An Open Letter to G.I. Joe

Dear Soldier,

I can’t say that I dreamed of you when I was little girl. I never paired my Barbies with any of my brothers G.I. Joes. In truth, I always wanted to marry a man who drove a convertible. But one day you came along in a truck that I had to climb to get into instead of a convertible, and eventually, you asked me to marry you.

Little did I know that being a service member’s spouse was a lot different than the movies portray.

I’ll admit, sometimes, I wish we lived a civilian life.

A life where your boss doesn’t make you have staff duty all day and night.

A life where I don’t have to ask someone I hardly know, with little to no notice, to watch our babies because you all of a sudden have to work late and I have school.

A life where we lived on our own piece of land with no neighbors instead of a duplex.

A like where I didn’t have to see my closest friends cry and try to find the words to comfort them when their service members leave for deployment or unaccompanied PCS moves.

A life where I knew what time you would get off work each day and if a place setting needs to be made for you at our dinner table.

Sometimes I wish service members could have their phones everyday overseas and at training events.

Sometimes I wish we lived back home so our kids could grow up with their grandparents around instead of moving every three years, but that’s not the cards we were dealt.

Although I may find myself wishing these things, all the time I find myself proud of you.

Right now in fact, as I sit here and type this in our office and look up to see your face in a group photo of your platoon, I’m proud of you.

I’m proud of you when my heart swells to see our daughter take her boots off and neatly place them next to your combat boots right by the front door.

I’m proud that we made the sacrifice to live this life so that others don’t have to.

I’m proud that my friends back home and their children can sleep a little bit safer because of you and your friends.

I’m proud that you sacrificed living in the comfort of your hometown and the presence of your parents so that you could fight the good fight, the hard fight, the seemingly never-ending fight.

Sometimes it might seem that I’m sick of the military because all I ever do is complain. But really, I can’t help but love the military. I can’t help but absolutely love the military and all  it entails because the military is you.

You, who wakes up before the sun’s up and comes home after it has gone back down.

You in your uniform that never seems to leave our laundry pile.

You are the military.

You are the American flag hanging on the porch of our temporary home.

You are the rumble coming out from the woods during gunnery.

You are the clock hands on the wall that tell the time in Kuwait.

You are the man who never complains, never boasts, never brags.

You are the man who gets embarrassed when someone thanks you for your service because you didn’t do it looking for gratitude, you did it for me and our babies so that we may live in a world where our freedom is never compromised.

You are my husband. My soldier. My knight in shining armor. My best friend. My wildest dream come true.

My “G.I. Joe.”

And if had my life to do over again, the only change I would ever make would be finding you sooner so I could love you longer.

Love always, “Barbie”