Don't Marry An Air Force Pilot

        Sharing an old write up I did many years back when the kids were babies, and we were still residing inside the Sangley Air Base in Cavite City. My husband was an Air Force Pilot then. Even after he was already out of the service, he was given the Haribon Award for successfully fulfilling his missions in one of the Alumni Homecoming events. Now he works as a corporate pilot for Vibrant Earth Movers Inc., and is one of the founding members of the Mindanao Saga Flying Club. I have four children now. The twins RV and Monique are 23 years old already. RV now has a private pilot's license and working on his commercial license. Monique is studying Law. Ian, 22, is graduating soon with an IT course. Also into flying like his dad and older brother. The youngest, Angelique, 21, finished her Political Science Course, and about to take a basic management course at the Asian Institute of Management. 

        I now work as a City Councilor of Davao City.  Whenever I come across this article, it never fails to bring back a lot of good memories. Those where pretty challenging times too, for a young wife and mother back then. I thank God with all my heart for His steadfast love and guidance all the way. And so, my dear husband Rey and I, will be celebrating 25 years of marriage this year, yes! It must be love, no? There are so many stories to tell in that journey too. I hope to write about this and that. One day. Some day. (",)

        This was first published in 1991, and re-published again, some years back in the PAF ACes yearbook. Thanks to Maj. Li-an dela Cruz Busto for giving me a copy of the article.

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DON’T MARRY AN AIR FORCE PILOT

BY :  M A B E L   A C O S T A

ABOUT THE AUTHOR The writer is a UP Mass Communication graduate and a former newscaster/reporter of ABC-CBN TV-4 Davao.  She is now wife to CAPT. REYNALDO T. ACOSTA and mother of fraternal twins RV and Monique and to month-old Rey Ian.

   
    I t all started at the flight line at CASF XI. My colleague Tina Junsay, and I were to cover their CIVAC together with an NGO that would distribute food and medicine and give free medico-dental service to the T-boli’s at the foot of Mt. Apo. This was organized by Inday Arcenas and then Lt.Col. Imperio.

        Never In my wildest dream did I imagine myself married to a military man. I, a regular of marches, political rallies and symposia during my university days never had amour for the Armed Forces ever. Believe you me. Yet there I was, strapped in my seat, excited and airborne. My first chopper ride. My first out-of-town coverage. The first time we met.

        More chopper and out-of-town coverages followed. Between flights we exchanged green jokes, bragged of our exploits, explained each other’s work, laughed, argued, and ate their favorite Japanese food (READ: sardinas e.g. Hakata, Hakone, etc).

        One time, when I was about to get off the aircraft, the crew chief above the din of the aircraft’s engine and blades, handed me his clipboard and said, “Tinatanong ni Sir ang phone number mo at address.” Siempre, trying to be coy, I gave our station’s address and phone number instead. Next time around he asked me personally, and again, I only gave the other office number. Aba, after office hours, he showed up together with an underclass, and insisted to bring me home. The rest, as they say, is history.

        Before I knew it, he already brought me to Sangley, pregnant, and traversing three floors of the BOQ.

I tell you – whatever glamour you would imagine there is, in marrying an Air Force pilot, ends at the wedding where you are afforded the traditional flower drop or cross sword rites. Then your misadventures begin.

        When you’re an Air Force wife, there would be times that you just might be diagnosed as slightly schizophrenic. Not of the “Brenda” type. God forbid, but more of the classic multi-personality disorder. The likes of Mother Theresa, Cleopatra, and Wonder Woman rolled into one.
        Each time your husband goes out that door to fly his mission, you pray he comes right back that same door in a vertical position, at least eager to hug and kiss you, preferably, with a “pasalubong”. But more often than not he comes back tired, sometimes smelling odd, like smoke, or gas, or something else. He plants a routine smack on the lips, lunges for the botaka and lets out a litany of how tiring, or boring, or horrifying his mission was. And funny how the story usually ends with him becoming short of a hero.

        No matter if the night before you had an argument and are not on speaking terms, somehow you go through the motions of patching things up before he leaves for deployment early the next morning. Not even hurt pride or the meanest temper stops you from bargaining with the Lord to “Bring him back home safe, please”.

        And when he does, he often goes, how’re the kids, what’s the news, etc. before he remembers the how are you part.

        When he’s on deployment, you better remind him to advise Finance not to send his salary and flying pay on deployment too.  Pray your kids don’t get sick while he’s away. You’ll either worry be might worry or complain why he seems to make nothing of it.

        You have to have the patience of Job if you ever attempt to contact him through a military line. If you don’t have the good fortune of owning a direct dial mode (which is most likely) you have to pass through various operators who sound like you have to thank them for answering the phone, only to inform you the line is busy. And if you happen to come to catch him at the other end, better say your piece “ala motormouth” before the line’s cut off.

        There will be times too when he goes out for the ultimate seduction scenario. He expects you to be the loving and and sensual wife that you are and give him a well-deserved break every after a very hectic day. A message perhaps, a caress, a VIP treatment? Good if you’re in the mood. But after a taxing day at the office or a problematic day in the house, it’s so hard to set your mind to it. Somehow he misses the point that wives do get tired and they work so hard.

        When he’s away, you’re Daddy and Mommy to your kids. You’re doctor, nurse, teacher, playmate, shock-absorber, interpreter, police, confidante, and referee to your children too.

You’re pseudo-electrician, plumber, gardener, carpenter too. That’s aside from being cook, laundrywoman, cleaning lady, and a magician. You exert tremendous effort trying to make heads or tails of the meager budget he hands over, then you marvel at how you managed to apportion it somehow. But with the prices of goods and the increasing consumption of your household, you turn incredulous as your husband turns purple the way money disappears before you know it.

Times are when some wise guy calls up to inform your husband the guy supposed to be on duty’s absent so he’s it. On a Sunday, mind you.

        Or he calls up from deployment to tell you he’s coming home but gives you a no-show because the aircraft he’s supposed to board has no fuel, or operations suddenly require him to extend his stay.

        He expects you to be snappy too when it comes to being on time, when he’s interrogating, or when he’s giving instructions. Take it easy on your coffee or you just might catch yourself barking a “Yes, sir!”

         An Air Force wife’s life is not so easy. You have to have the resourcefulness of McGyver, the graciousness of McEnroe, the entrepreneurship of McDonald, and the philosophy of a Cheshire cat.

         So if that dashing pilot starts buzzing by your house and woos you, collect yourself and don’t come running to me for advice. For I will categorically tell you – don’t marry an Air Force Pilot.

Look for a man who is serious about his career and dedicated to his profession, but still manages to be a family man. Someone who makes time for the children. One who, after ridding himself of gripes, still remembers to appreciate your role as a wife and mother. One who makes an effort to make up with his wife for the nature of his job.

           Don’t marry an Air Force Pilot.

           Marry the man you love.

           Just like I did.