I jolt awake to a sharp cadence accompanied by the lyrics of, “Gory, Gory, what a helluva way to die”. The jingle of my alarm clock is the wake up call I am meant to hear; yet, I am drawn to the gloomy beat that seems to come from a separate world. This chorus signifies my younger brother’s first day of basic training; he will become the next Kalkus to carry out a familial obligation of military service that dates back to the American Revolution. I hear my father pause the paratrooper song so my mother may fulfill her duty of preparing us for school. On this average day, my war of self determination had begun. 

That morning cadence would serve as the catalyst for the internal battles that would inflame my ambitions. I was trained by my father to function within the family honor code and to accept the role I was to play. Although indoctrinated with the same values as my brother: duty, loyalty, and hardwork; I was commissioned solely for the supporting role of wife and mother. Few families seemed to abide by the seemingly archaic gender-based traditions of our so-called squad, and I found myself in a constant state of juxtaposition.  At home, I began to fade into the background and was schooled to perform the same responsibilities as my mother. Contrastingly, involvement in the outside world allowed me to explore alternate definitions for my place in society. I developed an alias to conceal my audacious character as my insignificant rank within the family structure stifled my burgeoning true personality.