Here are the words of Capt. Steve Alvarez:
When I came home from Iraq a couple of months ago, I kept the promise I made while I was still there: I wouldn't watch the news, and I'd step away from the war, ignoring the events that had consumed my life 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It was time to catch up with my family and make them the focus of my life 24/7.
For about a month I was able to successfully ignore the constant horrid imagery and sensational reports filed from Iraq. But as a public affairs officer and self-proclaimed news junkie, I soon found myself scanning headlines on the Web and tuning into radio news programs, instead of my favorite jazz station.
I don't think the charred skeletal remains of a vehicle-borne explosive device are the watermark of this war. The images I see back here are not the same indelible images I saw in Iraq - those of a resilient country making its way back from decades of oppression - helped by the many friendly nations that liberated them.
But now I'm on the sidelines, and instead of feeling and hearing the car bomb explode and seeing its eerie black plume of smoke rise nearby, I read about it. And rather than witness history as I did for a year, I find myself writing my comrades to get accurate accounts of what is happening in Iraq.
What I saw in Iraq was the boundless bravery of a seemingly endless line of Iraqi recruits gathered to join the Iraqi army, the smiles and waves of Iraqis as we convoyed through the city of Sulaymaniyah, the first flight of the Iraqi air force, and the sound of Iraqi tank guns as they thundered for the first time in years in support of liberty, not tyranny.
I remember the jubilation of my Iraqi friends as they showed off their ink-stained fingers, a badge of honor on their fingertips, indicating they had voted in their country's first democratic election in decades. I remember the Iraqi female military police soldiers who became pioneers for women in that region by joining the Iraqi military, clearing not just personal hurdles, but cultural ones.
Mostly, I remember the thousands of Iraqi and coalition troops that each day hunted the enemy and kept me safe. I remember the drivers and gunners on convoy, the pilots and crew chiefs in the sky, the sentries and tankers at the gates, and all of the warriors who were out there trying to make Iraq a better and safer place.
Someday, probably decades from now, the actions of this generation and its brave men and women will grace history books. The lesson, I'm confident, will be that they left a peaceful and productive imprint on the region and its people, and forever changed the landscape of the Middle East.
Despite what is being reported and what is reflected in media opinion polls, there is no doubt in my mind that the public is behind the troops in Iraq.
While I was in Iraq, I received hundreds of Christmas cards from students at an elementary school and from members of a church in Florida. A sorority from Indiana sent dozens of letters and cards of support, and Americans from all over the country sent me e-mails from places like Chicago, Sacramento, and Texas just to name a few.
Wool caps made by an Internet knitting club kept me warm during the cold winter months in Iraq and donated phone cards kept me in touch with my family who waited for me more than 6,000 miles away. Care packages stuffed with goodies and comfort items were never in short supply at our command. In fact, we had to appoint a "morale sergeant" to manage all of the goodwill pouring into our compound.
When I came home in uniform on R&R, strangers approached me at the airport and shook my hand, patted me on the back, and thanked me. Airline employees did what they could, offering passes to their VIP lounges and upgrades to first class, and those airlines who had nothing to offer did what they could-extra pillows, fistfuls of peanut or pretzel bags and free headsets. But their "thanks" alone was enough for me.
Ask any returning war veteran and I'm sure you'll find their experience was similar. At one point I was so overwhelmed by the outpouring that I found myself in an airport restroom trying to keep my composure after a mother walked passed me with her two sons and one of them said aloud, "Thank you, Soldier," his brother waving anxiously at me.
COntinued
