The Happy Few

I'm proud to say I come from a military family.

My father joined the United States Air Force when I was ten.  He left for three months to undergo the hell that is Officer Training School (OTS) in Montgomery, Alabama.  In the summer.

In Alabama.

Many of his fellow squad members confided to him that it was much worse than basic training (through which they had previously gone).  Late that August he was sworn in as a Second Lieutenant.  Thirteen years later he has moved up in rank, in responsibility, and in area of professional expertise.  He has been saluted and called Lieutenant, Captain, and now Major Bugg.

He has had to leave his family from time to time.  He has missed the birth of one of his sons while assigned to legal training in another state.  He has missed Christmas.  He has been deployed to the Middle East and was fortunate enough to avoid any harm.

His service to his country has been both taxing and rewarding.  The military has uprooted our family, shuffled us from place to place, house to house, school to school; we've had to adapt to making new friends quickly and expecting every relationship to come with a shelf life.

But this has also forced us to rely on each other and our abilities to make the bumpy voyage as smooth as possible.  We've banded together to pack up quickly, load moving trucks, organize our household, tag team dinner and painting the living room.  The years have gone by as a whirlwind of boxes, carports, bunk beds (military housing isn't always made for a family of eight people), lawnmowers, airshows, and wonderful, supportive neighbors who understand and empathize with the friction of the lifestyle taken on by our troops and their families.



In 2006 I was a pallbearer at my grandfather's funeral.  It was the most involved I had ever been at a funeral and the only one I had ever been to where I personally knew the deceased. I think of that as my first brush with mortality, my first time joining the ranks of my fathers and brothers and taking my place in the generational chain.

My father wore his uniform to the funeral.  During the memorial service he explained his choice of dress blues over traditional mourning black.

My grandfather served in the military as well.   He joined the Navy once he reached the proper age and took an oath to serve his country.


The war ended before he finished basic.


He finished out his tour of duty behind a typewriter in Guam and went home.  But at his funeral there was still a color guard who draped a flag over the casket.  The Navy - the armed forces - still honored his service.

My father explained:  The oath you take when you join the military is that you will lay down your life for your country if called upon.  Neither my father nor his father have had to die for their country.  But they laid down their lives for it.  They were prepared to give their all.

That is the sacrifice they honored at the grave site.  His willingness to serve was enough.



Joining the military is a life-changing event.  My wife and I consider it as a viable career option at times (just as my father did), but I'm hesitant to make such a drastic step.  I've lived that life - and it is a crucible and a forge for both soldiers and the wives and children.  I honor their sacrifice, but I don't envy it.  Regardless of whether or not you are deployed or if you serve on the home front, you place you family's location, your children's schools, the map of your life, into the hands of strangers.

I love my country.  If called upon - if our enemies threatened our borders and a draft was instituted -  I would, like my grandfather, volunteer to protect my home.  But for now I believe I can better serve my country putting my talents to use as a civilian. I have seen the caliber of men enlisted in our defense, and I am awed.



To those of you who have joined the ranks of my fathers before me, thank you for your service.

To your families, thank you for your sacrifice.  I know only in some small degree the lonely path you tread.


To my dad.  To my grandpa. To all the men and women who protect us with their lives and deaths.

To you few, you happy few, you band of brothers,


From the bottom of my heart,

Thank you.