I was suddenly bobbing and weaving between F-16s, delivering my explosive goods in the pitch black night, completely out of my comfort zone. Despite the incredibly steep learning curve that was required once I landed in country, virtually nothing prepared me for the return home.

When I returned back to Wisconsin after 5 months in the Middle East, they drew my blood and booted me out the door, onto the frozen January tundra. A tube of blood was the extent of my demobilization. I had three days before classes at my university started back up again, and I couldn’t afford to miss another semester of school. I had no choice-- I had 72 hours to buck up and readjust. For months I had dreamed about being back in class, eating home cooked food, and wearing boots that didn’t have steel toes. But now that I found myself no longer in the Middle East, the freedom of college life felt terrifying, almost suffocating. There was no one to report to, except for myself. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun. Didn’t they know there were two wars raging? I found myself sitting in class, angry with everyone around me who was apparently oblivious to the fact that people, young Americans, were dying. Study time could be interrupted by the slightest noise or smell, and I’d find myself staring out the window, trying to make sense of the world.

Little by little I began to meet other veterans on campus. Many of them felt as blindsided by college as I had unexpectedly found myself—distracted in class, irritated by flippant classmates, actually wanting to return to Iraq and the military environment to which we had grown accustomed. But as we talked to one another, we began to realize how invaluable our experiences were, particularly in the classroom. We had experiences—both good and bad—that most of the other students would never encounter. We found that when we piped up in class, other students turned to us with curiosity in their eyes. And sometimes that resulted in difficult, uncomfortable conversations, but sometimes we felt like we were able to teach another student about our experiences as veterans. We were able to break down stereotypes, and we were adding value to the classroom on a regular basis by shaping the perception of what was going on “over there.”

When I was in school, the GI Bill paid for a fraction of college expenses, and resources for veterans in higher education were extremely scarce. Now, resources for veterans in college have grown exponentially. There are student veterans’ organizations on hundreds of campuses. There are websites like todaysgibill.org and newgibill.org, dedicated to providing accurate information to veterans seeking to further their education. Campus administrators turn up at conferences all over the country, in an effort to learn more about the needs of student veterans.

Education is the quickest way up the socioeconomic ladder. The effects of the combination of veterans and higher education can be seen in our nation’s emerging leaders: Iraq and Afghanistan veterans are turning up in Congress. They are taking leadership roles at government agencies, nonprofits, and are becoming business CEOs. With the robust new Post-9/11 GI Bill, higher education has been placed at the fingertips of our nation’s veterans. We only need to reach out and grab it with both hands—and then hold on tightly.