My friend Jeff has done two tours of duty in Afghanistan. He calmly speaks of his experiences overseas, yet I wonder if the candidness with which he describes killing enemy combatants who fully intended to kill him and his comrades betrays a strain of post-traumatic stress, or more likely knowing Jeff, a bit of sociopathy. He went there and did his duty honorably, got injured and got right back into action without winning a purple heart from it, and went back again when his commanders told him it was time. Then there's Dan, who sat next to me in English class my senior year of high school. I saw him dive out of the way of an exploding propane tank the morning of the Fallujah assault. Now he's back in college getting an education and on his way to building a civilian career. Then there are my friends Gabe and Vishal. Neither one of them is from a rich family, they joined the national guard because they would pay for college in exchange for service. Gabe is in Iraq as of the past 2 weeks and Vishal just got his ass dropped into Kabul last week in time to miss celebrating my birthday. Gabe and Vishal are in for a big surprise if
Jeff, Dan, and Russell (a Marine, also a friend from college) have anything to say about what it will be like.
They were all called to go above and beyond what the average person can ever consider, because they thought their service can make the world a better place. I'm ineligible for service, otherwise I would be in and confronting America's enemies and trying my best to win the hearts and minds of foreign nationals who have a lukewarm opinion of us, at best.
Dead or alive, those who serve honorably while maintaining their moral compass are heroes. My friends are heroes and I can't wait until the last one of them is home, I can give them a hero's welcome, and stop losing my breath everytime a US death is mentioned on the news.
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