How many times have we been told to thank a soldier?

I never really believed in it. I don't like politics. If pressed, I won't tell you whether I agree or disagree with America's recent military actions. Whether a war is right or not usually isn't why the soldier went there. They had their reasons, and their reasons had nothing to do with me.

But then I start thinking.

About Stargate. The brave men and women who literally ran into dangerous situations and put their lives at stake for their countrymen.

About NCIS. The fictional marines who lost friends in the line of duty. The soldiers who were never the same after returning from war.

About a man I work with, a Vietnam veteran who speaks very vaguely about his time in "sunny, southeast Asia," who wouldn't advise another to repeat his experiences but who would have done it again if the situation arose.

About my neighbor, who left his wife and three children to fly several tours in Afghanistan. Who, even when he came home, made time to help his son with math over the summer, sitting beside him all day long.

I start thinking about how hard it must have been for them, so far from home, doing the jobs they were told to do. About all the discipline they must exercise to keep at it day in and day out and all the lip they might take from war protesters who see them as the hand of the government and not admirable human beings who learned fathoms of self-control, only to put it to use in some of the most grueling situations on earth.

When the man in Army BDUs passed my car at the gas station, I didn't know what I wanted to say.

I don't think I could do what he does. Whether I can, sure don't want to try.

I'm not going to argue that we need to be at war or that it's going to gain us anything. But that's not why most of those individuals are there. They're there, because they were asked to join and were told to go. They're there, because they've committed themselves to one of the hardest, most disciplined jobs in our country.

And that's admirable.

Soldiers don't walk through America in BDU's very often. I'm not going to tell you to compulsively thank every uniformed man you come across.

But think about it. Even if you don't like war, how can you object to the service and the duty that so pervades their lives? Could you do what they do?

When the man came back out and I was closing up my gas log, I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

"Hey." He turns to face me, returning the same smile I'd sent him on his way in. "Thank you for your service."

His smile broadens. "Thank you."

I hope we both drove away feeling a little bit lighter.