The young black man sat on the back row of the church. At the end of service, he quietly left. After a few Sundays, I approached him. He nodded, smiled and shook my hand but it was obvious he knew very little English. Over the next few months, as his English improved, I got to know him better. Francis (Kokouvi Ametode) was a recent immigrant from Togo, West Africa working in housekeeping at a local hospital. He had won an American visa lottery, managed to cobble together barely enough cash for airfare, and had arrived at Dulles International Airport several months prior. He arrived penniless, knowing barely a word of English. But Francis had big dreams. He was going to a local community college—his goal, a college education, maybe medical school. One Sunday, he confided that his dreams seemed more elusive than ever. The job sweeping floors at a local hospital seemed bleak, empty and a dead end. American Dream seemed very far off.
So I posed a question: “Francis, have you considered joining the military?”
“I am not a US citizen yet,” he lamented.
I informed him U.S. citizenship was not required to enlist. He just had to be a legal resident.
And with that little encouragement, Francis visited the local Air Force recruiter and within few months, was at basic military training (BMT) in San Antonio.
He corresponded with us throughout his training and eventually we received a family invitation to attend BMT graduation.
A celebration was definitely in order. I flew down to San Antonio from D.C. for the weekend graduation. Dressed in my Lt. Col Air Force dress blues, I stood at attention amongst other family members as the new graduates marched in review on that sunny Saturday morning. I readily picked Francis out of the mass of marching, newly-minted Airmen. His head fixed straight ahead but eyes eagerly darted back and forth seeking out a familiar face in the crowd. It appeared he had yet to see me. In celebration, the graduates tossed their flight caps in the air at the end of the ceremony and walked off the field to join their families. Francis stood alone out on the parade field. I walked out onto the parade field to greet him. It was just him and me. Francis’ eyes finally met mine and a smile broke across his face. As I approached, Francis came to attention and slowly gave me the finest salute. Tears streamed down his dark cheeks. I returned the salute, teary-eyed as well.
“We need to celebrate, Francis. Pick a restaurant, any restaurant. Steak, seafood, you name it!”
“I would really like some pizza!”
“Of course, Francis. Of course.”
Dash Stories 
This is a wonderful idea. I hope you don’t mind if ji tell others about this. I think Father Jim at our church would love this. Thank you for sharing with me and everyone else.
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Love all your “-” stories, Lowell. This one inspired and challenged me.
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