My family put me in the back corner. Then Marines entered and said, “Ma’am—the General stands first”….
My name is Janelle Chen and the last time my family believed I was capable of anything important, I was 7 years old and winning a spelling bee. But even then, Aunt Patricia said it was just luck.
Now, as I coordinate multinational military operations that most civilians will never know exist, I sometimes wonder if they’d call that luck, too.
23 years in the Army teaches you many things. How to lead soldiers through impossible situations.
How to make decisions when lives hang in the balance. How to maintain composure when everything inside you wants to scream.
But it doesn’t teach you how to stop hoping your family will see you.
The pattern started early. When I was 12, I spent three months building a model of the solar system for the science fair. Accurate orbital paths, hand painted details, a motor that made everything rotate.
I was so proud.
My cousin Bethany had entered too with a poster board about butterflies her mother clearly made for her. Bethany won the family’s praise at dinner that night.
Such artistic talent, my mother couped. So creative.
I sat there with my third place ribbon, third in the entire district, and my grandfather asked me if I’d remembered to water his tomatoes.
I watered his tomatoes. When I was 16, I taught myself car maintenance because we couldn’t afford a mechanic. I rebuilt the carburetor on our old Chevy, replaced the brake pads, got the engine purring like new.
My father looked at it, grunted, and said, “Well, let’s hope it holds.” It held for six more years.
My brother Derek crashed his car two months later, drunk, though no one said that word out loud. And the family rallied.
They pulled money for his repairs, his insurance, his lawyer. He’s going through a tough time, my mother explained.
He needs support.
I needed a scholarship for college. I got one full ride to State University on academic merit. My aunt’s response, “Well, it’s not Harvard.” It never was.
Nothing I did ever quite measured up to the invisible standard they held for me, while everyone else got graded on a curve that bent toward forgiveness.
The summer before college, I worked double shifts at a diner to save money. My younger cousin Melissa spent her days at the country club pool.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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