The Things I Carry
Alana Horton
I was sitting in social studies class in sixth grade when the news came on about a military base in Afghanistan.
My stomach dropped. My dad, John Horton, was in Afghanistan at the time.
Although he wasn’t stationed at that particular base, fear hit me harder than ever before. I didn’t know what could happen next, and the worst part was having no control over it.
Living with uncertainty became normal. As a military kid, that’s something you get used to fast.
When I was four, we moved from Texas to the Pacific Northwest. My parents had never been to that part of the country before, so a world of gray skies and nonstop rain was a shock for all of us.
Two years later, we relocated again—this time to Joint Base Lewis-McChord. We’ve been in Washington ever since, and when my dad retires, he’ll have served a total of 30 years.
But it wasn’t long after we arrived that the deployments started.
The first time he left for Afghanistan, I was in second grade. I remember going to school and my teachers asking if he was okay.
That was the first time I realized something might actually be wrong. I didn’t fully understand it yet, but I could feel it.
He deployed four times in five and a half years. By the time of his last deployment—when I was in eighth grade—I knew exactly where he was going.
And that made it even harder.
The more I understood, the more I worried.
Finding Peace and Purpose
Military life forced me to find peace in things I couldn’t control.
It brought me closer to my faith, to my mom, Michelle, and to my brother, Davis. We didn’t always talk about our feelings, but we felt them together.
My mom made those years joyful, even in our hard times.
She’s one of those people who sings through the storm. Even when she was struggling, she created so many moments of joy for us. Dance parties in the kitchen, spontaneous outings—she made sure the memories weren’t just about missing Dad.
Dance also became my anchor. I started because my parents needed me to burn energy. I hated soccer and anything with a ball, honestly. But I loved dance right away.
When I was around eight or nine, I started competing and met Miss Kate, my ballet teacher. Ballet isn’t my favorite—it’s slow and super meticulous—but Miss Kate made me show up every day.
That consistency grounded me through all the chaos of deployments.
Dad, the Hero
My dad is the coolest person I know.
He doesn’t talk much about his deployments, but every once in a while, he’ll drop something wild, totally out of the blue.
Like the time we were drinking coffee at 5 a.m. before a dance clinic, and he told me about sleeping in an abandoned train car in Afghanistan when a grenade skidded by and how some guy managed to defuse it. I was like, “Why are you telling me this right now?”
Another time, he casually shared a story about operating on a little boy who was injured by a toy bomb. After the operation, he gave the boy his very first lollipop, and he remembered how amazed and how full of joy that made the little boy, despite the circumstances.
My dad is a colonel and a surgeon.
At home, he’s a pediatric surgeon, one of only a few in the Army. But when he deploys, he works as a general surgeon.
My dad is humble, intense, gentle, and hilarious all at the same time.
And somehow, he still made time to take me to ballets and talk about them with me for hours. He’s a huge opera fan, which surprises everyone.
That’s just who he is.
My dad is a colonel and a surgeon. At home, he’s a pediatric surgeon, one of only a few in the Army. But when he deploys, he works as a general surgeon. My dad is humble, intense, gentle, and hilarious all at the same time. And somehow, he still made time to take me to ballets and talk about them with me for hours. He’s a huge opera fan, which surprises everyone. That’s just who he is.
Finding My Team
In eighth grade, I thought I’d become a professional dancer right out of high school. I was dreaming of New York City and imagining what it would be like to dance for Ailey American Dance Theater. I even got into their summer program, but then COVID shut everything down.
That’s when I started looking at college dance teams. A teammate made the WSU team, and it opened my eyes to a whole new path.
I realized the most draining part of competitive dance—constantly feeling stressed about how judges or coaches would score me—wasn’t as present in college dance. I could still do what I loved, just in a way that felt healthier.
At first, I wasn’t planning to apply to SMU. It’s my dad’s alma mater, and with my extended family living in the DFW area, it felt too close to home. But my dad pushed for it.
When I got accepted, I didn’t think much of it. I was initially waitlisted for the business school and didn’t really see a future at SMU.
Then, in February of my senior year, my mom convinced me to stop by the SMU Pom clinic. I reluctantly agreed and walked into Armstrong Field House fully expecting to hate it.
I walked out and told my mom: “That’s my team. That’s my coach. I’ll do anything to go here.”
Coach Holly was warm and intentional.
She saw me, gave me personal feedback, and talked about her vision—training dancers to go pro, like into the NFL or NBA.
It was the first time I saw a future in dance beyond college.
Full Circle
Before coming to SMU, I hadn’t heard my dad talk much about his time here.
But now? Now he’s SMU’s number one fan.
He wakes me up with the fight song, bought custom SMU Pom jerseys for him and my mom, and watches any SMU sport he can.
He’s all in.
And because of my dad’s service—and thanks to the GI Bill and Yellow Ribbon Program—I’m at SMU on a full-ride scholarship.
That’s the biggest gift he could ever give me.
I’ll never forget that first game day. We were standing in the tunnel, praying as a team, when “Start Me Up” started to play. My heart was pounding, and I remember thinking, “How did I get here?” I didn’t earn this alone.
My dad went to war so I could stand on that field and do what I love.
I’ll never fully comprehend what he sacrificed. But I carry it with me every day.
One of the greatest lessons my dad taught me is to “always say yes to everything”.
That mindset has opened so many doors for me at SMU—like joining a business fraternity I wasn’t sure I had time for, which turned out to be the best decision ever.
Because of him, I’m not afraid to try, even if I might fail. I’d rather go for it than wonder what could’ve been.
SMU does an incredible job of honoring veterans and their families. There’s a Veteran of the Game at nearly every event, and I’ve felt deeply supported as a military kid.
Still, I believe every veteran deserves recognition far beyond a single moment. Every time you see them, every chance you get, they deserve a thank you.
Because of what they carry, I get to carry so many opportunities.
These are the things I carry.
