Catherine posted a beautiful picture the other day, capturing the joy on a loved one’s face when her brother returned home from the war. It brought tears to my eyes (photographers are great artists too)—not the least because it hit home for me, when at another time I would only be a sympathetic observer.

I had always been proud and appreciative of all our military men and women, for their dedication and sacrifice, doing what we civilians would not or could not do. And I don’t think they are compensated enough. But what they actually did seemed so far away from me, the stuff of news reports and stories far removed from my life. I had this vague, romanticized vision of active-duty military: the training, the battles, the heartbreaking tales of heroism. And to illustrate my ignorant disconnect from that life, I found the announcement of the black beret becoming standard wear for the Army, well, disappointing. I couldn’t take a beret seriously. It didn’t "look tough."

But as I express in the title of this post, I’ll never make fun of that beret again, even if they make it orange with purple polka-dots (please don’t)—because what it represents is so meaningful. Namely the Green Beret: What those men go through to get that Green Beret, and what they do once they’ve earned it, is hugely significant indeed.

Someone very close to me is now going through training with Special Forces, specializing in medicine. (Ok: All you in the military, bear with me if my terminology is “off.” I’m still learning. But feel free to share your insights and experiences in the comment section.)

So I now hear on a daily basis many of the details of that training and intense study. (And the interesting anecdotes—and pranks that, apparently, are repeated among medics through the years—I’ll spare you any examples . . . ) And at times, it makes me feel very small—not in a shameful way, just amazed at all that one goes through to get that Green Beret.