My son was in Kuwait in 1991,
fiercely battling the Gulf War. One awful day that year, a Navy car pulled
slowly into the parking lot of my record shop. I froze behind the counter,
unable to breathe. Two uniformed sailors quietly entered my store and began
flipping through albums. Suddenly, one of them asked, “Do you have any Elton
John records?” With a quiet sigh and a slight tear in my eye, I told them why I
thought they were there. Both men apologized. It’s not every day you think you
lost your son and get him back.