Thank you for your service

Costco Wholesale Warehouse is an absolute gold mine around lunch time. Vendors set up 
tables all over the mammoth store, hawking all sorts of samples ranging from vitamin juice 
shots to mini crab cakes. I used to make sure that I would go there with the kids so that we 
would have at least one day when we didn’t have to meal plan.

    
I don’t shop there all the time because we simply can’t afford to. Not that the prices are bad, 
it’s just that I don’t know when to stop. Instead, I will go every month or so to stock up on bulk 
supplies of juice boxes, salsa, pizza rolls, peanut butter, and whatever items I am convinced 
that my family cannot live without. 

     
Perhaps the biggest, if only, drawback to Costco is that it is always crowded. Every aisle is 
clogged with shoppers pushing oversized carts full of their choice of essential goods and, 
while no one is necessarily rude about the rules of the road, it can get pretty dicey navigating 
tight corners and attempting to cross from the snacks to the pasta section. 

    
Whenever I encounter an aisle that’s a little too congested for my comfort, I will backtrack and 
take an alternative route, as if I have some secret shortcut that no one else knows about. Not 
long ago when I was shopping for the next few week’s worth of supplies, as I wheeled my cart 
filled with a 120-count box of granola bars and enough gummy bears to choke a small elephant, 
I encountered a roadblock that had me quickly throwing it into reverse into a detour down the 
next aisle. It contained socks and men’s off brand running shoes, so it was a much safer 
passage.

     
Rounding the corner that would allow me to bypass this latest obstruction, I paused for a 
moment to take in exactly who it was that had caused this latest inconvenience. There in the 
middle of the adjacent aisle was an older gentleman, possibly in his 80’s, hunched slightly at 
the waist and using his shopping cart as a walker. He was traveling at the speed of slow, which 
for him was just fine because he was in absolutely no hurry at all. 

     
On his head he wore a baseball cap, one of those military hats that veterans of wars and armed 
conflicts wear with obvious pride. The insignia on the front told me that he had served in the 
Korean War. My grandfather operated the radio on a B25 bomber during World War 2 in the 
Pacific theater and I knew all about those islands he flew over and the enemy he fought.

I have read books about Guadalcanal and Bougainville and other exotic sounding places where 
our American GI’s fought tooth and nail against the Japanese for what amount to nothing more 
than isolated plots of land made mostly of coral. On these islands we began to win the war 
against Japan, keeping them from overtaking Australia and the rest of the Pacific region. My 
grandfather never spoke much about his time over there, but I know he must have seen and 
experienced some incredible, and horrific, things.

The war in Korea I admittedly knew very little about. I know that we tried to help South Korea 
hold the communists at bay and eventually were successful in doing so, but that’s really about 
it. Nevertheless, I have a great amount of respect for anyone who has served this country in the 
military and I learned a long time ago that it was a good and right act to thank those servicemen 
face-to-face whenever you saw them. Especially if they were wearing those special kind of hats. 

As this elderly hero made his way down the aisle, I purposefully stood in his way so that I could 
garner his attention. I wasn’t all that concerned that he would run me over with his cart because 
of his lack of momentum, but I was careful all the same to watch out for my toes. Right as he was 
about to bump my cart, he stopped and looked up, staring me straight in the eyes. I quickly 
gathered myself and told him in the strongest voice I could muster, “Thank you for your service.” 

Without missing a beat, he replied, “It was my honor to serve you and my country and, if I had 
the chance, I would storm the border of Korea all over again in order to make sure that you 
stayed safe.” Instantly I felt my eyes start to sweat and any response that I could have made 
was stuck in my throat as if I was choking on a piece of steak.

Mesmerized by his response, I stood frozen in place, unable to reply. Here was this weathered 
and worn veteran who could no longer tie his own shoes, now declaring his desire to re-defend 
this country if that’s what it took. Shaking off my stupor, I was finally able to feebly respond to 
him, thanking him again for his service, words which now seemed pathetically inadequate. This 
genuine hero offered a satisfied smile and began to shuffle on his way towards the peanut 
butter and honey section. I in turn quickly turned my cart in the other direction to head toward 
the ice cream and fruit punch.

As I padded my way, avoiding more carts and the glut of consumers, I could not help but admit 
with a bit of sadness that they simply don’t make men like that anymore.