After the Gjallarhorn

We were standing at our excellent seats

as Paul Molitor blew the gjallarhorn.
At that precise moment, a couple arrived
at the seats to my right,
the man immediately asking me
if the “soldiers” had been introduced yet,
looking relieved when I said, no.   

Two minutes later, the PA announcer
introduced the “soldier of the day,”
and a young man wearing

U.S. Army universal camouflage
walked onto the field.
“That’s just awesome! What an
awesome honor!” said the man,

pleased with the pictures he was able to take
with his telephoto lens.

                                      “Now

put your hands over your hearts
to honor America,” the announcer said.
The man to my right
put his hand over his heart.
All of the Vikings and Broncos players
put their hands over their hearts.
As a matter of principle, I never
take part in mass patriotic demonstrations,
so I left my heart uncovered
as Ruben Studdard sang the national anthem.
I don’t think the man noticed
that my heart was uncovered.
My sympathy with the man made me
want to salute by covering my heart,
but I didn’t do it.
                            Later,

I asked the man if his son had fought in Afghanistan,
and he said, no, that he had
served in Kuwait and Iraq, and had been home now
for about a year an a half.
“It’s an awesome honor!” he said again,
but frankly admitted that he had no idea
why his son had been chosen.
“He didn’t do anything especially heroic,” he said.
“We were just happy that he made it home
 upright and walking.”