AJChenMPH
Forum Health Inspector
An Unknown Soldier
By Terry Paulson
One day, while changing flights in Chicago, I called my wife to let her know that I would be home shortly.
As we were talking, I overheard a young soldier on the phone next to me leaving a message, “Mom, I don’t know. They just told me that they won’t change the ticket without more money . . . and I don’t have it.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “Okay, I’ll try to stay here by the phone. Please call back soon. The number is . . .”
The soldier hung up, and with a worried look on his face, he stood next to the phone bank, nervously waiting for the phone to ring.
I said good-bye to my wife and then turned to the anxious young man. “How much do you need, soldier?” I asked.
“Sir, I’m twenty dollars short of getting home.”
I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. “For giving to our country, I am honored to give you this twenty dollars.”
A big smile of relief came over him as he took the money and said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Now, go home,” I smiled back.
And with that, he shook my hand, grabbed his duffel bag and dashed off to the gate and on to his waiting family.
You can’t get much more than that for any amount of money.
Reprinted by permission of Terry L. Paulson (c) 1998 from Chicken Soup for the Traveler's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Steve Zikman.
By Terry Paulson
One day, while changing flights in Chicago, I called my wife to let her know that I would be home shortly.
As we were talking, I overheard a young soldier on the phone next to me leaving a message, “Mom, I don’t know. They just told me that they won’t change the ticket without more money . . . and I don’t have it.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “Okay, I’ll try to stay here by the phone. Please call back soon. The number is . . .”
The soldier hung up, and with a worried look on his face, he stood next to the phone bank, nervously waiting for the phone to ring.
I said good-bye to my wife and then turned to the anxious young man. “How much do you need, soldier?” I asked.
“Sir, I’m twenty dollars short of getting home.”
I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. “For giving to our country, I am honored to give you this twenty dollars.”
A big smile of relief came over him as he took the money and said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Now, go home,” I smiled back.
And with that, he shook my hand, grabbed his duffel bag and dashed off to the gate and on to his waiting family.
You can’t get much more than that for any amount of money.
Reprinted by permission of Terry L. Paulson (c) 1998 from Chicken Soup for the Traveler's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Steve Zikman.
