I traveled to California with a Military Backpack

2 Weeks ago, I took a trip to San Francisco because I finally had a little bit of money to do so. I don’t know what it was exactly but the actual reality of my trip did not hit me until the night before. I actually booked the trip a week before the flight so I should have been prepared. But alas, I was not. I did not pack until the morning of.

I have a wild roommate. Great heart, but definitely intense. He’s the type of guy that does back flips into banks of snow on skinny, Philadelphia sidewalks and buys 5 ft. speakers to “test out” and listens to house music 24/7, nonstop, but regardless of his quirks I would admit that he is quite a lovable guy. One day, this lovable wild child of a roommate decides to buy rock climbing equipment from some lady somewhere in some unknown town. Needless to say, being the lovable guy that he is, my roommate returns not only with rock climbing hooks, ropes and shoes but an official, military issued canvas backpack. The type of backpack that you only see army soldiers with, usually in an airport when (I assume) they are heading to or returning from leave.
About a week prior to my trip my roommate says to me, “Hey, I know you’re traveling and you need a traveling backpack. This lady gave me a backpack feel free to use it, I already have one [referring to his civilian traveler’s backpack] .” “No”, I replied, because obviously I had more than enough common sense to judgmentally condemn the everyday use of a military backpack when I, the dreamer, am the farthest thing on earth away from a military man. “That would be absolutely crazy. That’s like an official army bookbag. No Thank you.”

I woke up at 5:15 am the day of my flight. I was scheduled to depart from Philadelphia International Airport at 6:28 Am. I woke up, groggily, at 5:15 Am. Let me paint a clearer picture. I woke up at 5:15 am, in a panic. I came to a full realization that if I did not find a way to get to the airport in 30 minutes, max, $190 would have been flushed down the drain. For me, loss of money is a great motivator. I woke up first dazed, then right into full panic mode because in my attempt to stay up late and sleep on the 6 hour flight to California, I fell asleep without packing. As my consistent unpreparedness would have it, I also did not have any luggage to hurriedly pack my clothes in, so any attempt to do so would be rendered useless. For a bit it seemed all was lost, except… Except for the official military issued backpack that I so adamantly refused to use. In a full adrenaline-infused head-spinning daze, I somehow convinced myself that this military issued backpack seemed just as ordinary as every other camouflaged designed accessory on the planet. I quickly picked up the bag, stuffed a random assortment of clothing into it, grabbed a skateboard(penny) hanging off the rack and hopped into my Lyft.

As it turns out, people can quickly recognize army backpacks. My appearance couldn’t have helped matters. Just what would people would think about a 6+ ft. black guy with an army backpack, a green tiny skateboard (which was occasionally ridden in the airport), and contrasting red sneakers.
As I ran towards the check in line, I was asked by a young lady (airport personnel) if I was military, with a puzzled look on her face. I quickly dismissed the notion and scurried on to take my rightful, civilian place in line amidst stares by fellow traveling onlookers.

To be honest, people did not say too much regarding my military backpack aside from airport personnel at various airports who told me to skip the line due to my obvious military designation. What was most uncomfortable were the stares that I encountered. The worst part was that they were not stares of contempt, or inside knowledge of my lying ruse or disgust. The absolute worst part was that the stares that I encountered were stares of respect, curiosity, and even admiration. I was amazed how much an article of clothing, a mere accessory could symbolize so much and garner so much respect from strangers. In the midst of all that unspoken respect, what I truly felt, was shame. I felt unworthy and I only wanted to hide. But this is not about me. I write this to look back, joyfully on evidence of the glimmering remnants of shared humanity that people exhibited. Beyond the shame and the awkwardness, what I witnessed were head nods, eyes of amazement, hints of attraction, and a mutual respect for those that risk their lives for the country that we are privileged to live in. While I may not know much about the state of Veterans in this country, I witnessed first hand the respect of and admiration for our soldiers simply by wearing a symbol associated with their livelihood. You did not have to tell me that I was not worthy. You might even say that I was over reacting but a simple accessory opened up my eyes to a small of group of people who I respect and admire all the more.

I remember walking up the steep hills of San Francisco for about 3 miles, from the Financial District to Fisherman’s Wharf. My backpack was pretty heavy because of my clothes, my sneakers and my laptop and I occasionally had to take a breath and rest as I climbed hilly, yet paved streets. I wondered and admired the soldiers who had to carry so much weight on their back up rocky, sun drenched terrain in hostile territory and how they managed somehow to hold it all together. I dared not complain.

There was a moment on the airplane. On the journey home, while everyone was storing their carry-on luggage, I happily stored mine in an overhead compartment happy to get the bag off of my back and sat down. I looked up for a quick second to check on the status of my bag only to see another military issued backpack laying right next to mine. This one seemed just a bit more legitimate. I hid. I shrunk my body and never moved my gaze from the window. How could I have faced someone who deserved to wear the backpack? As the plane emptied out, I waited until almost all passengers, and certainly the soldier to whom the bag belonged, exited the airplane before exiting myself, getting on a train and skating back home where I could finally breathe and remove the burden of my trip from my back.

I say this to say to those who serve and have served; Thank you. You do not need my thanks, nor my validation, but as a grateful civilian I give to you my admiration and my respect for all that you go through and all that you carry.

Just for kicks. Here are some pictures from my trip: