Being a Brat

Most people seem shocked when I ask: "What do you mean by where I'm from? As in hometown? Where was I last? Where I call home?" More seem even more shocked when I answer with my hometown, Misawa Air Base. Located 500 miles north of Tokyo, Japan's metropolis capital city, Misawa is in the peaceful countryside, filled with rice paddies, old buildings, forgotten towns with age-old traditions still being practiced side by side with modern buildings slowly being put up throughout the prefecture. In Japan, there are large prefectures that make up the islands, and each prefecture had its own primary product they were known for. My home was located in Aomori, most known for its agriculture with the rice, apples, and salmon. I loved going to the local festivals, trying all the new foods, and getting fresh rice off the harvest, normally as gifts from our local neighbors and friends that were connected to the farms and colleges that helped keep our part of Japan healthy and green.

I was born on a base, automatically making me an American citizen, but that doesn't stop people from saying "You aren't Asian though!" Quick reminder: we won World War Two, and that helped create American bases throughout Japan's archipelago. Mine was unique in sharing the base with the local Japanese Defense Force, their own version of the Air Force. Every hour was marked with engine roars overhead, jet fighters blasting off and doing routine exercises, seeing uniforms everywhere both on and off base, even hearing various alerts for tornadoes, terrorist attacks, and earthquake drills became normal practice. We learned the Pledge of Allegiance along with the Japanese national anthem and our own anthem playing side by side every day at 4:30 for retreat, and at the movie theater. Most of these would seem strange to most visitors, especially brand new overseas brats that had never had to experience these before in the States, but if you open up and become friends with brats who were more used to these odd traditions, you'd get used to it. Most of us even come back to the same base several times, myself having gone back three times during “rotations.” Those simply meant every few years, we moved, or rotated out of the base, to experience a new home and place to live. I’ve lived in the same base for 13 years, and England for three years, but it always felt amazing coming home, knowing we had friends and family waiting for us at the base.

Growing up, you had to be better at saying goodbyes and greeting new people every few years when your friends left and new ones came, even you had to pick up your life and move across the world several times before finally coming to a halt when your active parent, or both, retired. I’ve said goodbye to more people than I thought possible, but thankfully for social media, I keep in check with my friends all over the world. It’s never easy, and it never gets easier as time went on, but every friend you bonded with, forming your own special family with the military and friends you met, American or native to the country, it makes the goodbyes seem temporary. Living in Japan was a beautiful experience, full of kind, caring people who were polite, modest, and patient, wishing the language barrier was easier to overcome in order to help more when you asked for directions or help. Coming to America was hard, giving me plenty of culture shock and having to learn not everyone shared the same ideals, more people were easily offended, and not everyone loved the military. It's hard, but as time goes on, you can look back on your home and realize how grateful you were for such a unique and beautiful experience that helped shape the caring, kind-hearted person you are today. For that alone, I am proud to say I am a military brat from Japan.