While I was waiting in line to pick up our rental car for the weekend, a young man on crutches lined up next to me with a friend. They were chatting basketball, and we began idle conversation. He said he was there for his sister's graduation. Talk turned to his crutches, his ankle was in a pretty serious brace, and he said he had a couple more weeks and then he'd be free of them.

I asked him how he'd hurt his ankle. He replied that he'd been shot. His achilles tendon had to be replaced and that he'd been on these crutched for nine months. He was a medic in the military, was loading wounded Iraqi children into his helicopter when a sniper shot him and another soldier helping evac these kids. This had been his third tour. He said the irony of it, they were helping Iraqi's and he was shot. His friend was hit in the back but the bullet missed all vital organs so he would be fine.

I didn't know what to say. In my day to day life, I've never been in harm's way in that manner. I recently read in Flags of Our Fathers, that the medic is one of the most dangerous positions in the military because his sole responsibility is to care for the wounded at the risk of his own life. He is dependent on others to cover him from enemy fire and must focus on the wounded he is helping. You are completely at the mercy of others.

My number came up, I was called over to check in, but before I did, I turned and shook his hand and thanked him for his service to our country and what he sacrificed for our freedom. I'm not terribly political. I have my views, but they seem to change from day to day and week to week. But this was a brave young soldier risking his life for others, and people like that are heroes in my mind.