October 17, 2005

Every now and then, I see a scenic photograph, which instantly stirs up the poet in me, and if I am alert, I quickly begin to write. At some other times, I hear a brief report of something that happened in another�s life, and there is a knowing in my heart, that I have to put some flesh on the bones and write the story in my own words. I usually fail to catch the reporting person�s name. The following short story is one such as this.

I stood on the dock surrounded by a crowd of Middle Eastern military and civilian on-lookers. We were not thinking of war on this occasion. We were providentially thrown together, trapped in the aftermath of a natural disaster, which had shattered the lives of many.

I am an American foreign correspondent, assigned to this area. On this day I was surrounded by faces pale with shock and lined with grief. Just now, these same faces displayed an upward look of hope and expectancy which could not be masked. One of their military ships was docked nearby, with men standing several deep, peering out over the ship�s railings.

An observation washed through my mind. Immediately a second impression chased the first. The second thought was that if I were to speak the first out loud, I would be branded a racist. But it was an accurate observation. I briefly recalled a definition I had once heard of �political incorrectness.� That it is a truth by which someone else takes offense. Be that as it may, my observation was, that all the personnel aboard that ship, and most of the surrounding crowd�were men�men who looked very much alike in race, color and dress.

It was only a passing thought, and I had almost forgotten it, until something happened a short while later.

Standing there for what seemed an eternity, the long awaited U.S. ship finally arrived, bringing food, supplies and medical aid. We had heard it was on its way, with others to follow.

I caught glimpses of relief in the taught bodies of many of the men around me. There seemed to be a release of inward tension. A positive murmur spread like a wave, in all directions. Hope had arrived.

But this is not what caught my attention.

As the American military and medical personnel began to disembark, I realized the reason for my previous fleeting observation. It was not simply that �they� had all appeared very much alike. It was that �we� displayed a glaring contrast.

There, before my eyes, was the �heart of America.� I saw the unique composition which forms its greatness.

Coming down the gangplank were men, women, Blacks, Caucasians, Orientals, Hispanics; young, middle aged and older generations of every race and nationality on earth. They were gathered together as one, and united in purpose.

There was no way that most of those standing there could have missed this sight. The contrast was as night and day. Americans are unique, perhaps above any other nation, in that we derived from all peoples, everywhere. And these men and women stand together in bold equality.

I had caught a momentary glimpse of that which constitutes the heart and greatness of America.

But, as I said before, it would have been difficult to miss.

Text � copyright 2003 - 2008 The Homespun Philosopher

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