family
In supporting their uniformed relative, army families embody the utmost contribution and commitment to their fellow countrymen.
Pop Tarts, Jergen’s Lotion and Young Ladies of Fine Breeding
I was a military brat. My dad was in the Air Force, and we lived all over the U.S. and the Europe. We lived in the UK, Montana, Florida, Germany, Texas, and New Mexico. At my dad’s last station, we were at Holloman AFB in New Mexico. As my parents knew it was my dad’s last tour before he was going to retire, they bought a little house and planned on staying there permanently.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior5 years ago in Serve
Advice for Military Families Searching for a New Home
You've dedicated your life to your country as a member of the armed forces. The time has come to find a home of your own where you can enjoy the rewards of your service with your family. Whether you are on active duty or you have transitioned into civilian life, take the following advice for military families on the quest for their dream home.
By Regina Thomas5 years ago in Serve
My Private Life
So where were we? ah yes, 1982 South Central Los Angeles. Like I said in part 1, my dad Moose was prideful to an extent, he insisted I go to private school. So I did , from kindergarten until ninth grade, I was a good old "Catholic School Kid." I won't mention the name.
By Avimael Yahudah 5 years ago in Serve
My Private Life
Preface Dedicated to Stephanie,
By Avimael Yahudah 5 years ago in Serve
Antonio Alago Acevedo
By Roberto Alago My Father was a Master Mechanic and responsible for the invention of many tools, while he was working for the US Air Force. He served in the civil service from 1945 - 1971. He wasn't always a Mechanic; he started out as a Shoe Shine Boy, a Store Clerk and a Carpenter. When Ramey Airfield began construction in 1936, he became a Contractor Carpenter.
By Roberto Alago5 years ago in Serve
Going Home
I am a very weary soldier. We have been through hell and back these last two interminable years fighting for king and country. Now the war is over, and we are slowly making our way back home. I cannot help but think of a couple of stanzas of the song Going Home.
By Dale Sands5 years ago in Serve
The Surly Bonds that Bind Us. Top Story - March 2021.
Present Day Southampton College, South Meeting Room To the untrained eye, the man walking across the small stage carried an air of quiescent unworthiness rather than one of significance. As he walked people turned to stare, wondering and whispering quietly as they tried to remember where they had seen him before. Yet not only were the attendees ignorant as to his identity they were equally unaware of why exactly they had been invited (bribed really given the free booze) to the event in the first place.
By Prometheus Wojtisniewskie5 years ago in Serve
CHANUTE FIELD
The Ivory-billed Woodpecker has flown. Lord to God I wish it was not true, but now I have to tell his story. After all, he left me $20,000. And a stamp collection, a Boy Scout Handbook from the 1930s, a metal-encased pocket bible from WWII, and a little black book that looks its age -- eighty years, if it was eighteen years younger than he.
By Lise Erdrich5 years ago in Serve
Nowak Bakery
Tarnow, Poland, May 1939 Toothbrushes were set to the cobblestone streets as lawyers, bankers, reporters, and the communities elite scrubbed each inch of their towns busiest street. Soldiers prevented the street cleaners from leaving their assigned task. A crowd gathers to watch men in suits scrubbing the street. Initially, there was silence. A German soldier, not more than nineteen years old, walks slowly to a store filled with many fruits and vegetables. He grabs an apple and throws it at an older man who has just stood and asked to use the restroom. The soldiers all start laughing and rushing to grab a fruit. The townspeople start cheering as the community's upper class are pelted with food and then furniture, and finally, the scene grows very dark. Wives try and protect their husbands, and then the soldiers take the wives.
By Robert Nicholson5 years ago in Serve
Papaw, the Devil Dog
My paternal grandfather, Linton Carl Fendley, was a giant of a man in my eyes - a lovable, affable, fun-loving giant. Papaw was usually the life of the party at family gatherings with his self-deprecating humor: “I have ears like open cab doors,” and his full gauge electric train, which occupied much of the basement. Going to visit Mamaw and Papaw was always an adventure. We counted on Papaw to provide fun and laughter, and even a mold for lead toy soldiers, which he and I used to crank out miniature fighting menk during visits. (This was the 50s. We didn’t know about lead poisoning back then.) Mamaw, on the other hand, was a gray horse of a different color. OCD to the max, melancholy, she was given to sitting in front of the radio listening to Billy Graham hour after hour. We kids learned very quickly to sit carefully on Mamaw’s plastic covered furniture, and to walk deftly on the plastic runner protecting the carpet. Serious consequences awaited if we happened to step off the plastic runners.
By Ken Fendley5 years ago in Serve
