Each of us has a story we like to tell, one that sums up our military spouse experience. It may be long and arduous, like a cross-country car trip with three kids, a dog, a cat and no air conditioner. Or it may be brief and poignant, capturing a powerful moment like a snapshot.

Skippy’s story is a little of both. Her name is Minnie, but a childhood moniker bestowed by her brother endured. Even Bill, whom she married in 1937, called her "Skippy."

Being a military wife was not Skippy’s whole life, but it was a significant chapter. Like many women of her era, she did her part in the early 1940s when Bill joined the Navy.

He served during World War II, at a time when the level of benefits and privileges military families enjoy today — for medical, housing and travel needs — were unimaginable.

A machinist’s mate aboard the USS Kennison, Bill’s homeport was San Diego. Thousands of ships crowded the port during those war years, and with them, hundreds of thousands of servicemen and families.

Unable to find a home in San Diego, the couple decided Skippy and their children would remain in Oklahoma and visit Bill when he was in port. When Skippy brought her toddler daughter and baby boy to visit their father, they shared temporary housing with other families.

The trip from Oklahoma to California took three days by train. Skippy made the sojourn on her own, carrying Tommy in his baby basket and holding Jane by the hand.

They often shared the ride with uniformed servicemen bound for ships that would take them to duty in the Pacific. Sometimes, friendly soldiers and sailors would buy Jane a bottle of Coca-Cola or play games with her, passing the time on the long journey, perhaps thinking of their children or little sisters back home.

Following routes heavily traveled by servicemen during wartime also had hazards.

During their cross-country adventures, Skippy and her little brood had to change trains and make overnight stops. At one station, as they tried to board their next train, a conductor stopped them, warning that only servicemen and their families were allowed.

"But my husband is in the Navy," she told him. "We’re going to San Diego to meet him."

"Sorry," was the curt answer. "This train is for military only. If your husband isn’t with you, you can’t get on this train," and he turned away.

Suddenly stranded far from home, Skippy wondered what to do. A soldier, seeing her distress, approached her.

"Do you need some help?" he asked.

Holding back tears, she explained briefly, concluding: "My husband isn’t with me, but I’m a Navy wife."

"Well, you can be a soldier’s wife today," he said. He offered her one arm, and took Tommy’s basket in the other. Skippy held Jane’s hand, and they got on the train unchallenged — a family in spirit, if not in fact.

The soldier helped them find seats, and Skippy thanked him.

"I hope someone would do the same for my wife," he said, and disappeared in a crowd of khaki uniforms. She never saw him again.

Many years have passed, but she remembers.

Bill is gone now, and greatly missed by Skippy, their four children and eleven grandchildren. Great-grandchildren number more than 20 and counting.

Skippy celebrated her 90th birthday yesterday with family and friends in Oklahoma. I traveled from Germany to join them, because Bill and Skippy’s little Jane grew up to be my mother.

While I’m here, I think I’ll ask Meemaw to tell her story again. I never get tired of it.

Terri Barnes is a third-generation military wife and mother of three. She lives and writes in Germany. Write to her at spousecalls@stripes.com and see the Spouse Calls blog at: http://blogs.stripes.com/blogs/spousecalls.