“What was your MOS?” I asked.
“02 Delta, French horn player,” he said.
And that started a great conversation that only military and ex-military can have.
I noticed this older gentleman getting a haircut today, and he had on an Army Veteran cap.
I caught up to him on the sidewalk, and I had to ask.
He said he was “invited” to join the Army in ‘69.
During the Vietnam war era, this gent asked for an audition in the Army band, and he got it. Pretty cool. Pretty choice.
Did his hitch playing the French horn.
He’s 73 and doesn’t look a day over 55.
He was also stationed at Monteith Barracks, which was a stone’s throw from where I was stationed in Germany. We talked about where we were stationed and the surrounding area for I’ll bet thirty minutes.
And while we talked, his eyes just lit up. And I could feel a smile as genuine as his spreading across my face.
You see, we are brothers—no matter when or where we served.
We have a connection—almost a blood link in our makeup. That’s something no one can ever take away.
It was just a chance meeting. But it’s one of the best things that has happened to me this week—kind of like a reward. And I love that.
That’s it. That’s the post.