A Travel Story

Mike, Lexi and I flew to Memphis about six weeks ago in the midst of the job hunt. We laid over in Atlanta which had MAJOR delays that day and had everyone a little grumpy. We preboarded with the baby and as I sat in the window seat occupying her, I noticed a young, black soldier in uniform board the plane, stow his bag and sit down in the row behind me. A moment later, a man in his fifties, dressed in a wind suit, came back and spoke to the soldier. “Sir, they’ve found a seat for you up front.” “A seat, sir?” “Yes, 2D.” He was so discreet that only those sitting within a seat of him could hear what he had done. As the flight was from Atlanta to Memphis, I stereotyped him as a Southern gentleman, but as he chatted with the woman beside him I learned that he was from San Fransisco: proving that there are kind, respectful people that value soldiers everywhere. As our plane taxied in Memphis, the lead flight attendant announced that the young soldier on board was returning from a year’s tour of duty in Iraq, which elicited considerable applause, and then continued on to say that the soldier would be the first to deplane, thanks in part to a first class passenger that had given up his seat for the soldier.

As our group moseyed down to baggage claim, passengers came to the soldier one after another and thanked him personally for his service. Friends and family members waiting for the late flight started to appear and I watched the soldier, hoping for a mother or brother or friend to greet him after his long tour away. Lexi was tucked into the sling and as we waited for our baggage, he walked up to me and said, “I really like your baby thing.” “Thanks,” I told him, “and thanks for serving.” We both found our bags and I watched him walk out alone into the dark.