It was our normal Thursday morning business meeting at our real-estate office.  No big deal.  Before the meeting we hung around the bagel table, as usual, with our coffee.  He stood aside, looking a little shy and awkward and very young, a new face in a room full of extroverted salespeople.  An average looking guy, maybe 5 feet 8 inches.  A clean-cut, sweet-faced kid.  I went over to chat with him.  Maybe he was a new salesman?  He said he was just back from Kabul, Afghanistan.  A Marine.

Our office (and a local school) had been supportive by sending letters to him and other troops, which he had posted on the American Embassy door in Kabul.  He stood guard there for four months and was shot at daily.  He had come to our office to thank us for our support, for all the letters during those scary times.  I couldn't believe my ears.  He wanted to thank us?  We should be thanking him.  But how?  How can I ever show him my appreciation?   At the end of the sales meeting, he stepped quietly forward, no incredible hulk.  As a matter of fact, he looked for all the world 15 years old to me.  (The older I get, the younger they look.)  This young Marine, this clean-faced boy, had no qualms stepping up to the plate and dodging bullets so that I might enjoy the freedom to live my peaceful life in the land of the free.  No matter the risk.  Suddenly the most stressful concerns of my life seemed as nothing, my complacency flew right out the window with his every word. Somewhere, somehow, he had taken the words honor, courage and commitment into his very soul and laid his life on the line daily for me and us.  A man of principle.  He wants to do it.  Relishes it.  And he came to thank us?  For a few letters?
 
I fought back the tears as he spoke so briefly and softly.  He walked forward to our manager and placed a properly folded American flag in his hands.  It had flown over the Embassy.  He said thanks again.  You could hear a pin drop.  As I looked around I saw red faces everywhere fighting back the tears.   In a heartbeat, my disillusionment with young people today quickly vanished.  In ordinary homes, in ordinary towns, kids like him are growing up proud to be an American and willing to die for it.  Wow.  We'll frame the flag and put it in the lobby.

He only came to my office once, for just a few minutes.  But I realize I rubbed shoulders with greatness in the flesh and in the twinkling of an eye my life is forever changed.  His name is Michael Mendez, a Corporal in the USMC.  We are a great nation.  We know because the makings of it walked into my office that day.
 
Ann Baker
Huntington Beach