by Mollie Gross
Military spouses follow their men wherever service takes them. We serve beside them quietly. That’s why we are known as “the Silent Ranks.”
My feelings about military life and the bond that forms can be summed up in a bumper sticker given to me by Mustang Major Lou. It says: “Marines welcome anytime; family by appointment only.”
The people in the military become your new family. Doors are always open. Blood willing to be shed for another is thicker than blood that runs through veins.
Little differences can be found between military families and civilians. For instance, military wives are pretty “Chatty Cathys” all day on the playground or on the phone. When 6:00 p.m. rolls around and the men start heading home, that becomes family time.
It better be life or death if you call another wife when her husband is home on a work night. And don’t get me started on what she will say to you if it’s pre-deployment.
No matter where they live, military families share the same bond. We silently serve beside our spouses—providing stability at home.
It is hard to be the strong one when you know war is a reality. We are second in our marriages. This fact can be difficult to comprehend and accept, but it’s the bond we share. It is not one easily understood by civilians.
Those of us in the Silent Ranks wear that badge of honor proudly.
This section of the book is meant to offer a tiny bit of insight into how we shop, celebrate, and relax.
MILITARY HOSPITALITY
Nothing is stronger than the bonds of the military. Its hospitality is over the top.
When a Marine falls in action, women from all over provide meals for the widow, offer to clean her home, and help out wherever they can.
At the same time, children may stay at a neighbor’s house while their mother goes to the doctor or needs a few hours by herself.
Doors open when one is in need of a cup of sugar or the use of a washing machine. There are no limits and no favor is too big to ask. Hospitality in the military is accepted when needed and given without hesitation.
Jon and I didn’t have children, but we kept our fridge stocked with juice boxes, popsicles, and all kinds of snacks for the neighborhood children.
At any hour of the night or day, we knew no matter where we were stationed or if our husband was home or not, we had family and people to help us.
WATCH YOUR MOUTH
Gossip can be destructive on base, especially in base housing neighborhoods. Military branches are relatively small. You may live next to someone on your first duty station and then again eight years later.
I learned to watch my mouth when it came to expressing how I felt about another wife. Our actions can affect our husband’s career or influence their commanding officers.
My mom and I attended Jon’s graduation from IOC. At the social after the ceremonies, I began chatting with Jon’s roommate and his fiancé. Jon stepped away to introduce my mother to someone.
While Jon was gone another graduate and his fiancé were standing behind me. She was loud and obnoxious. Whatever it was about her, it turned me off instantly.
I turned to my husband’s roommate and fiancé and said, “That girl chaps my ass.”
Right then Jon showed up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me away. He gave me the lecture of a lifetime. Keep in mind that not only does Jon rarely talk, but he also never tells me what to do.
“You better watch your mouth. The Marine Corps is very small. You don’t know her or her fiancé. You also don’t know my roommate and his fiancé. You never know if they’re friends. What if we’re stationed with that couple? What would you do then if she heard you or if one of her friends told her what you said?”
I was embarrassed and realized I had to learn to start biting my tongue. My husband was right. That couple ended up getting stationed at Camp Pendleton with us, and her husband was assigned to my husband’s battalion!
PCS: PRETTY CRAPPY SITUATION
In the military an average stay at a duty station is three years. In my personal experience, the wives are usually the ones in charge of the Permanent Change of Station move. We end up packing and organizing, or providing donuts and pizza for the TMO movers.
In the end, I think it is only fair that the wife picks if she wants to manage a TMO or a DITY move.
I recommend a TMO (Traffic Management Office) over a DITY move.
Men always want the DITY move because the military pays you to do it yourself. But the DITY move requires you to weigh your vehicle, rent U-hauls, pack boxes, and drive your belongings to the next station. It’s a real headache and very stressful.
When you select a TMO move, you arrange for the military to pack your belongings and move you to your next duty station. And they do it as inexpensively as possible.
If you go through TMO, follow the rules, particularly when it comes to what you leave to be packed. If not, they will pack up your garbage and move it. Seriously, I found a still-full bathroom trash can in a box after one move. It had been on a truck for more than a week.
What’s in your bathroom trash can? Do you hear me on this?
I have experienced both DITY and TMO types of moves and I have to tell you they both suck.
With a TMO, I had things stolen, broken, and lost. I packed anything I could not live without, like curling irons, make-up, and medications in my car.
In fact, I recommend you pack and move your own family heirlooms, photos, and jewelry as well as your intimate apparel.
Let’s just say this: it was quite a treat to see a “gentleman” from the moving company with his hands in a pile of my black leather and lace lingerie. I also suggest you move whatever you keep in your “night stand.”
Besides, if something from your private collection gets stolen, I doubt you will want to request reimbursement. So, ladies, make sure you personally pack those boudoir photos, if you get my drift.
When PCSing, pick the lesser of the two evils. It depends upon where you are moving as to which you choose, but do keep your private, expensive, or special items with you.
I learned a benefit of PCSing every three years. It’s another opportunity to forget to tell your mother-in-law your new address.
THIS BASE SUCKS!
So many wives have told me the bases their husbands have been stationed at sucks. They’ll whine that there’s nothing to do at 29 Palms (or any other base).
And yet, some wives in similar situations have a totally different perspective. They’ll tell me they’re going to functions every week and are planning other activities with their friends.
I know that certain stereotypes exist for some bases. Certain regions in the States, as well as in other countries, have very different weather. In Okinawa, for example, there’s a lot of rain. New residents often come down with island fever.
So, it’s all about being willing to embrace the differences and taking the time to explore your new home. It all boils down to perspective. Your attitude determines what your living situation will be like.
When I first got to Camp Pendleton, I hated it. I didn’t understand because this was the base everyone wanted. But when I changed my attitude and started getting involved, I started to like it there.
Set a goal and explore. Make it an adventure.
LIFETIME
One of Jon’s Marines once sought him out for some advice. Newly married, he came to Jon to ask, “Sir, what is this ‘Lifetime?’ All I know is when I come home at night my wife has been watching it all day on the TV and she is really mad at me.”
Jon explained what he had learned from my co-dependent relationship with Lifetime. I think I spent my first three months on base watching Joanna Kerns and Valerie Bertinelli starring in “Raped Again.”
I remember getting up at ten to catch “Unsolved Mysteries.” By eleven, I was completely freaked out and it was not even lunchtime! That music would get me completely tweaked.
After hiding under a blanket for about an hour and jumping out of my skin at every
sound, I would turn on “Lifetime” for a little ER.
After my delicious lunch of tuna in a can, I would settle in for an afternoon of Tracy Gold and TV’s Dean Cain starring in “Too Young to Be a Mom When You’re Anorexic.”
The next thing I knew Jon would be home and I was sure he would rape me or that he had stolen my credit cards and knocked up a teenage babysitter.
A full day’s dose of those stories can really mess you up. I had to learn to ration my “Lifetime” so it was more enjoyable, instead of it becoming an “all women are victims of evil men” brainwashing session.
Jon explained all this to the young Marine. Don’t worry, he assured him. His wife’s “Lifetime” obsession was just a phase. He just needed to be patient with her.
Jon suggested introducing her to the Enlisted Wives Club, or one of the many volunteer groups on base. He assured him that once she made some friends, she would let go of “Lifetime.”
PARTYING
When you live hard, you also have to party hard. The military does a lot of celebrating and hosts lots of speeches by people who are less than motivational.
In fact, I remember the speech during Jon’s graduation from TBS. Some crusty colonel stood up and said that a Marine’s job was to, “Destroy things and kill people.” I was not ready to hear that.
There are “Hails and Farewells” welcoming someone coming into or switching out of a unit. There are celebrations when someone is promoted and then there are the “pinning on” or “wet down” parties. These are very classy events to which family and friends are invited.
The “dining ins” are what the men look forward to all year. They’re also referred to as “mess night.” This is an evening full of tradition where the Marines feel free to cut loose and make fun of their superiors. Many were the nights that Natalie and I had to pick up our drunken husbands after these events.
But the best party of all is the Birthday Ball. It’s like prom night for military women.
THE BALL
I will never forget my first Marine Corps Birthday Ball.
I could tell Jon was very much in love with me just by the way he looked at me from across the table and smiled. He was watching me charm the other Marines and guests. I could tell he liked that I was gregarious and entertaining.
And I was proud to see him stand at attention as the band played our national anthem.
I had spent the entire day getting ready for the ball at my grandmother’s house. She loved seeing Jon in his dress blues and me in my gown.
I think at one point she tried to push me down the steps so she could go to the ball with Jon herself. She had such a great time reminiscing about balls she had attended with granddaddy.
My dad took 800 pictures of us. It really did feel like prom night.
The anticipation of the night is all tied up in buying the dress, getting my hair and nails done, and even buying some sexy lingerie and good perfume.
The couples with kids would stay in a hotel that night. This was the one night of the year they would get away.
Of course, this led to another phenomenon: Ball Babies. These bundles of joy arrive exactly nine months later. Ask a military wife when her children’s birthdays are. If it’s July, I’d avoid borrowing her gown.
THE BELLE OF THE BALL
I had a humiliating experience at my third ball. Let me explain.
I purchased my gown while Jon was deployed. At that point, I weighed about seventy pounds because I had not been eating.
Once he came home I became fat and happy again. That also meant the dress no longer fit.
So I bought an industrial strength girdle from Sears to get my “mother’s hips” into the dress. I had had some technical difficulties with the girdle earlier in the evening at Natalie’s, where I had nearly passed out trying to get it on.
In fact, it had taken two people to get me into it. How in the world did Scarlet O’Hara pick cotton in one of those straitjackets?
The girdle went from just under my breasts to the top of my knees. It cinched me in pretty tight. In fact, it was so tight that when I sat in it and farted, the farts would slide up my back, shoot out the top of the girdle, and make my hair fly off the back of my neck.
If I changed position to allow room for outgoing gas, the air would blow down the girdle between my legs. Without warning, my legs would kick out in front of me.
How was I going to pass those farts off on someone else all night? There was only a tiny hole in the crotch to allow you to pee without taking it off.
At first, I figured I would not drink anything all night. That really wasn’t feasible because it was one of the few times when I could allow myself to cut loose. In the end, I figured I would have to risk a bathroom disaster.
I could also barely breathe and kept taking shallow breaths, which left me feeling lightheaded.
Before we left home, my hair had already started to fall apart. I decided to pull it into a bun high on my head and attach one of those fake hair things that look like a nest of cute curls. I slapped a tiara on my head and was good to go. I had my weave, my girdle, and my tiara. I was ready to party!
This ball fell between deployments. Jon had just returned from Iraq and we were gearing up mentally for his next deployment in two months. There was a lot weighing on our minds, but we kept smiles on our faces. I started to drink and it didn’t take long before I was feeling wild.
What happened next may not come as a surprise to you. Let’s just blame the girdle. It squeezed all the sense right out of me.
I had not met Jon’s new company commander, Captain Rodriquez. All that my husband had told me about him was he was very big and very quiet. My husband is a man of few words himself, so I had to push for more details. I needed to know what he looked like, so I wouldn’t act like a total idiot in front of my husband’s CO.
Jon paused and finally replied, “He looks like a big black Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
That’s all I needed. He sounded good to me, real good, in fact. Arnold had been my total teen heart throb.
I was cutting jokes and telling some silly stories to a captive audience of single Grunts when Jon asked me to come with him to meet his CO.
I put my game face on, but it was too late. There was a large handsome man with a huge smile, great dimples—sexy-looking and baldheaded. And he had the most gorgeous, petite woman on his arm. Her black hair went down to her butt. She looked like a Hawaiian Tropics model.
I started in. “Oh my God, my husband was right! He said you looked just like a big Black Arnold Schwarzenegger and you do! Look at you two! Stop everything! Give me the camera!”
I told his wife to come and stand by me to look at our two men. I went on and on about how handsome they were and how they should do a calendar together.
She was laughing. He was laughing.
I asked her if she “Bunco-ed” and she said she did. She lived near Christa, so I assured her she would be attending the next party.
Meet and greet accomplished. I thought I was so cute and charming.
Later that night, Jon and I tried dancing. We had taken a few swing lessons and thought we were “hot to trot.”
By that time, however, we were both tipsy. To make matters even more interesting, I had not eaten. I could barely breathe or move because of my girdle.
The next thing I know, Jon shoots me under his arm knocking off my nest of fake curls.
I screamed, “My weave, my weave!” as it flew through the air and landed on the ground. I was on my hands and knees crawling around looking for my weave when I found it next to Captain Rodriquez’s shoe.
I jumped up and said, “My weave got snatched off. I gotta go to the bathroom.”
And I took off.
The next morning I was horrified to realize I had made a total fool of myself in front of my husband’s CO and his wife.
Then I started thinking that Rodriquez is not an African American name. It’s Spanish in origin. I had made comments about this man
’s ethnicity, but what if he was not black? My husband had been born and raised in Idaho and didn’t see a black person until he was in college!
Why had I listened to him? I had been raised in the South and knew black people. In fact, a black woman had taken care of me until I was 12.
I cried all morning.
Clearly, the Rodriquez family thought I was a freak and a racist. Or that I was a Southern country bumpkin who had never met a Latino, Puerto Rican, or Mexican, and so thought anyone with tan or dark skin was black.
I bawled all weekend. I could not believe I had screamed in front of this man that I had lost my weave. I made Jon promise to apologize for me when he went back to work.
Jon talked to his new CO that Monday. He said it went something like this: “Sir, may I please speak to you about something my wife is upset about. It concerns your ethnicity. She is afraid she offended you.”
Captain Rodriquez laughed in response. He said that he actually is a little bit of everything and that being African American is a big part of his heritage. He told Jon to tell me not to worry.
We ended up becoming great friends and later laughed about the incident. His wife and I still encouraged the boys to do a calendar, but they never did.
RANKISM
There is an issue in the military that can get very ugly: “rankism.” This is discrimination against someone based upon their own or their spouse’s rank.
The rank system is part of the military’s core structure, which is fine for the service men, but not so fine for the dependents.
Excessive fraternization among the ranks is just not acceptable. You don’t want to spend weekends drinking beer, cutting farts, or watching your boss and his wife get into a fight. When you do that, you can’t maintain a certain level of respect at work.
There have to be boundaries, especially when you’re talking about leadership roles in life and death decisions.
However, some dependents take this to mean they have a license to act like they are better than others. Some dependents think their husband’s rank means they do not have to be accountable for their actions.