In Every Generation Some Have Sacrificed For Liberty

Sergeant Michael A Thomas’ Personal Narrative

“Three A.M. in Bangor, Maine”

As I walked off the plane, I was taken aback. In the small, dimly lit airport, a group of elderly veterans were there waiting for us, lined up one by one to shake our hands. Some were standing, others were confined to wheelchairs, and all of then wore their uniform hats. Their now-feeble right hands stiffened in salutes, their left hands holding coffee, snacks, and cell phones for us.

As I made my way through the line, each man thanking me for my service, I choked back tears. Here we were, returning from one year in Iraq where we had portable DVD players, three square meals, and phones, being honored by men who had crawled through mud for years with little more than the occasional letter from home.

A few of them appeared to be veterans of the war in Vietnam. I couldn’t help but think of how they were treated when they came back to the U.S., and yet here they were to support us.

These soldiers – many of whom had lost limbs and comrades – shook our hands proudly, as if our service could somehow rival their own.

We later learned that this VFW group had waited for more than a day in the airport for our arrival.

When the time came to fly home to Colorado, we were asked by our commander if we would like to join the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Every hand in the unit went up eagerly – including my own.

Personal narrative found at…