Six A and B

The first and most obvious thing to notice about him was his uniform with US ARMY in black block letters embroidered on a velcro patch on the pocket flap above his heart. And then the people, mainly men but a few women, who stopped beside him, said Thank you for what you're doing, or nodded and patted him on the shoulder as they walked past. Or the man who set his carry-on bags down, took off his hat and reached out to shake his hand.

Friday travelers trying to get home are an impatient lot. I've seen people roll their eyes in self-important impatience when a mother stopped in the aisle to pick up her child's dropped stuffed animal. But before this soldier, no one waiting to get to their seat so much as batted at eyelash for the delay the shows of respect were causing them in getting to their seat. In fact, the people seemed to be lining up just for the turn to acknowledge him.

Before he took his seat beside mine on the flight from Dallas to Houston, he'd already traveled 22 hours. From Iraq to Kuwait, Kuwait to Bangladesch, and Bangladesh to Shannon, Ireland. Then from Shannon to Gander, Newfoundland, Gander to Dallas, and, finally, on this leg home.

He shows me photos of the base, photos of he and friends swimming in the Persian Gulf on a two-day break. He talks of temperatures so hot that his eyes dry, says it's hard to breathe air that hot when you're not used to it. He talks of sand storms so strong and skies so red he can't see his hands before his face.

He tells me he appreciates when people thank him, shake his hand, pat him on the back. He says he knows that a lot of people are against this war, and some people tell him so, but even they say thank you. He says that means a lot. He says that no one he knows over there has experienced backlash from any civilian, and that they all appreciate it, they all appreciate that they're not treated as the soldiers in Vietnam were when they returned home.

For us, we're just going to work. There's plenty of us who don't think we should be there either. But we have to do our jobs and this is where we were sent to do them.

In two weeks, he heads back to Iraq for two more months. Then, his tour of duty will be over. His first name is Bill. He's a fourth generation Texan, born in an eponymous hill country town his Great Grandfather founded. After nine months in Iraq, he was going home to a wife he's been married to for ten months, and a baby girl due in two days. He is 25 years old.

In baggage claim, he drops his backpack and is enveloped by his parents, dressed head-to-toe in red, white and blue.

Grabbing my bag from the carousel, I turn back for one last look.

Godspeed, Bill. Godspeed.