The Mumble
c2005

All Gave Some.

A few days ago I was herding a gaggle of grandkids through a fast food joint in a local chain truck stop. Everyone knows that truck stop chain, the one with the heart on the sign? The consensus was that we should eat Pizza, not just any old kind of pizza but a certain brand. And the only place to get it was there.
After being worn down by multiple, repeatedly drawn out "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssse Ga-Ga" I caved.

Fortunately the place makes mini size pizzas in a number of types and place them in a hot rack so you can grab them, pay and eat without ordering and waiting. I managed to get the kids what they wanted, drinks, a foot high stack of napkins, and baleful glares from the muchly put-upon employees.

Sitting at the window I noticed a late model pick-up pull into the gas pumps, nice truck, liked the color, medium blue. Momentarily I thought how nice it would be to have a truck like that. A young blonde woman was driving, 20 or so, common sight around here. She pulled in to a pump that blocked my view. I went back to tending the mob of prepubescent overactive grands. A few minutes later I noticed the young woman come out, heading in to pay for her gas.

She had my complete, undivided, total attention.

But, not for the reason you're thinking about right now.

She wore `Jungle Jammies', camo fatigues, Military Issue.

She was using a pair of crutches.

The empty left pant leg of the camo's was pinned up, waving gently in the breeze.

My mind froze, heart skipped a beat, there, on that hot asphalt lot, struggling slightly against what had to be a relatively new experience for a young soldier, was the visible price of freedom.

I sat there, thinking of other times I'd seen it, back in the 60's and 70's.

It wasn't the soldier's gender that dug a deep hole in my heart.

It was the visible loss, the price paid.

The Dogs of War don't care about what kind of plumbing you got when you were conceived. Combat knows no gender. The tools of war don't discriminate. An IED is an equal opportunity maiming and killing device. Bullets aren't choosy about who they hit.

A sense of infinite sadness fled across my soul, so young. But, once may of us were young and believed we were immortal.

For a very short time.

We learned the fallacy of that erroneous belief quickly seeing 727's unloading aluminum caskets in wholesale lot.

I wanted to say something to that soldier, anything, just to let them know I was ... something. That I was grateful for her service, that I was sorry it happened.

No pity, sorrow isn't pity.

I didn't ... I had to keep the grandkids in line.

But, the omission left a heavy weight in my heart. A smudge on my soul that will take a very, very long time to fade.

The price she paid for each and every one of us has infinite value.

It matters little what you think of the action in Iraq when it gets down to the essential make-up and sacrifice of our soldiers.

They are us, all of them who are in-country. They are our blood kin, and they give a little each and every day.

Some give more than others.

A few give it all.

Dammit, we owe them, we owe them a hell of a lot.