Wearing the Uniform

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He was a U.S. Marine. You could tell that without his Dress Blues. Ramrod straight and with conviction in his eyes, he shook my hand. I thanked him for his service and said it was good to have him home.

He was one month fresh from the War in Iraq, still on active duty and ... still over there.

He was wearing his Marine Dress Blues from his city's celebration of soldiers returning home. His mother was so proud of him as she walked him around to her women friends in the building.

These were the moms who listened to her stories, looked at the photos, cried over his injuries and the loss of his buddies, agonized when he returned to fight again and always prayed for his safe return. The ones who now rejoiced that he was home. That he was safe. Safe as only a group of moms can make a son.

As his mom introduced him to my teammate, his mother's hands cradled and touched his head, then touched on his shoulders in a steepled affect. He didn't pull away. This was Mother Magic.

She sees it as reassurance, but he knows of its true power. This is the magic a boy receives from his mom on his first day of school and when he returns as a prodigal son. Both hands touch the top of his head, over his ears, then down to his shoulders. She was gracing him with a mother's mantel - the ultimate protection.

They both serve their uniform. He as a member of the U.S. Marine Corps. She as his mother. Each protecting the other in their own way. Each doing a damn good job of it. Each living by the following words:

Semper Fidelis - Always Faithful.
Honor.
Courage.
Commitment.

That sounds like Family to me.

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