A "five things" prompt about how Sam loved about being a military brat. And as one myself, it was fun to write. As always, I do not own.
1. Sam didn't have to learn the hard way that master sergeants ruled the military. She had sat on her daddy's knee as his sergeant ran Jacob's office with a lightness of touch that contrasted with the hulking 6'3'' frame. MSgt. Slingerland would whisper into her father's ear the names of the airmen who had no place to go for Christmas, handle the inter-office squabbles with great aplomb, and soothe over the ruffled feathers of irate politicians and generals with the diplomatic skills of Gandhi. So while other Academy grads stumbled through their first year in the service after sneering at an NCO, Sam had no such issues. She asked after their kids, checked in on their spouses when the nights grew too long, and was not above making sure Walter had his favorite cookies in the cafeteria at all times.
2. Moving was never ever a chore. If need be, she could pack up an entire house in an entire day. It helped that she had no knickknacks, no shelves filled with shot glasses from world capitols or a collection of beanie babies. She remembered her time in foreign lands by photos and Christmas ornaments – easy to pack and light to carry. Now her wanderlust was satisfied via mere seconds through an inter-planetary wormhole, yet Sam was still unable to pick up a vase in Target without thinking, "This would be a bitch to pack".
3. She probably never would have joined the Air Force if she hadn't been a brat. When Sam was in high school, her father had been stationed at Ramstein in what was then West Germany. Mark was already in college so it was just the two of them, and as she still wasn't speaking to her father, her time was spent contemplating new ways to infuriate him. She hit the jackpot when she started dating a local boy. At 21, he was four years older and had a beat up BMW with six speeds. She spent hours driving it full throttle down the Autobahn, buzzed on Bitburger, knowing it was illegal and knowing her father would get her out of any jam. She was family after all. One day, after some fumbling in the back seat of the car and a "picnic" in a farmer's field, Sam caught out of the corner of her eye fighter jets streaking across the sky. She sat up on her elbows, entranced by the sheer sexual power of the planes. Her boyfriend lazily opened one eye and grumbled low in his chest, "You could fly one of those things". Sam laughed and explained how there was no way she could, but her eyes still followed them until they met the horizon. He pulled her down for a hard kiss and grinned, "I have seen you drive". That night, she went home and told her father she wanted to go to the Air Force Academy.
4. She had way too many phone numbers to choose from when she had to pick a new pin number or password.
5. The biggest Christmas card list ever. Her mother had maintained the list before she died, ensuring that every new friend from every new base made into the yellow, plastic address card file. The list was carefully updated as people moved to new assignments, retired at old ones, divorced, died, had kids. Sam took it over after the accident. Mark could not be bothered and it pained her father to see the notes his wife had scribbled on the card in her familiar looping cursive. "MSgt. Slingerland has two kids now, send more cookies next year." Sam still sent cards to everyone in that yellow box; in addition to all those on the list she had formed throughout her own life. Every year, the boys would tease her as she sat in the cafeteria scribbling notes to the neighbor that had babysat for an 8-year-old Sam and played bridge with her mom. But as soon as Sam twitched an eyebrow, they would end up helping her, covering an entire table with red envelopes, black pens, and empty boxes. Daniel would address them in his own careful print while Teal'c lined up the stamps perfectly in the corner. The Colonel would lick the envelopes, bitching about the taste and insisting they all eat pie to mask the taste. And as she signed the card to MSgt. Slingerland (retired, with a gaggle of grandkids), Sam would tell a story about how the man had saved her father from certain discharge.