Thirteen kernels of corn.

[Note: I wrote this from Kuwait on Thanksgiving 2006. I was in Kuwait on my way home from a yearlong tour of Iraq; this is the story of the best Thanksgiving day of my life.]

Thirteen kernels of corn.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It always seemed so genuine to me, unlike other holidays which most people see solely as an excuse to receive gifts, drink beer, or skip work. Perhaps it was how my parents treated Thanksgiving that made me appreciate it so much. I remember every year my mom would only allow us to have thirteen kernels of corn on our plate because that was the ration the Pilgrims had to sustain themselves with in order to survive that fall and winter. Looking at the thirteen kernels sitting alone on the periphery of my gigantic plate, I gained an appreciation for just how much they struggled, perservered, and, most of all, appreciated what little they did have. Eating the thirteen kernels often left a contemplative emptiness in my belly. Of course, after we finished the original thirteen, we were welcome to eat more, but the point was made, and it has stuck with me since.

In my military career, I have spent Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, at Fort Sill, Oklahoma; Yakima Training Center, Washington; and, now, Camp Virginia, Kuwait. None of those places I would consider my first choice to spend the holiday, any holiday, but, again, it gave me an opportunity to think of how lucky I am. This year is the worst, and, at the same time, the best.

Camp Virginia is nothing more than a series of buildings, surrounded by sand berms and guard towers, in the middle of the Kuwaiti wasteland. There is no cultural consolation prize to being housed here; it's not high on anyone's "to visit" list. It is that vastness and emptiness, however, that give us all a chance to reflect on how lucky we really are.

We just left Baghdad, where mundane, everyday tasks like grocery shopping are life-threatening. No one trusts anyone; everyone is a target. Death and destruction are an unavoidable part of life, and kids like my friend Ali grow up in it.

As I reflect on how lucky I am to have left that place, all I can think about is Ali and the millions of children just like him. I think of how bad they have it . . . and how positively Ali, Hidar, and Ahmed seemed to accept and handle it. They were still thankful for their families, for their friends, and for their lives. They are a true example of perserverence. I am so very grateful that my brother and I never had to grow up in their world.

We had a very well-intentioned but lackluster Thanksgiving meal at the chow hall this afternoon after our commander shared a few words with us. Most importantly, he pointed out that we are all still here, alive and healthy. That was not what I had expected a year ago, and I am grateful that our mission changed to the less dangerous PSD mission. We're here; we're alive.

After lunch and a couple of hours of preparation, we had the inaugural First Platoon versus Third Platoon Flag Football Thanksgiving Challenge. It was eleven on eleven, with a full offensive and defensive line. Talk about grudge match; we're all hurting now. I took a few arms to the throat, hands to the face, elbows to the body, scratches to the arms and face, and a few head to head shots. I was not alone. We made it this far without serious injury, but we tried our damndest to get one before we left.

Third platoon won both games by a substantial margin because they are bastards, but it was a great experience nonetheless. That's okay; we'll get 'em next deployment.

This is certainly a Thanksgiving that I will never forget. It won't be long until I am home, but, today at least, that wasn't what I was thinking about. My friends up north, the ones I met and the ones I haven't yet met were heavy on my mind as I enjoyed a day devoid of helicopters, gunfire, mortars, explosions, or frustrating hours outside the wire. I hope that my friends in uniform up north will come home safe and sound as well, and I hope everyday that real change will happen, so that Ali and others like him will be able to grow up in the same sense of security that I did. They're grand wishes, I know, but if there is anytime to be optimistic, it's today.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, everywhere. See you soon.

Justin.