What it is meant to be translated as is "Life is strange and funny."
Being a military brat (my blood runs Navy blue) is a great and strange subculture. Brats are almost like a secret society unto themselves - our childhood is different from civilian kids, but there is so much in common between children of the armed forces. We share many of the same experiences, the same ways of looking at what our parents did for a living. We addressed grown-ups as "sir" or "m'am." We knew what fatigues and dress whites are, how to properly salute. Jokes about the "Chair Force" or some wild Lieutenant Commander were even funnier than knock-knocks. We knew that if you said your dad did that job, he was probably a spy. And most widely known.....we moved. We changed schools and left friends. And in the days before Facebook and email, we usually lost them forever. I never had it as bad as my brother did, but for the beginning of life the thought of starting over every 2 years made sense.
When I was three years old we moved to Italy (of course, when I was too young to appreciate that it's FUCKING MAGICAL). We were stationed in a small sea town, so that my dad (and a bunch of other kids' dads) would be in close proximity to the ship that they would disappear with for months upon months at a time. Only now as an adult do I have any modicum of an idea how tough that was for our mother. Welcome to this foreign country! Your husband is going to leave now. Please take care of these two kids who miss their dad, don't really speak the language (oh, and your husband is going to miss his son's birthday for a few years) and manage to provide. Oh, I almost forgot. Shit is going to break. All the time. It will become an inside joke for the rest of your life "la macchina non funziona" or "the machine does not work." You will hoard certain luxuries like peanut butter because you won't be sure when you'll get it again. And try to stay calm, ok?
I should mention that my mother was also in the Navy. Being both a member AND spouse is like the perfect storm of intense and difficult living...and she did it so amazingly well.
I'm sure it wasn't any easier on Dad. To be away from your family for so long, stuck on a ship with a bunch of other dudes who also pine for their loved ones. It is a brutual life, for everyone involved. To this day, when you see someone in military uniform, I encourage you to at least smile. Because that person and the family who loves them have had to give up a lot.
Food and the Beach: I can't begin to explain how lucky I am to have these two sense memories so intracately linked together in my mind. And maybe most of what goes on in my brain is a dream, but it's a beautiful one. The food was amazing. That much I know is true. I'm pretty sure a person with even a drop of Italian blood in their system never forgets a good meal. I remember pizza, sharp salty cheeses and rich tomato sauces. I remember basil and garlic, and things being warm and comforting, but never too hot. I remember La Loggia, and eating food near the sounds and smells of the beach. After school the joy of going down to the beach, and doing homework on the sand. The treat of tartufo, dark and bitter sweet chocolate powder. Feeling gritty and salty, wild and hungry and free. Is there any better way to be a child? I would love to go back someday, and eat again with an adult palate. And this time THERE WILL BE WINE! And cappucino. Oh my God, so much cappucino....
Toys: Ok. This seems particularly lame and self-centered, but were you an altrusitic 4 year old? No? Me neither. I loved toys. And in the 80s, toys were SO DOPE! How do you think my mother tricked me into a trans-Atlantic flight? By secretly revealing more toys during the duration of the trip. Every three hours or so (this was about a 14 hour journey) a coloring book or My Little Pony appeared. And guess what Mom? I still have one of the MLP! It's like this crazy sea-horse thing that you could play with in the tub and I never got rid of it. So there. You'll have to pry it out of my cold dead hands.
Two other toys of note. 1.) My Jem dolls. My dear parents bought me those crazy Jem and the Holograms dolls, and God bless them, because they totally looked like punk rock drag queens and it was an enormous leap of faith for them. I even remember my dad (remember people: military) kind of wincing as I opened my Rio doll one birthday. Rio, Jem's purple-haired, purple-khakis-wearing boyfriend, was exactly the type of person he was working to keep out of the Navy.
James Bond: It was a real exciting time when my dad's ship was in port. It was even MORE exciting when we were allowed to visit him on it! My happiest memory? Watching the brand new James Bond film The Living Daylights on board, complete with popcorn. Not only was this my first real intro to Bond (all hail Dalton, he was so completely misunderstood) but there was a high-speed snow chase atop a cello, which proved in my mind that action and high culture could mix. Being a 5 year old at the time, running amok on a Naval vessal was pretty much the height of cool. And I learnd how to scurry up and down ladders and climb in and out of small spaces like a pro. This is a skill most children learn in trees or neighborhood hide-outs.
I learnt it on the USS Belknap, bitches. Beat Army.
