"This is done".  With those words President Barack H. Obama sat down the last pen that he used to sign into law the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell Repeal Act of 2010" on Wednesday, December 22, 2010, at 9:36 AM.  Actually watching in person as the Commander In Chief of the United States Armed Forces rolled his pen across the paper did little to reassure me that the law that we had been fighting for almost 20 years had finally been overturned.  I was still as numb and unbelieving as anyone else.  It had happened so quickly.  We had fought and struggled for so long, it just didn't seem real that we had finally won.  Surely, the powers that stood against us were just playing another game.  Somehow, someone was going to come running in at the last minute shouting that the decision had been reversed.  A mistake had been made.  A technicality had been overlooked.  The process would have to be repeated.  But that did not happen.  "This is done."  We have won. 

The inspirational words that our President used to conclude his speech were nothing new.  "Out of many we are one."  "We are a nation that believes that all men and women are created equal".  Well, of course we do.  We all know that.  We've known it for years.  We've recited it every time we said the Pledge of Allegiance.  But there is now one vast difference.  There is one dawning, newly awakening realization.  Those are no longer just words for someone else.  For the first time those words apply to me, to "us".  For the first time in my life, I am one of the "many".  I am one of the "all".  We may not have known it, but that's what we have been fighting for these many years, not just to be allowed to serve in the military, but to be among the "all", to claim our part of the American promise.  To be acknowledged, affirmed, so that when we say "with Liberty and Justice for all", we are among the "all". 

We have been legitimized.  "Civil rights" are our rights, too.  The "congratulations" that I continue to hear from people are not just about winning one fight, they are an expression of welcome to the "all".  That is what I feel today.  I feel it when I talk openly about who I am to people all around me as if, for the first time in my life, I, too, am a valued American like all other Americans.  If the President said it, then it must be true.  I feel it in the air we breathe.  For the first time in my life something has changed in a dramatic way.  People who oppose us are no longer justified in doing so.  Now they are “un”-patriotic.  They are bad.  With the rolling of the pen across the paper, I am not just welcome to serve in the military.  With the rolling of the pen, a profound change has taken place in my life, and in my country.  There is still very, very much work to be done.  Our nation will not live up to its promise of liberty until every single citizen shares the same rights and responsibilities as every other citizen.  And that is yet a long time away.  But today, with the rolling of the pen, I feel something for the first time since I understood what it means.  Today, for the first time, I AM FREE. 

I was among the first to be discharged under DADT in 1994.  In the closing weeks of December 2010, as the Senate voted for repeal and I was among those present when the President signed the bill, incredibly, everything came full circle for me.

A few weeks ago I was asked to play taps for a military funeral.  One of our members had lost his son to suicide.  It was a heartbreaking tragedy.  The son had served in the Navy, so he, too, was a veteran.  I told my friend that I would be honored to play taps for his son.  He told me that his ex-wife had invited some other veterans to attend the service, so I would not be the only one in uniform. 

We gathered at the church for the funeral, which would be followed by the internment at a veterans’ cemetery north of Atlanta.  After the service began I saw the other two men in uniform, and I was taken aback.  I recognized the man in the Army uniform.  He was the man who had discharged me from the Army almost 18 years ago.  A brief reception followed the funeral service, so I had an opportunity to talk to retired Colonel Kelly R. Jimenez before we left for the cemetery.  He had been a Major at the time.  He recognized me as one of his former soldiers, but evidently did not remember the circumstances, since he asked me if I was “still in”.  I told him that I was not, and I asked if I might have a one of his cards so that I could contact him later.

We drove to the cemetery, which was located in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains.  The cemetery was breathtaking, located on a beautiful hilltop, and it was a clear, sunny day.  We were guided to the internment site.  I stood apart from the other mourners in order to play taps.  When Colonel Jimenez arrived, he stood next to me, and when the order was given he saluted as I played taps.  There we were, two soldiers, in uniform, serving together again.  It was an incredible moment of closure for me.  I felt we had come full circle.  He whispered to me afterwards “good job”. 

The next day I sent an email to the Colonel to remind him of the circumstances for which he probably remembered me.  I didn’t know if he would respond.  It was several days, in fact, before he did respond.  I didn’t receive the letter until after I had returned from the signing ceremony in Washington DC.  What follows is his letter to me.  With the great honor of watching President Obama sign the Repeal into law, with shaking his hand and speaking to him, nothing has touched my heart as deeply or meant more to me than this letter.  I know you will understand why it moved me so very much when you read it.  Nothing could ever mean more:

The Colonel’s Letter

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