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As the world comes alive this Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 2002, I am indeed thankful for the usual things - health, a modicum of prosperity, family, a good wife, the country in which I live - all those things we in the military dedicated our lives to preserve.
But there is something else, something not quite as tangible, something "unique" (there's that "U" word again) to those of us who served from the backside of the desert to the pleasure palaces of Southeast Asia and all points in between.
That intangible is the bond formed over almost half a century of unsung, mostly silent service. I am most thankful for the friends I met over the last 40-plus years, those I flew with, fought with, cheated death with again and again. There are many groups extant that may have a similar bond, but I know little of those other groups. I only know the Prop Wash Gang and its related entities which made up Security Service and its successors.
We received little recognition over the years, but that's ok. Any recognition we might recieve from the outside world pales in comparision to one of you guys saying, 'Yeah, I know the Chief. He's an alright guy."
Or, 'Tony Baciewicz? One of the best AMS's around!"
"Bob Cope? He went to bat for us so many times, he almost retired a butter bar!"
So before you join battle with that turkey today, pause for a moment and reflect on this bond and be thankful.
Over forty years ago, a young 18-year old kid left the plains of Southwestern Oklahoma and embarked on a journey that would take him around the world several times, take him to the backside of the desert as well as to the garden spots of this earth.
It would see him become part of a brotherhood of men with unbreakable bonds, bonds forged on lonely mids and even lonlier Christmas day flights. He became part of a hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-playing group who didn't know when to quit.
That bond has only grown stronger over the years of retirement. Vicarious pleasure is taken when the active duty guys relate their latest sortie. When the cell of Herky birds fly over low and slow, he remembers another time, another war, another side of the world.
So here on Thanksgiving Day, 2003, that 18-year old kid is retired, not quite as fit as before, a little heavy around the paunch, grey hair is thinning a bit,,,
...but thankful for those years, for those comrades both living and gone, thankful for an opportunity to be part of this thing of ours, thankful for the hours of boredom and the few moments of an adrenalin rush that can't be matched when the challenge is there right off our wingtips.
I'm gonna leave in a few moments for the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I'll probably, no I will, eat too much, I'll swear I'll never do it again, but I will.
And I'll also sit back later today, close my eyes, remember all the young kids who grew into men, and I'll give thanks.