The war against terror in the Middle East has raged on for years now. Thousands of American soldiers risk their lives and well-beings each day in miserable environments to keep this country safe from terrorism. Whether or not our military should fight this war is a continuously debated issue, but there is no question that the men and women of the military who serve in the Middle East sacrifice their freedoms, their bodies and their lives for our own benefit in the United States.
It’s easy for this war to become fairly impersonal. It’s taking place on the opposite side of the globe, far away from the comfort of our campus and homes in America. It started that way for me, until a brother of one of my best friends was part of the first wave of Marines in Baghdad back in 2003. I got to hear some of his stories secondhand and was amazed at the experiences he had and the life-changing things he went through.
It got a little more personal in 2007 when one of my good friends began his nine-month tour in Iraq. When he returned, we all crowded around and listened to some of his stories, many of which were humorous. He’s going back in February for a second tour. Despite having friends go and return to tell their tales, this past weekend is when I really understood the reality of what is going on in what’s known as the “sandbox.”
Marines across the country recently celebrated the birthday of the Marine Corps by hosting a prideful celebration known as the Marine Ball. The soldiers put on their finest uniforms (known as “dress blues”) and don all of the medals and honors they’ve earned in their service to the United States.
I ended up in Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches on the Strip to meet up with some friends around 2:30 a.m. Sunday morning. When I got into the restaurant, there was a Marine in his dress blues there with them. He had just come from the Marine Ball earlier that night, and he had a smile on his face as the rest of the people at his table joked around and choked down their late-night snack.
I went to greet them. As I got closer, I noticed the seven or eight medals on his jacket, and one in particular was glaringly noticeable. It was so noticeable that it was screaming at me from across the room. It was a purple heart. I was introduced to the man and stood by as everyone continued to joke and laugh. My eyes were fixed on that purple medal. I don’t think I had ever seen one before that night. My curiosity got the best of me, so I asked. First, I asked where he had served and he told me Iraq. Then I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get your purple heart?” Immediately I regretted asking just for the sake of the man’s privacy. But he didn’t seem to mind, and he responded in a very casual way.
“Double amputee,” he said, still smiling. He pulled up his pant legs well past his knee. The man had two prosthetic legs that started around mid-thigh.
When I saw this, I was speechless. All I could think was, “Oh my God, these kinds of stories are real.” I’m pretty sure the only thing that actually came out of my mouth was a brief “Wow” and a thank you.
A few minutes later, this man with no legs got up and walked away from the table. I was stunned. A man with no legs was walking. A horrible incident robbed this man of his legs, and he was walking. It was a tragedy and a miracle at the same time.
At that point I understood the reality of what happens in the sandbox. It’s not just a death-toll number on the bottom line of CNN or a feel-good story about a man who lost limbs and recovered on “60 Minutes.” This was the real thing — someone right in front of me who has been there, done that, got the medal. He gave his legs fighting terrorism abroad, and he was still walking.
It was one of the most humbling things I’ve ever experienced. It put things into perspective for me. I hold that man and people like him in the highest regard, and I’ll never forget seeing that servicemanMili with no legs stroll down the street into the wee hours of the morning. That soldier was one of the few and the proud. And he walked like it.
— Oliver Casey is a junior in enterprise management. He can be reached at [email protected].
