From the way people say it, you’d think it was just one of those guaranteed things in life. The sun comes up in the morning, grass is green, and women love a man in uniform. Somewhere along the line, women just developed this affinity for fighting men. I don’t profess to know what lies in the depths of our evolutionary process, but I do know why I love them. And of course now, like never before, there are women in uniform. And I love them too. The reasons seem obvious to me, but, sadly are so often overlooked as to leave me dumbfounded. Allow me to explain…

I love them because they are brave. They stand in front of enemies I will never have to face, and say “This is the line. You go no further than here.” They face untold challenges and trials, and keep doing their jobs. They face gunfire, and mortars, and minefields, and RPG fire, and IEDs, and still they are there.

I love them because they have honor. They say “Ma’am” and “Sir.” They salute their superiors. Even in the horror of war, they do not sink to the level of the enemy. They do not drive bombs loaded with explosives into crowded markets. They do not fly planes full of innocent people into buildings. They do not drag bodies through the streets. In fact, they try to save a wounded enemy’s life as zealously as they would a comrade’s. They wear the flag of the United States of America with pride, and take seriously their status as representatives and protectors of our country.

I love them because they are ordinary, and yet so extraordinary; they are heroes. They are the sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers of everyday people like me. And yet, they charge up hills, single-handedly killing snipers, silencing machine gun nests, and capturing enemy positions (2nd Lt. Ernest Childers, US Army, Oliveto, Italy, 1943). They voluntarily go into almost certain death to protect wounded comrades (Master Sgt. Gary Gordon, and Sgt. First Class Randall Shughart, US Army, Mogadishu, Somalia 1993). They show the enemy that they would rather die than give in, thereby inspiring other POW’s, and convincing their captors to become more civilized in their treatment (Then-Captain James B. Stockdale, US Navy, Vietnam, 1969). They steer vulnerable boats through blistering enemy fire to rescue Marines pinned down on a beach (Signalman 1st Class Douglas Munro, USCG, Guadalcanal, 1942). They race through enemy terrain to save a wounded fellow soldier, shield him from grenades, and literally take a bullet for him (Pvt. 1st Class Oscar P. Austin, USMC, Vietnam, 1969). They make me believe that even I could make a difference.

There is something that happens to an ordinary person when they become a member of our Armed forces. They become a protector, a role model, a hero. And yes, there are occasions when that mortality, that inherent weakness of all humans, is visible. There are unpleasant incidents that occur so rarely as to be shocking, judged through the lens of haughty superiority so unfortunately common to those of us who will never understand what it means to be in the middle of combat. They are vilified for occasionally reacting to what the critics will never have to face, and yet, almost universally, they say nothing. Despite the cries of “baby killer” and “criminal,” and all the other darts thrown, they say nothing to return the enmity, nothing to return the caustic criticism of their outraged countrymen. Inexplicably, they continue to fight for our right to greet their efforts with disdain and hatred. I love them because even in the worst of circumstances, they remain Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines.

I believe that they deserve gratitude, as well as latitude. I believe that they deserve our love, and the good judgment to keep our mouths firmly clamped shut when there is opportunity to give harsh commentary on something we will never understand. I believe that when they cross the line, they deserve to be judged by those who do understand, not taunted and demonized by those who never will. I believe that they deserve parades and celebration when they return from war, and when they return from peacetime activity. I believe they deserve yellow ribbons carefully tied around trees, letters and packages sent from people they don’t know through groups formed solely to support them. I believe they deserve signs in windows, on cars, on billboards, proclaiming our pride in each and every one of them. I believe that they have bought this with their blood, the sacrifice of life, and limb, the forfeiture of years meant to be spent watching children grow up and holidays meant to be spent with family. I believe we owe them more than we will ever be able to repay, but that we all have a duty to try. I believe we have an obligation to say “Thank You,” at least once, in whatever way we choose.

And whatever branch they are in, wherever they serve, whoever they are, I love them. They are the best of us. They are the reason we remain free, the reason we sleep without fear of invasion. They are Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines. And let’s face it; they do look darned good in those uniforms…