Yeah, I know. I haven't posted anything all year. There are reasons for that, but I won't divulge them now. Let's just say that it has been a trying year.
Veteran's Day is approaching, and in that vein, I'd like to share an experience I had some years ago. My father was the keynote speaker at a banquet recently, and to my surprise, he shared my story. Please read, and remember those valiant men and women who to this day continue to serve and defend the United States of America.
I've done a lot of traveling over the last couple of years, perhaps not as much as some, but definitely more than others. But there was something special about today's flight from Baltimore to Atlanta.
It began conventionally enough. Full flight, crammed in the window seat on a beautiful January afternoon. The last man to board the plane was a soldier, Army, in dress uniform. Having flown on several flights with soldiers going to and from their deployment assignments, seeing a soldier on board wasn't so unusual. It didn't register right away that this was the first time I'd seen one in full dress on my flight.
I dozed off for a while, little thoughts dancing in mind about being home, burning leaves, seeing my family. Two straight weeks being away from home is still two weeks too long. Nevertheless, I'm proud of what I do, and sometimes I'm even good at it. But all of this was magnified even more as the pilot made his mid-flight announcement.
I stirred from my pseudo-nap to hear that we were flying at 22,000 feet into a 190mph headwind, that Atlanta was a lovely 50 degrees with a light south wind at 8mph, and that our arrival should be slightly ahead of schedule. I remember those details as clear as a bell, but to my great shame I would not remember the names mentioned when the pilot announced:
"We are honored today to be carrying home the remains of a soldier who served with honor and recently fell in Iraq. We ask that when we arrive in Atlanta that you remain seated, to allow the military escort on board to disembark first. We thank you for your cooperation."
Suddenly, I was wide awake. I can't tell you all of the thoughts that went through my mind, though I did experience that tingling feeling you get sometimes when you know that you are sharing a scene that sears itself on your very soul. The soldier on board was at the far back, and I debated with myself on how I could respond. Should I say thank you, should I start a round of applause as the escort worked his way up the aisle, or should I sit in quiet reverence? All of those options were quickly taken away, because the flight crew (smartly) escorted the soldier to the front as we were taxiing to the gate; he was past me before I could say anything at all.
Before I knew it, he was off the plane. I soon saw him standing quietly but attentively just below my window. I turned away to walk up the aisle, still wrestling with my thoughts, and in a sudden surge I spoke to the captain, "Thank you sir, for your show of respect." He acknowledged me, and I exited the plane.
Still dealing with the guilt of my inaction, I slowly but deliberately walked to a nearby window. I stood by that window in a loose posture of parade rest from my marching band days, and simply stood still. The soldier was standing below the plane, giving instructions to the luggage personnel who would be handling the coffin. His back was to me, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the soldier suddenly came to attention and then to a salute. Moments later, a large white box with the words "HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE" emblazoned on the side came down the treadmill. The soldier examined the box, then immediately turned to the handlers, who in turn carefully turned the box 180 degrees. I don't know all the protocol, but clearly the box was positioned incorrectly. Soon, the handlers carefully loaded the box onto a luggage carrier. No sooner had they closed the plastic rain shield on the carrier than another white box, identical to the first, came down the treadmill. I took a quick breath, as I had only expected to see one, not two.
After the second box was loaded onto a carrier identical to the first, the military escort continued to discuss matters with members of Delta's handlers. Then he and a member of Delta's honor guard (complete with a vest emblazoned with the U.S. flag) walked away. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to move a little, glancing at another fellow from my flight who was apparently doing the same thing I was. We nodded at each other, and looked back out the window. I stayed there at the window until the coffins were driven away.
I walked away, feeling strangely satisfied that I had done all that I could do. The soldier never saw me; I never saw a family member. Save for the other passenger standing at the window, no one else knew what I was doing. It is a matter of respect. Respect for those who serve, and have served; respect for those who paid the ultimate sacrifice; respect for the families of those who have fallen for the cause of freedom. And, just as importantly, I believe it is about respect for self. I give honor to Jesus, who paid the ultimate price that I might be eternally free. Likewise, I give honor to those who have enabled me to worship, to live, to love, and to excel in a land that claims freedom as its ultimate ideal. It is not about politics. You and I don't have to share an ideology. But for me, a simple show of respect to honor those fallen soldiers has allowed me the inner satisfaction of self-respect. I know who I am, and where I come from. I know to Whom I belong.
Respect for self and respect for others go hand in hand. You cannot have one without the other.
To the families of those who have paid the price, my thanks, my prayers and my hopes for peace. Likewise to you, my friends and my family.
God bless,
Jim
