I was late for a plane when I saw him. The freckled kid was in uniform. Operational camouflage combat fatigues. Reverse-flag patch on the right shoulder. High and tight haircut.
He was standing on the sidewalk outside the airport. His mother was beside him, straightening his collar. His little sister was there, too. So was his dad.
The young man was carrying a backpack the size of a Frigidare, the thing must have weighed a few metric tons. He was vaping from an e-cigarette nervously.
I could tell by everyone’s body language that this was farewell.
Mama stood three feet shorter than her boy. She stared upward into his young eyes and the expression on her face was mournful.
“You got everything, baby?” she said.
He might be on Uncle Sam’s payroll, but he’s still “baby.”
“I packed sandwiches in your bag,” said Mama. “It’s a long trip, be sure to eat, need to keep your energy up.”
“I’m good, Mom.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded solemnly, but offered nothing heartfelt in return.
Dad clapped his son on the shoulder. “You’re gonna do great.”
“We’re so proud’a you,” said Mama.
“I love you,” said Little Sister.
Mama gave one final hug. Then he stooped to embrace Sister. The soldier then shook his father’s hand and the old man pulled him inward.They squeezed. They released. Little Sister blew her nose.
And the kid was gone.
The airport was pure chaos. Cable news was blaring. Businessmen in Guccis were towing roller luggage. Executives having loud conversations on phones as they walk.
Why is it that travelers in airports always act so important?
When I got to my gate I happened upon the young soldier again. He was sitting with his head in his hands.
The kid was wearing a face he had not worn earlier on the sidewalk. Outside, he had been stoic, stern, and a real hard butt. Right here, he was someone’s baby. He was a kid, leaving home.
Soon a few more young people in combat uniforms joined him. The kid’s demeanor changed when he saw them. He swallowed the sadness. He was all smiles. He even laughed a little. He and his GI pals horsed around, they talked about music, girls, life, and whatever else guys his age talk about.
But just before it was time to board the plane, the young man excused himself. The young soldier wandered around the corner, away from his buddies. He wasn’t far from me when he removed a phone from his pocket and dialed.
“Hey, Mom,” I heard him say. “Plane’s about to leave, I just wanted to say how much I love you. I love you so much. I will miss you every day.”
So anyway, now you know why I often thank perfect strangers for their service to our country.