|
|
Your Two Cents
Submit your stories, news items, or a benefits update -- and help Military.com bring the best, most important stories to your fellow servicemembers, veterans, and family members. Contribute here
|
|
|
March 29, 2005
[Sound
Off! - Have an opinion about this commentary? Visit the
discussion forum.]
A few days ago I was headed to the base for my monthly trip to the commissary and to pick up refilled prescriptions. I say "monthly" because these types of errands can only be done with my two young sons when a full moon enters Aquarius, or whatever, and my horoscope says, "You will meet no obstacles today."
Thanks to prior experiences, I knew for the trip to be successful, I needed to make sure Ford and Owen were well-fed, not tired, and in clean pants. As an added measure, on the way out the door, I gave each of them a handful of Matchbox cars, and I congratulated myself for being so organized.
We drove to the base singing theme songs to favorite cartoons, and I felt a sense of calm that is unusual for "commissary days."
It would be a good day, I thought. I couldn't have planned it any better.
As I approached the small guard shack on base, however, I started to sense a twinge of fear, the slightest bit of doom. Only, I wasn't sure why yet. I was like a traveler heading out on a journey with the faintest feeling of having forgotten something.
I went through a quick mental checklist: Snacks for the boys? Check! Diapers for Owen? Check! I riffled in the backpack with one hand as I drove, feeling my way through all the necessities: granola bars, juice boxes, superhero capes.
And then I pulled up to the gate and a man dressed in camouflage leaned into my window. "ID ma'am?" he said.
ID?
My heart beat faster. I dumped my purse over in the seat and rummaged through the belongings. Surely I remembered my ID card! How could I forget that?
"Misplaced your ID?" the guard asked.
I glared at him. Did he really think a mother who remembered band-aids and waterless soap could possibly misplace her ID card?
Pshaw!
I flipped open the glove compartment and pulled everything out. I even dug through an old Happy Meal box ... just in case. But the ID was no where.
|
Cars were lining up behind mine and the guard grew impatient: "Sorry, ma'am, but you gotta have an ID to get on base."
At first I tried crying -- or, at least whimpering -- because that sometimes worked to get out of parking tickets. But the guard wouldn't budge.
Cars behind me honked.
"But Jupiter is aligned with Mars today," I sobbed, "and I only have a small window of opportunity before the kids need a nap. Do you have children?"
The soldier's face never changed. "Sorry, ma'am; can't let anyone through without ID."
I sighed, leaning my forehead against the steering wheel.
Then the guard had an idea: "If you call your husband from your cell phone, he can come up and escort you through."
What a brilliant idea! How smart of him! And it would have been perfect ... if I hadn't forgotten to recharge my phone that morning.
I know we should be glad security is tight and that no one -- not admirals, or the mayor, or mothers with children singing "Rolie Polie Olie" in the backseat -- gets through without proper identification. After all, my boys are quite threatening. Why, if that guard had let me through, who knows what might have happened! Ford could have smooshed all the loaves of bread, and Owen could have thrown a jar of spaghetti sauce on the floor! All heck might have broken loose inside that commissary.
In fact, when I got home, the boys were so upset about our change of plans, they colored themselves with permanent markers and put a CD inside the video player.
Note: my first draft of this column ended with, "for the commissary's sake, it's a good thing the guard didn't let me in." But Dustin read that and said, "You sound cynical and sarcastic. Security is important these days."
I stared at him surprised, because, well, I wasn't being sarcastic or cynical at all. I was being totally serious -- it's a good thing that man didn't let me go through with what would obviously be another doomed commissary trip.
But maybe it's humor only a military mother can understand.
Sarah Smiley can be reached via the Shore
Duty Website.
 Email
this page to friends
© 2005 Sarah Smiley. All opinions expressed
in this article are the author's and do not necessarily reflect
those of Military.com.
|
