Chapter 23: Air Force Days

I haven’t considered my four years in the Air Force as sacrificial or patriotic.

When someone learns I served and thanks me for it, I barely acknowledge it. I feel a touch embarrassed, unworthy of gratitude or praise. The only war I was in was the Cold War. I wasn’t assigned overseas (even if western South Dakota did feel like a foreign country). I never wore dog tags. I worked in an airplane hangar, but didn’t fly airplanes.

I volunteered for Air Force ROTC because I was broke, the economy sucked, and no one was hiring teachers. I figured the military might buy me some time to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

I received my commission and did my job—executive officer to the commanding officer for the 180-person 44th Field Missile Maintenance Squadron. I spent a lot of time in the gym. The highlight of my four years might be when FMMS won the base basketball championship. (I still have that trophy somewhere in the garage.) I received a commendation medal and was discharged honorably.

But I never took much pride in those years.

Two days on my trip changed that. The first began when Tony Yang, a student I taught when he was in 8th grade, found out that I’d be passing through D.C. and asked me if I wanted to tour the Pentagon.

I felt more obligated than excited. (Pre-departure, I told myself I wasn’t going to say no to opportunities.) But when Master Sergeant Yang showed me around, and introduced me to a group of active-duty Air Force guys, I felt a camaraderie I wasn’t expecting to feel. I felt like I belonged in the building.

With Sergeant Yang

The second was when I visited the River Walk in San Antonio. It was during a weekend when a group of recruits had just graduated from basic training at nearby Lackland Air Force Base.

Brand-new Airmen, along with their beaming parents, were celebrating. I noticed a young guy who reminded me of a young me.

He was respectful, and when he thanked me for my service, for the first time, I didn’t deflect it. I felt proud.

I didn’t ask why he enlisted. Maybe he needed a job. Maybe he didn’t know what else he wanted to be. Maybe he wanted to make his parents proud. Maybe he really is patriotic and wanted to serve his country.

It didn’t matter. Even though we barely talked, I’m nearly a half century older, and I’ll never see him again, there was a connection. We were Air Force brothers.

It felt nice.

Patriotic.