It's a strange title for any kind of blog post, but that's what I tend to call some of the boys I see walking around post here.
This morning, I was taking my husband to work and on my way home, I see a young Soldier walking back to his barracks from either the gym or his run. He was in PT (Physical Training) clothes so I know he was just finishing that up. He was looking up in a tree and upon looking closer, I could see that he was picking mangoes and piling them on the ground. This made me cry.
I'm a sentimental slob. I cry at the drop of a hat. Something about this young Soldier picking up mangoes made me cry! I thought of the young boys who go to their first duty stations, sometimes leaving home for the very first time in their lives. I think of Soldiers who are my son's age (26) and realize that some of them have deployed to war 3 or even 4 times. That makes me cry. I move back and forth between sadness and pride. I recognize that some of these young men, and women, join the Army because they wanted to try to make something of themselves and had very few options at home. That makes me proud.
I am reminded of a young Soldier sitting on the curb with his newly issued rifle as my husband's battalion was about to load busses to catch their flight to Iraq. He looked so scared it touched me. I sent Nick over to talk to him.
He was afraid....of flying. He had only flown once in his life, to Hawaii and his first duty station. He wasn't afraid to go to war, but to get on a plane.
Here's a photo of my husband talking to this young man.
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