Moving Backward

In the first sixteen years of my life, I lived in 14 different houses, 10 different cities, and went to 8 different schools—thanks to the Navy.

I started out such a good student, they skipped me past 2nd grade straight into 3rd. You wouldn't think that would make too much difference—and maybe it didn't at that particular age—but I'm convinced it made a huge difference over time. It's something they don't do anymore, and for good reason. Because of my November birthday, I was usually two years younger than my classmates most of the time. And two years in physical and social development is a huge gap. I was playing horse while my classmates were wearing stockings and trying on lipstick. I often felt isolated and snubbed.

(I'm also convinced that I started my period at age 11 because I cycled in sync with my 13 year-old-peers.)

Like other military children, my father was seldom home. Unlike other children, I had a mother who enjoyed interacting with me on a social level (think shopping and movies and eating out) but who spent no time at all helping with homework, helping me navigate change, or providing any kind of stability. She thrived on chaos.

By fifth grade, my scholastic achievements were struggling. I had a terrible teacher, a lay man in a Catholic school with a short temper; followed by a bitter nun who was punitive and made fun of my large feet; followed by a general disillusion with the Catholic religion and a transfer into a public junior high. By then, my inability to deal with math was drowning me. I set a pattern at being good at Art and English, and everything else was mediocre to poor. I pulled my socks up my my senior year and finished with good grades and Most Talented award for my musical abilities. But it was too late to redeem myself to the art college I wanted to attend. I ended up, at age 16, starting university.

I don't recall my grades at that stage, but I had poor art teachers, hung around the Drama dept. (for no credits), and ran on a fast social track that included experiencing marijuana and losing my virginity. I rushed a sorority and then dropped out when I made it. It's not surprising, given the financial costs, that I left university in my sophomore year—and I've lived with the stigma of a life unfinished, scholastically, ever since.

I'm not trying to make excuses for my behavior, but I am trying to look back at that young girl growing up and give her some understanding and maybe even forgiveness.

Think about it. How can any student excel when her world is constantly changing? Not only was I pulled from school to school but also home to home, city to city, even country to country. On top of that, my parents were increasingly at odds with one another and my mother leaned on me for emotional support through her unhappiness and extramarital escapades. I also had an unspoken responsibility for my three younger brothers. When my parents' marriage imploded, I had to adjust to a new, insecure, arrogant stepfather who continued to move us (also Navy) and who fought continually with my mother over control and jealousy.

An article from a John Hopkins study states: “Military families and military children are amongst the most transient of populations. It is not uncommon to see kids who have grown up in military families who have been in 5, 7 or 9 different schools by the end of their high school career. There is very high mobility. With high mobility come issues of engagement, disengagement and reengagement.”

It also says that teenagers were often rebellious and at higher risk of using drugs and engaging in early-age sexual behavior. For me, sexual exploration was both consolation for my unhappy home life and a deep need to feel loved. (I wish I could say that males at that age had similar motivations for sex, but unfortunately, they didn't. It usually made me feel worse in the end.)

On the up side, military brats are usually self-reliant, independent, and flexible. Well, you had to be, didn't you? Or you'd have gone bonkers. But the issue of disengagement, over and over again—and a mother who required obedience and high maintenance from her children—left a permanent scar. I am outwardly friendly and socially at ease—when I make the effort—but inside I am aloof, a loner, and utterly against any kind of community or group or volunteer work. It makes me feel suffocated, controlled. My marriages were a disaster; not completely because of my issues and behaviors, but also because of my inability to make good decisions about potential partners. It took me 50 years to finally shake free of dysfunctional ties and live on my own, emotionally and physically. To leave the thought of romance and marriage behind. To appreciate a circle of women friends. To breathe my own air.

But I digress. I have been so fortunate to have a career studded with creative fulfillment. To use my intelligence and mental adaptability to maneuver through developing technologies. To work for brands and people that encouraged my talents. This, despite the fact that I never graduated from university—and that I still hold onto a kernel of shame, hiding my lack of degree as I interact with peers that possess one (or more). No one told me I was experiencing huge disadvantages, because those always seemed applied to poor people or people of color, or people who suffered medical conditions or tragedies.

I think that child, that girl, that inadequately equipped teenager, deserves some compassion for the obstacles she labored against. I think it's amazing that she did what she did. My degree is not on paper, but imprinted on the mental and emotional surfaces inside me.