A School of a Different Color

It was a cold January morning, as the jet liner I was riding landed in Louisville, Kentucky. Immediately upon exiting the plane, I saw a nice young soldier holding a sign that said "Private Robert J Jones," so normally I went up to him and politely said, "I am Private Robert Jones." He simply smiled and replied, "Alright, follow me, Private," but the way he said "Private" was not the same way the recruiter had said it back home in my small town; he said it as if it was the lowest of low, like it was an insult to be called a private. …