John was the guy in gym class who opted to walk the track instead of playing the sport de jour.

He called a few weeks ago. He said the army would send him to Turkey, but he didn’t know when.

The answer came last week. He said in an e-mail he would leave in a few days. But he didn’t know exactly when or where. He knew why, as everyone else does.

But direction would be a new thing to John. His young life floated around accidental, like on the breeze.

He bumbled his way through life without any sort of spit-shine polish.

John held more than a dozen jobs before finding military fatigues. But held isn’t the right word. He loosely grasped each one before being fired or quitting, usually only a few months after the initial job interview. Wal-Mart sought his help twice, but more than prices fell when he was on the clock.

Not to say John was a person of bad character. He simply had too much character for his own good.

Few dares were too steep for John to take. No matter what the concoction, if you dared him, he’d eat that for a dollar.

He was so rowdy local police almost knew him on a first name basis, but never for anything major. Outside of John, no one got hurt.

He pushed the party envelope constantly. He was like a cartoon mix of Tazmanian Devil and the Big Bad Wolf.

John, two other friends and I threw rocks into the Illinois River on a tame summer afternoon while he told us he decided to join the army.

His rocks sank quickly while mine skipped over the surface with ease. If the decision didn’t work out, life would drown him.

His call to join the army didn’t come from a higher authority – this was a last resort.

My friends and I quickly chipped in and formed a pool placing bets on how long he’d last. Some said weeks, others days. Two months was the highest benefit of the doubt John received.

No one won our pool.

John not only survived army training, he thrived. The army brought out his full potential – something all of his friends knew was there, but we figured he’d never work to hone it.

I worked out with him during a weekend he came home on leave. The guy who once had little interest in any physical activity left me in the dust during a 1-mile jog. While I huffed and puffed for the final quarter mile, he pushed for a longer run. My ego took a deep wound, but I couldn’t have been more proud of John after the run.

He found a wife, some great friends and responsibility in the army. The guy my father once called “Wolfboy” showed he had evolved into a man.

Part of what makes America so great is even a former truck-stop coffee junkie can wind up in a gas mask and fatigues fighting for another country’s freedom in an undisclosed location.

John is the reason I pray for the folks overseas fighting every day.

Whether you’re anti- or pro-war doesn’t matter. Pray for the troops because thousands of Johns are over there who need your prayers too.