My
son came home from California to visit us
just before the holidays. Our gift to him was
his air fare, and because we were going to
celebrate Christmas a week early, we were
able to book a round-trip flight for a
reasonable price. He was delayed for the
return trip, however, and we had to re-book
it for the following day, at three times the
initial cost. Being one day closer to
Christmas was enough to make that much of a
difference.
His flight was
scheduled to leave Newark Airport at 6:30 on
a Wednesday night. I drove him down in the
afternoon, expecting a lot of traffic, and
long lines at the airport, but there were no
delays, and after he checked in, we had a
couple of hours to spend together before he
would actually board the plane. There were
rows of plastic seats on the lower level of
the terminal, and after getting some coffee,
we took the escalator down to wait. I was
glad for the time. He had only been away from
home since September, but I had missed him a
lot, and wished he had not chosen to go so
far away.
After we had been
there for a while, a group of men passed by
and walked toward the escalator. There were
six of them, mostly wearing jeans and black
leather vests, with silver chains and
military patches, indicating that they were
veterans, and possibly bikers. A few of them
wore camouflaged shirts and caps. They were
carrying a rolled up American flag, and what
appeared to be a state flag, although it was
not clear which state they represented, and I
knew immediately why they were there; someone
was coming home from Iraq or Afghanistan, and
these men would be the first to welcome them
back to the States. I watched them ride the
escalator up to the next level, and form a
small circle off to the right, where the
passengers from incoming flights would be
filing by.
My son and I
continued to talk a little longer before it
was time for me to go. I knew he was anxious
to get back to his new life in California,
and looking forward to the freedom and
independence he enjoyed being on his own, and
as much as it tugged at my heart to know that
it might be a long time before I would see
him again, I said, “Come on, I’ll
go up the escalator with you, and then head
out.”
I also told him I
wanted to stop and talk to the vets, because
I wanted to thank them for being there. When
we got to the top of the escalator, my son
followed me over to where they were standing.
As I approached the
gentleman nearest me, I held out my hand.
“Here to
welcome someone home?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he
said. “An Airman.”
“I just want to
thank you for doing that,” I said.
“I was in Nam myself, and I’m glad
to see that things have changed.”
He motioned toward
two of the vets on the other side of the
circle. “These guys were in Nam,
too.”
We shook hands.
“Welcome home,” was all we needed
to say.
I asked him if the
Airman was local, thinking that if he lived
anywhere in New Jersey or New York, I would
offer him a ride.
“No,” he
said, “She’s from Texas.
I was not expecting
him to say that. I had assumed that the
Airman was a man, and since he had referred
to her by rank, and not gender, I quickly
realized that something else had changed. It
would not have been unusual for him to say,
“A female Airman,” and yet he chose
to leave out that detail, as if it was not
important. Defining people by gender, race,
or nationality is a common practice, but
referring to her simply as, “an
Airman,” was a refreshing example of the
American ideal of equality. The fact that it
was applied to someone who had served our
country, and been called upon to exemplify
and protect those ideals, made it even more
appropriate. We talked a little longer, and I
thanked him again before my son and I went to
find the boarding gate.
When it was time for
him to get on the plane, I gave him a hug,
and said, “I love you.” We shook
hands, and at that moment, it occurred to me
that I could be standing there just like the
other vets, waiting for him to come home from
a war, or worse, sending him off to fight in
one. Suddenly, California did not seem like
such a bad place to be.
And neither did
Texas.
So, wherever you are
tonight, Airman, “Welcome home.”