When I tell people I have met that I am a gold star child, the first thing people think of are those shiny gold star stickers you would get if you did well on a test or assignment back in grade school. A few people assume the term is lighthearted, meaning that I see myself as a “excelling overachiever” in my classes or “the golden goose” of my family.
But, being a gold star child has nothing to do with grades, awards or shiny gold star stickers. The label is not something anyone strives for nor is it something anyone would willingly choose for themselves or their family. A gold star child is the son or daughter of a U.S. service member who was killed in the line of duty. It’s a label that I’ve carried nearly my whole life.
On April 1, 2007, my father was killed in Afghanistan while serving in the U. S. Army. He was survived by my mother and me. I was just three months old. I don’t have any memories of him, and I only know his voice from a video he created for me before he left for what would be the final time. I never got to experience him picking me up from school to attend father-daughter dances with him, and for the rest of my life, I will miss those everyday pleasures of having a dad be there for me.
Instead, I grew up with folded flags, shadow boxes, picture albums and stories from my family. I learned who he was through his medals, my family’s fond memories of him and the many pictures that are scattered around my house. For years, I tried to piece together the kind of man he was from the fragments he left behind for me.
To most people, April 12 is just another spring day. For me and my family, it’s the day everything changed, a day where an angel gained his wings too soon. I’ve carried that date with me my entire life, it’s not just a mark of loss, it’s a part of who I am. Growing up, I always knew I was different. I was the girl whose father would never attend those father-daughter events and the one to never see him in the stands at my volleyball and basketball games.
When I was younger, I never wanted pity for my loss, I wanted understanding. Being a gold star child has shaped me into the person I am today, to how I see the world, how I treat people, and how I view service, sacrifice and gratitude. It has taught me that freedom is not free, that bravery doesn’t always wear a uniform, that some heroes come back to their families and some never make it home. But more than anything, it has given me a different perspective of life.
When we think about the military, we often see symbols for strength, discipline, courage and honor, which are all true. But sometimes we forget that each member behind that uniform is a person, a human being that gave their life to protect their country and the people living in it.
A parent, spouse, son or daughter, those are who gave their life. A human being with dreams, flaws, fears and families that wait for them to return. My dad was a father, a husband, a friend and a man who loved music, cheered with his friends over football and dreamed of coming home to his wife and newborn daughter.
Service members are not just symbols of patriotism, they are people, they are human beings like us. Real people who sacrifice more than we will ever truly understand. When they give their lives up for us, it’s not just a name on a wall or a folded flag, it’s an empty seat at the dinner table, missed moments and a child growing up with a permanent hole in their heart. A family has to learn how to live with grief that never goes away.
As we go about our daily lives, attending classes, scrolling through social media, planning our futures, it’s easy to forget that there are people out there putting everything on the line so we can live in peace and freedom. We owe them more than a “thank you.” We owe them remembrance, respect and recognition, every single day we are alive.
Being a gold star child has taught me that the military isn’t made of warriors, it’s made up of humans who gave their life for strangers, for people they don’t know, yet they still chose to protect us.
The legacy of those who gave their lives is not just found in history books, ceremonies or holidays, but in the everyday lives of the people they left behind.
My hope as a gold star child, who is so proud of her father every day, for his love for humanity, sacrifice and strength, is that we never lose sight of that.
Sienna Stephens is a freshman at Saint Mary's College and planning on majoring in secondary education and English. When she is not taking a hike from SMC to Notre Dame, you will find her listening to music 24/7 and trying to make her Pinterest boards aesthetic. Feel free to reach out to her at sstephens01@saintmarys.edu
