It’s Sunday.

Against my better judgement, I often do my grocery shopping on Sunday—especially in the evening. And today is such a day. So, with a little sigh, I set off to lay in the week’s supplies.

After the usual hour (okay, two hours) I’m just about done, the short list handed to me by my wife having been translated into a cart full of stuff over which I can barely see.

As I headed back to the dairy section to grab a gallon of Chateau de Cow 2006, I encountered an older fellow in one of those motorized shopping cart chair things. I looked at the shelves which clearly rose to heights beyond his grasp.

“Anything I can get for you?”

“Oh, no, I’ve got my cottage cheese—but thanks for asking.”

A couple of turns later, we were in the coffee aisle. He asked if I could help him find a particular kind of iced tea. No problem. Glad to help.

Then I noticed his hat. Paratrooper. I noticed the mission badges.

“Tell me, where did you serve?”

“Oh, all over the Pacific.” He proceeded to list the islands and countries where he’d seen action. He spoke in the matter-of-fact tone of someone who had just been doing a job. He told me of his days in the Philippines and in Japan. He grew animated and the light in his eyes danced.

I told him that my wife’s father had served in the Pacific and that mine had served in Europe.

And I added, “Thanks for doing that. We owe you a lot.”

He smiled and became a little flustered. “It was just a job they gave me, so I did it.”

“Well, thanks. I’m happy you were there.”

We went to the next aisle and I helped him get the vegetable spray for low-cal frying.

I bid him good night and checked out with my mountain of groceries.

He’s old now, but the pride is still there.

For many of us, so is the gratitude.

Thanks, guys. We owe you.