As most of you know, I'm a bit of a sentimentalist. I get choked up over the smallest things, like my daughter telling me she loves me without a prompt, or my son putting his hand on my cheek. It's the little things. I'm also very introspective, which is something you probably know about me too.
I'm about to get on a plane right now to head to Doha. About 6 hours after landing, I will board a commercial flight that will take me to Kabul, Afghanistan. I've been pondering the craziness of willingly boarding a commercial airline to take me to a war zone. I'm quite sure that my Grandpa LaCook didn't board a Pan-Am flight when he headed to North Africa during Operation Torch. And I know for a fact that he didn't listen to a Muzak version of "Sex On Fire" while he waited. I am in no way comparing what he did to what I am doing. Quite the contrary, it makes me that much more in wonderment of what he did.
What got me thinking of my grandpa is the fact that while I was packing I made sure I packed my Bible. It is personalized on the front with a gold John Parker. However, that wasn't me. It was my other grandfather, who was stationed in Hawaii during the second world war. he never saw action, but apparently was busted quite a few times while in the army. (Ask me next time you see me about the cherry wine incident. It was genius.) And while I am quite certain I am coming home in 10 days, it still fills me with wonder that they left home not knowing if they would be coming back. That took guts, and it takes guts from the people that we have over there. The military sure, but also the Foreign Service officers and USAID officers in the field, some working on plywood desks, with dust all over the place. Please remember them when you talk about our troops over there. They are there, too.
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