So I am making my way to the back of my second AA plane today. The first one was defective. I am now still in Dallas at the time I should have been home. As I reach to put my hand bag in the overhead I see the neutral, digitized color of desert fatigues disguising the pack already there.
An unexpected chill trickles down my spine. My thoughts revert to a scene in Generation Kill on HBO where the soldiers open cases and cases of jungle fatigues.
I casually take the center seat wondering if it belongs to an over zealous, acne challenegd teenager from Texas. The utlitarian nature of the pack comes into view. I wonder - am I sitting next to one of the brave men that don the uniform?
The plane is late. The pilot is squawking about some maintnance blah, blah, blah. I am anxious. It is now 3:45 central time and I am only here because my 12:45 flight was cancelled. The collective sigh of exasperation is seen on the familiar faces that schlepped over from terminal D to A to get on this plane.
Its hot. The plane is on ground based power which faintly generates a breeze overhead. The shades are drawn as we try to cool the cigar tube in the 100 plus degree texas sun.
I feverishly make calls to Jen. She now has a big task to do. My sprint tri is tomorrow and I need to register tonight back home. Packet pick up and bike check. AA has blown any chance of me doing this. Jen has to somehow put my bike in the station wagon, get it to ashburn to be checked. The bike only fits when the seats are down and what will jen do with the kids? We exchange ideas as my staurday event becomes her friday afternoon debacle. After a long week she doesn't need this. Nor do I. She is a saint. She says she'll do what she can.
I am restless in my seat. When will this flight leave??
The guy next to me is in street clothes. His combat boots give him away and confirm my suspicion. It is a soldier.
As minutes turn to hours our joint exasperation mounts. He pulls a paper from the sack and takes out his phone. While speaking to Jen I notice a number of official looking stamps... Passport stamps on the paper. Kuwait.
I am restless because this crisis has blown my evening with Jen, the race, etc. He's restless because he's not sure he can make his connection through Dulles to Kuwait.
We chat briefly. He has three kids, doing his third tour in Iraq. He takes interest in the triathlon I have tomorrow. We talk the politics of war. My mind is in a parallel universe. While I try to string together coherent sentences reality hits.
I am going to run a race he's going to defend our nation.
Tonight I will go home and kiss my girls after three days away in Texas. Today he kissed his three boys (all under five years old) good bye. He won't see them for months.
This week I have dodged risks and issues in the boardroom. Next week he'll dodge bullets in a war zone.
Tonight I'll drive home from the airport in car. Tomorrow he'll drive an armored humvee.
You get the point. These issues, the bike crisis. Its all relative.
Its easy to lose sight of the war that grinds on in the background. Network news coverage focuses on the election. Each day we send men and women into harms way. They rise to the challenge.
As the week draws to a close... Thank G-d there are men and women that choose the military as a calling. That willingly wear the uniform with pride. That execute the orders of the executive branch without prejudice. That allow us to be free.
I don't know if my friend will make his Kuwait bound direct flight. If he'll reach Kirkuk to resume teaching the Iraqi regulars to defend their own nation. However, for me, I'll feel very fortunate that my schedule next week does not include wearing a flak jacket, avoiding IED's, and being 7000 miles from home. I feel very lucky to have people like him doing what he does.
An unexpected chill trickles down my spine. My thoughts revert to a scene in Generation Kill on HBO where the soldiers open cases and cases of jungle fatigues.
I casually take the center seat wondering if it belongs to an over zealous, acne challenegd teenager from Texas. The utlitarian nature of the pack comes into view. I wonder - am I sitting next to one of the brave men that don the uniform?
The plane is late. The pilot is squawking about some maintnance blah, blah, blah. I am anxious. It is now 3:45 central time and I am only here because my 12:45 flight was cancelled. The collective sigh of exasperation is seen on the familiar faces that schlepped over from terminal D to A to get on this plane.
Its hot. The plane is on ground based power which faintly generates a breeze overhead. The shades are drawn as we try to cool the cigar tube in the 100 plus degree texas sun.
I feverishly make calls to Jen. She now has a big task to do. My sprint tri is tomorrow and I need to register tonight back home. Packet pick up and bike check. AA has blown any chance of me doing this. Jen has to somehow put my bike in the station wagon, get it to ashburn to be checked. The bike only fits when the seats are down and what will jen do with the kids? We exchange ideas as my staurday event becomes her friday afternoon debacle. After a long week she doesn't need this. Nor do I. She is a saint. She says she'll do what she can.
I am restless in my seat. When will this flight leave??
The guy next to me is in street clothes. His combat boots give him away and confirm my suspicion. It is a soldier.
As minutes turn to hours our joint exasperation mounts. He pulls a paper from the sack and takes out his phone. While speaking to Jen I notice a number of official looking stamps... Passport stamps on the paper. Kuwait.
I am restless because this crisis has blown my evening with Jen, the race, etc. He's restless because he's not sure he can make his connection through Dulles to Kuwait.
We chat briefly. He has three kids, doing his third tour in Iraq. He takes interest in the triathlon I have tomorrow. We talk the politics of war. My mind is in a parallel universe. While I try to string together coherent sentences reality hits.
I am going to run a race he's going to defend our nation.
Tonight I will go home and kiss my girls after three days away in Texas. Today he kissed his three boys (all under five years old) good bye. He won't see them for months.
This week I have dodged risks and issues in the boardroom. Next week he'll dodge bullets in a war zone.
Tonight I'll drive home from the airport in car. Tomorrow he'll drive an armored humvee.
You get the point. These issues, the bike crisis. Its all relative.
Its easy to lose sight of the war that grinds on in the background. Network news coverage focuses on the election. Each day we send men and women into harms way. They rise to the challenge.
As the week draws to a close... Thank G-d there are men and women that choose the military as a calling. That willingly wear the uniform with pride. That execute the orders of the executive branch without prejudice. That allow us to be free.
I don't know if my friend will make his Kuwait bound direct flight. If he'll reach Kirkuk to resume teaching the Iraqi regulars to defend their own nation. However, for me, I'll feel very fortunate that my schedule next week does not include wearing a flak jacket, avoiding IED's, and being 7000 miles from home. I feel very lucky to have people like him doing what he does.
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