They called him “Mojo.” He was an ordinary guy with extraordinary skills as a running back for Dallas County High School.

But this is not a story about how Mojo went off to the big show and scored lots of points and rivaled even Walter “Sweetness” Payton in history.

No, this is about a guy who, when he finished high school, joined the Army to serve his country.

The folks over at Fort Polk, La., knew him as Sgt. Ricky D. Jones. His comrades in arms at Bagram Air Force Base in Afghanistan knew him as Sgt. Jones.

We will know him now as father, son, and fallen in the service of his country. He belongs to each of us because his presence in Afghanistan represented a sacrifice for each of us to live free, without fear.

Sgt. Jones had three children. They will not see their dad again; and suffice it to say, Father’s Day will hold a bittersweet memory for them as they grow older.

But what each of us needs to make sure is that those three children know their dad died for their rights not to ever have to witness the mass destruction of a Sept. 11, 2001. Those three children should never have to live under the oppression of a theocrat who ultimately runs the country. Those three children should grow up healthy and strong and with good educations, free to speak their minds and chase their dreams.

Because this is America.

This is what Sgt. Ricky D. Jones fought and died for.