The Guard

There are of millions of National Guardsmen in the US, all of whom are in constant training. They are our neighbors, friends, family members. Every one I have met is a red-blooded American, proud to serve.

One whom I recently ran into is a 38-year-old US Army sergeant, here in town undergoing a month of training on upgraded attack and transport helicopter electronics. I didn't know that 'til he said he is from California. North Texas was really hot that day. "It's a lot hotter in Iraq," he said. "We have to work early mornings and early evenings to stay out of 140-degree temperatures. It's not good for the helicopters, either." He's to be deployed next month -- again.

There's the 26-year-old woman I encountered at a convenience store. She's a single mother from Oklahoma, and she's heading to Afghanistan next month. In civilian life, she works for an oil company full-time. She looked fit, and I wondered what she does in the military.

Then there's the 38-year-old woman training on new software. She was pleasant but offered few details. I see her around for a few weeks, then she's gone for many more weeks. Her duties are classified.

These are people just proud to serve their country. They don't like the over-used term, "hero." We civilians have no clue.

There's a calm about them. They don't brag, and they don't talk much to civilians about what they do in the service. You and I see them all the time but don't notice -- at the store, gassing up their cars, jogging -- doing the things we civilians do.

'Til one day you notice that you haven't seen them in a while. And if you knew they were military, and you knew they were to be deployed soon, you realize that "soon" has already happened. They're thousands of miles away, in some God-awful place on the other side of the world. Suddenly it's cold in your gut.

And you are humbled.