I made my recent trip home by cashing in airline miles on Delta Airlines. For 95,000 miles and $10, I scored a first class round trip ticket. Both legs were routed through Atlanta. Atlanta is a jumping off point for troops coming home on R&R from Iraq and Afghanistan. As our flight loaded, there were several open first class seats. The flight attendants were talking among themselves up front and decided to see how many military members (in uniform, specifically, desert cammies) were on the plane. There was only one–a young female specialist. They brought her up front to ride in first class. Thanks, Delta Crew.

Also, in the Atlanta airport, I observed people loaning their cell phones to returning troops waiting for pay phones. When I entered the military in 1980, I wasn’t sure how I’d be received in uniform (I grew up with VietNam War protests on the eveing news), so I never wore it except to and from work. I still don’t. It still throws me off balance when I’m walking through the grocery store on the way home from work picking up a few items and someone says, out of the blue, “Thank you for what you do.” What I do, day-to-day, doesn’t seem like that much of a big deal to me. But then I remember that many people can’t or won’t do it, so I’ve conditioned myself to say a simple, “You’re welcome” as I return to trying to decide what flavor of juice I wanted to buy.

When weather and maintenance delays made me decide to change my flight from Friday night (and a definite stranding in Altanta) to Saturday morning (and a comfortable night’s sleep at home), I used the customer service phone at the check in counter to make the arrangements. As I was lamenting the extra day of leave it would cost me that they couldn’t compensate me for, I observed the bright side that at least I could spend an extra night with my hubby, the nameless person on the other end of the line who was fixing my arrangements related that her husband had just shipped out to Iraq. He’s just getting in country now, so I wished him the best through her. She said it had to work out well–it was the only way. And I understood. It’s the only way families can still go on. Whomever that guy is, I’ll be thinking of him and his family for the next year. Maybe you could, too?