While Ken was agonizing over JP fuel, I was living the life I had never had before and it was wonderful.  I was twenty-five years old, the same age as most of the Lieutenant's wives.  Finally I had people my own age to be around.  Problem was, I was the Commanding Officer's wife and they treated me with reserved respect.  It was weird.  I hadn't bought into the whole "Senior Officer" thing, but they had.  It took a while for them to learn that I was just an Oklahoma girl, and that I wasn't a Lt. Colonel just because my husband was.  I was just me trying to be me.  The system made it difficult.

I remember once I fried chicken for the entire squadron and their children.  Gravy, home made bread and all the fixins'.  One of the women who was there whispered to another one, "Look at her!  She tore her bread up and put gravy on it.  She must be okay."  I wasn't putting on any airs for anyone.  I didn't have any airs to put on.  I always tore my bread up and put gravy on it.  Didn't everyone???

It was easier at church.  Officers and enlisted were all mixed up together.  Up until the time we moved to Beaufort, I hadn't realized there was a difference.  I hadn't realized that the enlisted personal were not supposed to fraternize with the officers--and that got extended to their wives.  Which was stupid.  It didn't take me very long to fraternize with everyone, and them with me. I  finally fit in.

I made some wonderful friends there that are still a part of my life.  I had not had friends like that in seven years.  It was wonderful.  Deloris Woody was one.  She was Scott's babysitter when I had some social event I was "required" to attend.  I spoke to her a week or so ago.  Her husband was a Staff Sargent who had been a DI.  Tough, but not when he came home--or to church.   Rozaland Wilkey was another.  I flew out to see her a number of times after Ken retired and we moved back to Pryor.

But all good things have to end.  After three years in Beaufort, Ken got orders to Viet Nam.  Pat was 8, Becky was 7 and Scott was 3.  I was going to be a single parent again for thirteen months.  Ten years of my life had been with the Marines.  I had learned what they did.  What Ken did.  And I was just starting to understand it all when it seemed to be over.  I couldn't help but wonder if Ken would come home again.  This was his second thirteen month deployment in ten years.  Not counting the three month, two month, etc. deployments he had been on.  It seemed normal.  But it wasn't.  Not at all.  This time they were shooting at my husband.  How could anyone survive that for 395 days??