This will be the umpteenth Christmas my oldest son will spend in a war zone. SFC Mark St. Clair is in Afghanistan as a member of AfPak Hands, a specialized unit that works closely with the civilian population and tribal leaders – he spent five months learning to speak Dari, one of the local languages -to establish and maintain relationships that result in lowering tensions.

Past Christmases were spent in Iraq and Kuwait as well as a few in Germany and elsewhere. My boy has been a soldier for nearly 11 years.

In his current assignment, traditional uniforms and military appearance are set aside to present a softer, more civilian image, which suits the sarge just fine. He lives on a base run by Rumanians, secured by Belgians and fed by Sri Lankans – a complete effort by the now-49-nation coalition of forces in country. But even here, he’s not someone with whom you would want to tangle.  

Those of us who have one or more (his youngest brother spent several years in the Marines, so there were years when I had two sons gone at Christmas) loved ones in uniform and far away think a lot about them, their safety, sacrifice and service especially at this time of the year. While we’re fortunate to live in an age where Facebook, Skype and satellite phones allow instant contact, it’s still a damn long ways away in a damn dangerous place.

We are free because of what they do. The old adage about the soldier manning a lonely post in a forgotten place holds true. We’re served and protected by good men and good women doing difficult and nasty work. We are in their debt – let’s never forget that.

Merry Christmas to every soldier, sailor, Marine, airman and Coast Guardsman.  

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