I remember hugging my family goodbye, not knowing what awaited me.
I remember sitting on the tarmac in the dead of night.
I remember seeing a Budweiser vending machine in Germany and thinking it was the coolest thing ever.
I remember the first time my feet touched the desert sand and thinking “Holy shit, I’m really here.”
I remember looking around and seeing miles and miles of nothing.
I remember doing barbell curls with a piece of rebar and a sandbag tied on each end.
I remember 200 pushups in the sand, thinking “No fucking way you’re beating me.”
I remember moving to the front.
I remember not showering for weeks on end.
I remember the first POW pickup and how I almost passed out from dehydration.
I remember the black rain from the oil fields, and how it covered our cammies and our skin.
I remember the charred bodies on the side of the road.
I remember the bomb at the airport that didn’t detonate.
I remember the prisoners. Frail, tired and more scared than any of us were.
I remember the drive through the capital city and the cheering people.
I remember that “burger stand” back at base camp. God knows what they really were, but damn, were they good.
I remember every stop on the trip home. Crowds of people asking for autographs, beautiful women we didn’t know, running up, hugging and kissing us.
I remember the little girl who asked me to sign her shirt and then gave me a hug and said “thank you.”
I remember feeling like a true hero.
I remember the tears flowing when I saw my family for the first time in forever.
I remember the good, the bad and the ugly.
I don’t think I could, or ever want to, forget.
The Beginning At Last 
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