Friends,

Now you’re probably wondering if the story has ended. Was graduating from basic training the shining accomplishment of my military career?

Honestly? The last few weeks were just an introduction. If this was a book, you just read the prologue. We haven’t even gotten started yet.

My family follows these blogs. I’ve never told them about my military career, at least not in a story format. My sister told me she reads these when she’s on the toilet. The jokes on her; I read her letters in a porta-john in the middle of Iraq. Beat that!

But they play an integral part in the story. So, I thought I should introduce them now since they will come up later.

As you all know by now, I come from a long line of service members. All ranks. All branches. All kinds of different jobs. Hell, a quick Google search will reveal most of them. Protecting the innocent is difficult when they all share my last name and have already made it into the history books.

Maybe I should have given them a heads-up before sitting down to type my confessions.

I think they’ll forgive me. Fingers crossed.

My father served in the Navy. One of those real Navy men. With the stained coffee mug, his bag packed and ready by the front door, and an unhealthy obsession for video games. He was a leader. A pit bull to his subordinates. A pain in the ass to his higher-ups. But dedicated to the Navy. Ride-or-die kind of dedicated.

I don’t remember him being around a lot during my childhood. From what I remember, the Navy breaks things down into cycles. Three years of shore duty followed by three years of sea duty. Sea duty was training. If you’re in the Navy, training happens at sea. Which means there were months he was gone- 3, 6, and 9-month deployments, to be exact.

If you did the math, you know where I’m heading. Yup, this was long before cell phones and high-speed internet. Were there international collect calls back then? Did he have to use quarters at a payphone to call home? Maybe he sent seagulls? I really don’t know. I should ask him.

What I’m trying to say is there were no emails. No instant messaging. No text messages. No constant communication. Just a hope and a prayer that my mother was sitting by the rotary phone when he called.

The washing machine broke down? She’d have to figure out how to fix it.

Having a bad day because the kids are acting up and the bills are piling up on the kitchen table? She dealt with it alone.

She was dedicated; I can tell you that. A ride-or-die military wife. And a spectacular mother.

My father was never a ‘letter-writing’ man. I used to wonder about that. Why didn’t he send more letters? Shouldn’t we have gotten one at least once a week? Looking back, I understand. It’s hard to explain what you’ve done, why you’re doing it, or where you’re going next.

I could never figure out how to put everything on paper, so I’ll give him a break.

But I digress, back to the home front while I was in training.

My parents moved while I was in basic. Rude! I didn’t even know they were house-hunting. I must have missed that paragraph in the letters. I just remember hearing about it during one of the few times we were given permission for a five-minute call.

Talk about a wake-up call. Life was trucking along outside my world of MREs, endless classes, and mass punishments. What do you mean the world didn’t stop because I was training to go to war? Shouldn’t my family have been sitting around the telephone waiting to hear from me? Shouldn’t time have stopped so I didn’t miss any of the big things?

But it doesn’t.

At this moment, while you read this, billions of others are living a life you will never know about. They are rushing to work, getting the kids ready for school, moving, dying, being born, buying houses, and selling stocks.

They are in basic training learning how to pew pew.

My parents buying a house was life-changing for me. It meant I was no longer a key player in their lives. It meant that this was no longer a game. This was my life. On my own. With a shitty paycheck and everything.

I should have stayed in college.

As I was coming into the Army, my dad was preparing to leave the Navy. He’d done his time. My mother had made her sacrifice. My sister deserved to grow up in the same town, with the same friends, and have some sort of stability.

It wasn’t until I retired that I understood what major life changes they were going through. Their whole lives were uprooted as they moved into the ‘civilian realm.’ And I wasn’t there. They never told me. They wanted me to focus on what I was doing and not worry.

I laugh because this would be the first of many ‘secrets’ between me and my family. They bought a home, and I had a duffle bag, $500.00 in the bank, and a roll of lifesavers.

We were now officially on two different paths.

Until tomorrow, my friends- Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

If tales of legend, myth, and fantasy topped with a cup of coffee interest you, I suggest checking out my book, The Writer and the Librarian. It’s a historical fantasy about a middle-aged woman faced with a decision: accept what is written in the history books or find out for herself the truth behind the stories. Limited edition copies are now available on my website (Shop – R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author (rlgeerrobbins.com) or at

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Current sales as of today= 135/1500