. I often wondered what happened to kids I was friendly with so briefly. I’ll never know, in most cases.
If you have time to mess around, you might be surprised by how much you can learn about 'lost' childhood friends in simple internet searches, even when you have only a maiden name. Birthdays are useful clues. I never joined Facebook, but my brother used to tell me that everybody anybody ever knew is a member. I'm not tempted to contact anyone, just like learning where life took them. (Being directed to the find-a-grave site is the down side.)
For some people this sort of activity can be "be careful what you wish for." I have been on the receiving end of this pain. The word "Facebook" appears in many divorce cases. You are wise not to pursue.
A picture is worth a thousand words, except when they are exactly the right words, showing things that can't be seen with the eyes but only in the imagination. This is a lovely piece of writing.
If Fawn took the same pathway her mother did? You're probably the only decent thing that happened to her. Then you memorialized her. Reading your article I felt her joy and pride, you gave her that. How wonderful.
Beautiful and thoughtful remembrances. It shows that as you go through life you can't always take the people and places in your life with you; you move on and away from them for various reasons. But you always have the memories, and it is so important to retain those memories because with those memories you are not just living in the present, but you are the sum of all that you were before in the places and with the people you were with.
Terroire. I never thought of applying that word to where I'm from, in every sense of the word. My terroire is Kansas, but about as far west of Leavenworth as you can get and still be in Kansas. It's still somewhere I go for solace of place. Thank you. I'll be re-reading this newsletter for a while.
Driving through western Kansas late one night, I once hallucinated a bear in the middle of the road in front of me. I thought it was real until it stayed in front of me for about 20 miles. Then I knew it was time to pull over, in Hays I think it was.
Drove from Hutchinson to Denver one night in the worst storm I have ever been in. Tornadoes and all. Semis turned over on their sides. Spent part of the night with my car parked in a ditch on the side of the highway hoping not to get sucked up in one of them.
A starry autumn night in western Kansas, on a 1975 cross-country motorcycle trip: surreal, inspiring-until first a stray cow then a county's worth of whitetail decided to come stargaze in the road with me😳. A butt-clencher that; but not realizing how tired I was until Lucian's bear and other 'haints' started showing up too, I was v glad to finally see a motel with lights on.
I drove I70 from college many times to get home. My heart always lifted as the terrain opened up and the wind picked up. Driving it at night is mesmerizing; never saw a bear, though!
Thanks Lucian, it's nice to be taken into a dream world and think about the past if only for a few minutes. You must have had to learn quickly how to be an extrovert to adapt to constant change but it's empowered you. When I grew up in the '60s moving was just part of the corporate world as your dad got promoted or transferred, and kids adjusted. I have to wonder about what kids today are missing when parents reject transfers or promotions on the premise that it would irreparably harm the kids.
Don't think it hurt me much. Alaska, Europe, Puerto Rico - just to name a few. Wasn't happy when a was snatched out of school just before my senior year in high school started. But I don't think it left any permanent marks. I don't understand most of todays parents or many of their children. But I guess that is part of being old.
Actually, I think he has a memoir somewhere the he has never published. Maybe on the net at some point, but not in book form. I always wonder about that myself. Reading those pieces was when I first learned about Fawn I think. I have thought to ask him the same question you just did on more than one occasion. What about it Lucian?
There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better,
Some are gone, and some remain
All these places have their meaning
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life
I’ve loved them all…
Your piece brought me back to the night I spent babysitting, crying and watching cars full of couples heading for the junior prom. My dress was in my closet, and my boyfriend was in the hospital after an explosion in the chem lab storeroom the afternoon before.
I am old now too. I remember my old boyfriends, the one really good one that got away, the starter husband who made good babies but was an abuser in the end, the girl I was, the feelings of being in an airplane leaving, always leaving.
The years do go by.
One really great one that got away too - in my early 20’s not knowing how to handle a relationship carefully enough. Regrets! But a good husband and children I would not trade- and super grandchild so meant to be. Ah, yes.
Lucian, I’m sitting here crying after reliving my Army brat childhood through your words. You put it so perfectly and honestly on the page. I often try to explain this in regular conversations to people I meet after they have told me their stories of growing up in the same town, still having the same friends they learned to ride bikes with, meeting their future spouse and later having children and growing older in that same town. I have no concept of that even after marrying a West Pointer when he flew Apaches at Ft. Hood and Ft. Rucker and getting out of the Army. We moved to Warren, NJ and have lived in the same house for the last 30 years. During that time, I went active duty , from Reserve status, just prior to the Gulf War and was stationed at West Point for a year as an officer in the Army Nurse Corps at Keller Army Hospital. It was the first time I felt “seen” again because I was back in my element. No one but another military brat will ever understand the life and I wanted to Thank You for putting the experience down on paper so eloquently.
That's a fine piece. I can smell the hot upholstery in the summer cars - and Fawn. Devastating.
Lucian, did you ever find out what happened to Fawn and her family? How sad that your mom was so afraid of her, afraid for you. Your writings about your life suggest that you've been remarkably, wonderfully fearless in your own life. Something I admire and envy.
No. We moved. She didn't.
I too was a brat. Air Force, not Army, but I know the experiences are the same. And I will respond to the question. Did you ever find out what happened to Fawn? If that had been me, the answer would also be that since I moved to 12 different schools in 12 years, there was no energy to keep track of the many who went through my life. There are a few I remember, but so many are lost, other than a hazy feeling they may have elicited in me at the time. I became compartmented. Outwardly, open and friendly, but inside, very protective of the part of me that ached and hurt each time we moved, and new friends needed to be made. Not my choice, not my choice, but the casualty of my mother and my sister and myself was lost. My father's service honored, but not the ones who were taken from place to place to ever another place. To settle, to make new acquaintances, for friends hurt too much when you lose them. Over and over again.
Thank you for sharing this. People vary in abilities to make friends, adapt to new surroundings and cultures, and be OK with rapid changes. The military's family life could be enjoyable for some and a serious challenge for others. Those of us staying in place probably couldn't have comprehended the ongoing disruptions some schoolmates lived with.
Another powerful piece that rings true on every line. Thank you, Truscott!
These are always my favorite. I don't remember when, but I remember Fawn from past pieces you have written. An old friend of mine. Happy to hear about her again. And it reminds me of my days as an army brat as well. fortunately, I didn't move as much as you did, but I know the drill well, having been dragged out of High School the summer before my senior year on a move to Puerto Rico, just as you were arriving from who knows where. Thanks for plugging these pieces in now and then.
Beautifully written, Lucian. I’ll echo Laurie above and ask if you know what happened to Fawn and her family. She sounded as if she could have married “up”.
I’m a few years younger than you and because of family moves in the late 1950’s and early 1960’, I went to a different school between third and ninth grades. I often wondered what happened to kids I was friendly with so briefly. I’ll never know, in most cases.
If you have time to mess around, you might be surprised by how much you can learn about 'lost' childhood friends in simple internet searches, even when you have only a maiden name. Birthdays are useful clues. I never joined Facebook, but my brother used to tell me that everybody anybody ever knew is a member. I'm not tempted to contact anyone, just like learning where life took them. (Being directed to the find-a-grave site is the down side.)
For some people this sort of activity can be "be careful what you wish for." I have been on the receiving end of this pain. The word "Facebook" appears in many divorce cases. You are wise not to pursue.
FB never interested me. I moved to NYC as early as I could because I wanted no part of anything I left behind; that has never changed.
A picture is worth a thousand words, except when they are exactly the right words, showing things that can't be seen with the eyes but only in the imagination. This is a lovely piece of writing.
If Fawn took the same pathway her mother did? You're probably the only decent thing that happened to her. Then you memorialized her. Reading your article I felt her joy and pride, you gave her that. How wonderful.
Beautiful and thoughtful remembrances. It shows that as you go through life you can't always take the people and places in your life with you; you move on and away from them for various reasons. But you always have the memories, and it is so important to retain those memories because with those memories you are not just living in the present, but you are the sum of all that you were before in the places and with the people you were with.
Gorgeous piece.
Beautiful and vivid. I’m glad you bought a stereo instead.
Oh, yeah? Lucian probably could have sold the art for enough to buy Tracy's Springs studio—a cosmic irony.
Terroire. I never thought of applying that word to where I'm from, in every sense of the word. My terroire is Kansas, but about as far west of Leavenworth as you can get and still be in Kansas. It's still somewhere I go for solace of place. Thank you. I'll be re-reading this newsletter for a while.
Driving through western Kansas late one night, I once hallucinated a bear in the middle of the road in front of me. I thought it was real until it stayed in front of me for about 20 miles. Then I knew it was time to pull over, in Hays I think it was.
Drove from Hutchinson to Denver one night in the worst storm I have ever been in. Tornadoes and all. Semis turned over on their sides. Spent part of the night with my car parked in a ditch on the side of the highway hoping not to get sucked up in one of them.
A starry autumn night in western Kansas, on a 1975 cross-country motorcycle trip: surreal, inspiring-until first a stray cow then a county's worth of whitetail decided to come stargaze in the road with me😳. A butt-clencher that; but not realizing how tired I was until Lucian's bear and other 'haints' started showing up too, I was v glad to finally see a motel with lights on.
No tv in the room and no salt and pepper shakers in the cafe ?
Lol, maybe no cafe and a sign on the wall that says "please don't clean pheasants in the room".
Ha
The pheasants moved to Nebraska
Driving in Kansas is like sailing on the Ocean.
No Horizon.
In Western Kansas the rhythm of the wind sounds like ocean waves. You can see the rhythm in wheat fields rippling in the wind.
Yes, while driving one can experience ses sickness.
Sea Sickness
I drove I70 from college many times to get home. My heart always lifted as the terrain opened up and the wind picked up. Driving it at night is mesmerizing; never saw a bear, though!
I've lived in 36 places.
And on a number of occasions awakened to the Dawn next to warm Fawns.
Thanks Lucian, it's nice to be taken into a dream world and think about the past if only for a few minutes. You must have had to learn quickly how to be an extrovert to adapt to constant change but it's empowered you. When I grew up in the '60s moving was just part of the corporate world as your dad got promoted or transferred, and kids adjusted. I have to wonder about what kids today are missing when parents reject transfers or promotions on the premise that it would irreparably harm the kids.
Don't think it hurt me much. Alaska, Europe, Puerto Rico - just to name a few. Wasn't happy when a was snatched out of school just before my senior year in high school started. But I don't think it left any permanent marks. I don't understand most of todays parents or many of their children. But I guess that is part of being old.
Do I dare hope that these memory pieces will be gathered into a book someday?
Actually, I think he has a memoir somewhere the he has never published. Maybe on the net at some point, but not in book form. I always wonder about that myself. Reading those pieces was when I first learned about Fawn I think. I have thought to ask him the same question you just did on more than one occasion. What about it Lucian?