Home, Home Again. . .

Hi Everyone!

Sorry it took me so long to post this after my successful arrival home. It has been a fantastic month; I have spent all my time enjoying the benefits provided by those soldiers who went before me to keep us free. You can’t imagine how rich and fat we are. I’m still in culture shock.

I finally got my flight out on the 26th of May. That morning I went out to the tarmac and loaded bags on the plane with some young airmen, to secure a seat in the first class cabin, as those of us who worked would get to board first as a reward. Sweaty and smelly, I had a whole row to myself and stretched out for the flight home.

We stopped in Budapest to refuel. Surprisingly beautiful, the Budapest countryside is. It is very verdant, and all the houses had bright orange tile roofs. Poplars lined the roads and cool breezes blew across the grasses of the open fields between the runways. I had expected a vast and grey post-communist wasteland. Instead what I saw intrigued me, I now want to visit there on an extended vacation. It’s a good thing they overthrew the Ottomans and the Commies.

We climbed up an over the Danube, which was a steel gray ribbon, not the rumored blue, and pushed onward towards Ireland.

In Ireland I stopped over just long enough to drink a pair of Guinness pints and chase them with a Scrumpy Jack. Man, they hit me like a lead brick. My brain clouded over and I floated around the duty free shops trying to maintain. When they let me back on the plane I slipped into a coma until the vessel broached American airspace.

In Baltimore nice things began to happen to me. People, random people, approached me and began thanking me for my service. Let me create the image for you. I stunk, I was dirty, haggard and unshaven, if not for the uniform I’d have looked homeless; but no matter, people kept approaching me. Of course many well wishers were people of my grandparents’ generation but surprisingly enough, teens, yuppies and twenty-somethings approached me as well. After the hell of Iraq and the tension of Al-Udeid, to return to an America, so clean, so rich, so happy and full of patriotism, was an overwhelming experience for me. Another cool event occurred as I went to the ticket counter to get my boarding pass, only to find that I was in a first class seat, Hmmm, maybe it was the only seat open, whatever, I took my windfall and set off for the next stop in Memphis.

Now if BWI was nice to me, Memphis was like a party for this returning GI. “God bless you, sir.” was the perpetual refrain of the Volunteer State. Smiles greeted me from everyone as I marched through the corridors of the airport. I stopped and ate a BBQ pulled pork sandwich in the home of the free. Ah, succulent pork. It’s just further proof that God loves us. (Take that Mohammed!)

When I went to the gate, my name was called over the intercom.

“Captain Kewnen(sic), please report to gate six ticket counter.” All in that sickly sweet southern accent.

If you have never had your name called loudly and publicly over a PA, I will report that it is not elation you feel, but fear.

“God Damn!” I thought. “I’m freaking bumped.”

I trudged to the gate counter with my heavy bags and heavy sighs as I presented my tickets and looked dejectedly out the window at the plane.

The woman at the gate deadpanned, “There’s a problem with your tickets, Captain.”

Another managerial type arrived and both whispered and pointed at the screen with concern on their faces. Finally, the male manager nodded yes as they put me through the final torment.

“Here you go Captain. Were sorry that happened.” He said as he handed me back a newly printed ticket.

My stomached burned as I smelled the acrid, fresh ink.

“Someone forgot to upgrade one of our American heroes to first class. Welcome home!”

I almost cried.

They both shook my hand enthusiastically, and when the time came they called my name and I boarded ahead of everyone on the flight, the flight that brought me home to my wife and children.

Now I’m home, and back at work and the grind. Every day however more of my friends are preparing to go, many of my friends still labor and serve in Iraq, with no end in sight. Remember them. Despite their anonymity, they are enduring a dirty dangerous war so that we can continue to enjoy our wealth and remain free of Islam’s oppressive yoke.

God bless them.