FREEDOM’S CALL

While waiting in the terminal at O’Hare’s International Airport I noticed a two year old boy running away from his dad and then struggling to free himself while his father tried to hold on to him. As a parent I recognized the down turned lip, those crocodile tears and the ear splitting scream as he pushed away from his dad and reached for an older woman, probably his grandmother. I caught his eye from across the room and whispered, “Hey baby”. It worked. He quieted down and looked away.

I was startled to hear the young Marine sitting nearby say, “Hello.”

“Oh,” I laughed, embarrassed that he thought I was flirting with him, thrilled that a young, good-looking Marine was talking to me. Then I reminded myself I was over sixty. I realized he was just being friendly so I said; “I was talking to that little guy over there,” pointing to the young boy now hiding his face in his grandmother’s neck.

“I thought it was weird that you called me baby,” he said, “but it didn’t bother me because you remind me of my grandmother.” He smiled and looked down at his hands. “She passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, surprised by his openness.

“I miss her, especially now,” he said.

“What’s going on now?” I asked looking at his fatigues, military haircut, and clean-shaven face.

“I’m heading out to Iraq.” His mouth twitched as he said the words.

“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to find out what he was thinking, not to burden him with my opinion.

“I want to serve my country. I feel proud to wear this uniform and all but to tell you the truth I’m scared,” he said looking at me with his hazel green eyes. “I guess I’d be stupid if I wasn’t.”

“War is scary. My brother served in Vietnam,” I had strong thoughts about Vietnam but I didn’t think he needed to hear them and tried to think of questions to keep him talking about his feelings. “What scares you the most?”

“Not coming back,” he said hunching his shoulders forward and staring at the floor. “I joined the Marines because I didn’t want to end up like the guys I hung out with,” he continued. “They had no plans for their life. They were drinking too much and some were starting to get into drugs. My oldest brother got into it real bad.”

“It seems most families have at least one who struggles with addiction,” I said remembering how my brother returned from his tour of duty so strung out he couldn’t complete simple sentences. I didn’t mention that detail.

He continued, “I didn’t want to be one of them. The first time I tried to sign up they didn’t take me because I was too fat. I was over 345 pounds. I use to spend my time watching T.V. and sitting at the computer,” he rubbed his rock hard stomach. “I lost forty pounds on my own.”

“What did you do?” I asked looking at his muscular forearms.

“I got off the couch and started moving,” he laughed out loud.
“The more I moved the less I ate,” he said.
“They finally let me enlist and I lost another sixty pounds.
No one recognizes me anymore,” he said patting his flat stomach again.

“You look very athletic and strong. I would never guess you had a weight problem.” I was amazed at how animated and excited he was now contrasted to a few minutes ago. I could see that he was just a kid… maybe nineteen.

“When I go home I can’t sit around anymore. I have to get outside. I look for a game of basketball, or go for a run. My dad says he liked me better when I was fat,” he smiled. “He says I move around too much now.”

“Your family must be proud of you.” I said.

“My dad was a Marine and he said I’ve got to hang tough… My brother was too
stoned to say much… My mom died of breast cancer when I was eight...My grandma is the one who would be proud… She took care of my brother and me… She always said to make something of myself. I didn’t have money for school and I wanted to do something worthwhile so I joined the Marines.”

“What are your feelings about the war?”

“Someone’s got to do it. It might as well be me,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

“I think going to war takes a lot of courage. Thank you for being willing to make the sacrifice,” I said wondering if he knew the scope of his selflessness.

“Flight 163 to Atlanta, boarding at Gate 36,” the announcer called out over the loud speaker. I felt a panic. I wanted to hold on to him. To protect him from the certain danger he faced.

“That’s my flight, I better go,” he said gathering up his luggage.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“David,” he replied, extending his hand.

“I’m Dolores,” I said standing up to give him a hug. He held me tighter than I
expected and we both let out a deep sigh. “My prayers go with you David.”

“Thanks. I liked talking with you,” he said.

“I like talking with you too David,” I choked on my words and tears ran down my cheeks. “Make sure you come back” I said.

He smiled and waved one last time. “I’ll try to.”

I saw him get in line and walk down the gangplank, by then my husband had
returned with some coffee. When he saw my tears he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“See that tall marine over there?” I asked pointing to David just as he bent his head down to walk through the gateway leading to his plane.

“Yeah. What about him?”

“He is leaving for Iraq.”

“How do you know?”

We sat down and I told him about our conversation. “I wish I could have done more. I was taken by surprise with his openness. The problem is I was so busy trying to think of what to say to keep him talking that I didn’t even ask for a way to stay in touch with him.”

“Too bad,” my husband said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I sighed and then rubbed my temples as I thought about the thousands of homes affected with this war and how many young men and women were responding to the call to serve in the armed forces. Glancing around the airport I noticed the two-year-old boy now peacefully asleep in his grandmother’s arms I sighed and said another prayer for all the families affected with the ravages of war. Then I buried my head in my hands and wept.