I've shared our Thanksgiving soldiers with my readers in the past, but on this occasion, I want to take a moment to recount our experience with soldiers on our Christmas trip to visit with our grandsons in Vancouver, WA.  We flew out of San Antonio on the 22nd.  There were quite a number of soldiers (MILITARY) heading to Dallas to begin their trip home.  So many Air Force ladies (they call themselves "females") were milling about in their bus driver uniforms, some with high heels (sorry for the uniform reference...too many years married to a marine forces me to use the "bus driver" description of USAF uniforms...hard to argue with the accuracy!)

We all stood outside the airport terminal (the shortest line, compared to the HUGE line inside) to check our luggage, a lady came up to a young man in front of me.  Although he was out of uniform, his "high and tight" haircut, his muscular build, and the "Army" duffel bag at his feet clearly marked him as a member of our military.  The young woman, recognizing this, approached him and asked if he would mind helping a fellow soldier with his wheelchair laden with luggage.  It appeared the young hero who was on crutches was ill-disposed to the idea of actually sitting in the wheeled-contraption, and he was unable to push the wheelchair cum luggage-chair and manuver crutches.  The young man told her he'd be happy to help, and turned to ask me if I minded adding to the line in front of me.  I was more than thrilled to oblige.  The injured soldier had just returned from Iraq, as had the soldier in front of me.  They made their quick acquaintances, and proceeded to talk in military-speak.  You know, it's when they begin to bring up MOS numbers, sector numbers, squad/company/group numbers in a kind of alphabet/numerical soup.  They lost me, but the camaraderie of two strangers with so much in common was not lost on me.  This was just the start of my "Christmas soldier" encounters.

Once on our plane, I had the opportunity to thank the various military seated along the way, during the usual snail crawl to our assigned seat.  The short flight to Dallas culminated in the American Airlines flight attendant wishing all passengers to have a very Merry Christmas (how wonderfully un-PC of her!), and wishing God's speed to the military aboard.  Hearing this, the entire cabin erupted in applause to echo her wishes.  Considering we were not all Texans, from whom I would have expected this response, it was particularly heartwarming. 

Hubby and I made our Dallas connection to Portland, OR.  We'd used our travel miles, and so were assigned to whatever seating we were given.  Hubby likes to joke that he should be in the window seat in case the pilot gets lost, but so far he'd been relegated to the aisle seat, on the 3-seat side of the plane.  Being of small stature, it never bothers me to sit in the middle seat.  The plane continued to fill up, and so far no one had claimed the seat toward my right, hubby's cherished "window seat".  He told me later, as he was hoping against hope that he'd be able to move into the coveted window seat, that whomever might show up to claim it would be a military person. 

As you "think"..."envision"...it shall be so, and so it was to be on this flight.  At the very last minute before they closed the doors, a young army E-3 claimed the window seat next to me.  This tall, dark and handsome critter was a total delight.  The four hour flight was made so much shorter for his company.  "Michael" was just coming out of MOS training, and had yet to be deployed to Iraq, but expected to be so deployed shortly after the New Year.  He was contemplating further training which would take his career in the direction of being a part of a medical team that would travel with a Special Forces strike team.  A hero in the making, our new friend Michael.

We chatted about so many things, but a few of them stuck in my memory.  His father had been a career Navy man, so I asked why he had not followed in his dad's footsteps, joining the Army instead.  His answer was amusing, and quite telling.  He explained that his father's meteoric rise in the Navy was just too much to compete with, so his choice was as diverse as he could make it.  His father, now retired, had been to Iraq as a contractor doing the same job he'd done in the Navy...for considerably more money!  His father, the hero, is now teaching school in San Antonio, and specializing in teaching learning-challenged children.  God bless him!  Once a hero...!

Michael made an observation that I particularly want to share.  During our conversation, particularly about Iraq, we discussed the American people's concern about our troop casualties in Iraq.  He scoffed at this suggestion, and said that he wished Americans would understand that we lose more soldiers who are home on leave, who get drunk and die in car crashes, than we've lost in Iraq.  He said that during this holiday we would lose more of them on the streets of America, than we would lose in the streets of Baghdad.  He noted that there's a mindset of a young soldier, marine, sailor, or airman that makes them feel invincible.  They go out and get drunk, and think they can safely drive...and die.  If you have a young hero home for Christmas holiday, please be sure they do not make this mistake.