As I reflect on the tragic events of September 11, 2001, I often think back to October of last year. I had flown to San Antonio to present a paper at the North American Society for the Sociology of Sport conference. Less than 24 hours later, I was back on an airplane to return home. It was then that I met Brandon, a solemn 19-year old young man full of hopes, dreams, big plans and aspirations. We both had connecting flights in Atlanta, but they would lead us to two very different destinations.

I was more than glad to board the plane to get home in time to speak with my children before they went to bed. For most of us in athletics, October is a time of year when we hop from one flight to another to attend athletics events, NCAA committee and conference meetings, speaking engagements and other important forums.

As I gazed out the window from my aisle seat and wondered how I would muster up the energy to board the football team's charter plane to Oxford, Mississippi, the very next morning, I began to complain to myself about how I did not even have time to eat any authentic Mexican food in San Antonio. Then I was startled by a voice from the aisle.

"Excuse me, sir," said the young man standing in the aisle. "I have the window seat."

Although I was not thrilled to be referred to as "sir," I had to admit that the young man's manners were impressive.

"I'm finally going home," he sighed as he eased into his window seat. "How are you, sir? My name is Brandon. I can't believe I've been here for eight months. I'll be glad to get a home-cooked meal for a change."

"Do you attend college here?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I'm in the Army. It's the only way I could get money for college since the football scholarship I was offered didn't materialize once I hurt my shoulder. The injury forced me to sit out my senior year."

Not wanting to pry, I carefully asked Brandon if our military actions overseas would directly affect him.

"Yes," he said with a second and much deeper sigh. "I found out last week that I'm going to Afghanistan pretty soon. They are sending me home to see my mother for a couple of weeks before I report to a base in Washington state. A couple of weeks after that I'll probably be overseas fighting for our country."

As we entered the terminal I turned to Brandon to wish him luck. "Be safe, and get home soon," I said with challenged enthusiasm. "I'm sure you'll make us all proud."

"I'll do what I can," he managed with a smile.

He was a young man who had dreamed of becoming a college star and professional football player, but instead became an American soldier. After two weeks, he would go off to a foreign land with a machine gun strapped to his back and no promise of returning home. I on the other hand would hunt for my dealer car in the airport parking lot, drive to a spacious home in a secluded neighborhood, kiss my three children as they slept and repack my luggage to leave again the next morning with the football team. As I spoke to my wife in hushed tones, telling her about Brandon, I began to put things in perspective.

The next evening in Oxford, I witnessed the most exciting and nerve-racking football game in my 13-year college athletics history (the seven-overtime Arkansas victory over Ole Miss). It was a game that will have a special place in history long after those of us who were involved are gone. I crawled (literally) into my own bed in Fayetteville at 2 a.m. Sunday. However, as I kissed my children that morning, I thought to myself, "Here I am, a college-educated man who once played football before thousands of people in stadiums across America week after week for four years. I now get paid to help direct and witness other young men and women pursue the same dreams. This isn't a job; it's definitely a blessing and a privilege."

Since those two hours on the airplane with Brandon, I have continued to keep things in perspective. I now value the long staff and committee meetings I once dreaded. I also look forward to the extended road trips with our Olympic sports teams like tennis and baseball. No longer do I complain when I board an airplane that will take me halfway across America. How can I, when young men may again be boarding airplanes that will take them halfway across the world, many of whom may not ever return?

My message is simple: Keep everything in perspective. While sport has become an essential element of American culture, we must never forget that we who work in athletics are but small pieces of the big picture. We should remember that what we do is not so much about us, but about the young men and women that shed blood, sweat and tears on athletics fields and courts every day for the good of the Razorbacks, Wolverines, Commodores, Fighting Irish, Nittany Lions, Cornhuskers, Longhorns and Tigers. While we continue to influence the lives of young men and women, we should not forget the "Brandons" who are in foreign lands protecting the freedoms we enjoy day in and day out. Remember, without them there would be no tailgate parties, homecomings, Midnight Madness, Final Fours, bowl games or national championships.

Good luck, Brandon. Get home safe.

Derrick Gragg is an associate athletics director at the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville.