I pressed my face to the window of the Northwest Orient DC-8, anxious, even in the pre-dawn black, to get my first glimpse of home. As the aircraft began a long, low approach towards SeaTac airport I could make out strip-malls, parking lots, and the neon lighting of an all-night cafe. Occasionally, a car’s headlights illuminated the snow-covered highway below. The aircraft straightened, paralleling an arterial street. We were low enough now that I could see snowflakes reflected in the streetlights.

Flaps down, engines powered for a landing, we cruised just a few hundred feet above the ground, over darkened houses their roofs outlined in red, green, blue and white Christmas lights. Strands of multi-colored bulbs draped the snow-laden limbs of conifers. Outdoor crèches and lighted snowmen stood vigil on front lawns. Wreaths graced front doors. Curtains pulled back, lighted Christmas trees, and in at least one home a lighted menorah, filled the windows of darkened living rooms. Occasionally, a lighted kitchen indicated life was astir; a mother or father preparing breakfast before heading off to work, or getting kids ready for school.

Why are their Christmas lights still on, I pondered? At our house, we turned the tree lights off before going to bed. Our neighbor’s outdoor displays were generally dark by eleven, certainly not left on all night.

It occurred to me at first as an errant fancy that I quickly dismissed. But then I remembered nearby Ft. Lewis and the thousands of servicemen and women who passed through SeaTac on their way to and from Viet Nam. What I was witnessing in the neighborhood below was not in a dream.

They’ve left their lights on for us!

I was in an instant exhilarated, and then I cried.

Those of us who served in Viet Nam that Christmas of 1969 had read reports of anti-war protests and student riots in the Armed Forces newspaper, The Stars and Stripes, and in letters from home. America was turning against the war. Soldiers traveling in uniform were met with cold stares. The polite ignored them. Stories circulated overseas of GIs being jeered and spat on. Although I was not traveling in uniform, I wondered what to expect when I arrived home.

But, in the homes beneath our landing path, south of SeaTac, families had left their lights on for us! That simple, heartfelt welcome home meant the world to me that Christmas, and I will never forget.