Posted on 08/29/2004 4:44:09 AM PDT by stockpirate
To: stockpirate I am not sure this is the proper place to put this...but here goes... To All The Vets of Viet Nam,
I was born in 1955, a baby boomer...into an alcoholic and abusive family. I was 14 years old when Woodstock rocked this nation. I remember standing in front of a 12" black and white set watching it unfold on the 6 o'clock news. I also remember my father using the term..".long haired hippie pukes" and being totally disgusted with the whole mess. Being 14 with a father who like to use his fists..I naturally rejected anything he said as any kind of truth. He had lost my affection and my trust many years ago. My father also told the story of being wounded in the Korean war...he even had a scar to prove it. I later found out when I got older, that he had spent the entire war in England..so much for his credibilty.
My mother thought it would be good to alert me at that tender age of 14 about the drug scene that was waiting to prey upon me. She handed me a bunch of Life magazines with an expose of the underground culture of drugs. Living in a small town in Central NY..this was definitely a foreign concept. I was mesmerized by the pictures of hippies and the freedom they appeared to have. Oh how I longed to have a place in this world where I could breathe without fear of being hit. I was ripe for the picking.Within 6 months I found myself hobknobbing with drug dealers and the like.
The next couple of years I was entrenched in the drug scene..my friends were of like thinking..we had all bought into the Love, Peace, Free Sex and drugs doctrine being perpetuated on the youth of this nation. I became a sympathizer of the likes of Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. Their books became gospel for me....I devoured the book.."Soul on Ice" by Eldredge Cleaver. I hated the Viet Nam war...not because of it's political significance...but the idea of war and chaos in general. I had seen too much of that as I was growing up...I longed for peace in my soul. I drank and drugged to relieve some of the inner pain.
I bought into anything that my father hated....and hated anything he bought into. My father was a veteran and stood by the President..even though he was a democrat.....He stood by his brothers in arms. So it was natural for me to take the opposing view. I hated war. Our little town had 3 casualties in the Viet Nam war..two of whom rode on my school bus....they were older than me but each had made a distinct impression on me as I rode the bus....I remember Joe who used to make the sound of a cricket as he ran his fingers along the roof of the bus...he was so tall!!..and Ron was the cute older brther of my sister's friend. Both gone, both dead and for what purpose? My teenaged brain couldn't comprehend the whole idea of death and war.
In 1975, I was 20 years old...a survivor of years of self abuse through my reckless lifestyle..and now a mother of two children. I sat in front of another TV and watched as they were airlifting people out of Saigon. A plane full of refugees were taking off when the plane, carrying children, crashed on takeoff. I sat in front of the TV set and cried...sobs coming from somewhere so deep inside of me....I realised as I was sitting there...that this was the first time I had ever cried for anyone else but myself. My heart was starting to unthaw from years of guarding it.
When the war ended I didn't abuse the vets who had served bravely for my country, no my attitude was worse than any abuse bestowed on them...mine was one of indifference, one of apathy, a "so what and who cares attitude." I never spoke a word that brought shame to a vet, but my heart was full of hatred for anyone who would willingly go and make war.
On Memorial Day, my father would put on his legion uniform and march in the parade and shoot his gun off at the village green in remembrance of those fallen. I watched with a mocking spirit within me. It was a big deal to him (dad) when he became post commander..all I could see was another opportunity for him to drink. I saw him as a hypocrit..a man who espoused peace and freedom ...who oppressed his family with violence and bondage.
But something happened to me over the years...an ideological change, a paradigm shift of thought. I woke up in the mid 1990's and I found myself with the same ideals my father had about his country. I fell in love with where I live and what it stands for. Maybe it was watching my children growing up and wanting better for them or Maybe it was watching CNN during the first Gulf war knowing my brother was in a tank somewhere inside Iraq... or maybe it was the day I sent my youngest son off to the Marines for safe keeping. Maybe it was coming to have faith in Christ. But something definitely changed within me. Maybe it was turning off the TV for a moment and allowing God to speak to me without all the static.
I joined Free Republic over a year ago at the request of a friend. And today I watched a video clip of the VVAW throwing their medals. I must have watched it 6 times. It was this clip that prompted me to write this piece. After so many years I wonder if it would really make any difference to the men and women who served our country by going to Viet nam, if I were to say.. from the bottom of my heart...that I AM SO SORRY for not giving you the Honor you so richly deserve. I am sorry for the indifference I showed you when you returned...of turning my eyes and closing my ears.. when I heard a derogatory remark aimed at you. Would it make a difference if I told you that I am proud of the service you gave to us on behalf of our freedom..that I appreciate your sacrifices and the blood shed for the freedom we all share today. It is 30 years late but I couldn't let another day pass with writing these thoughts down.Please Forgive Me.....
Thanks for your comments. They're trying to be quiet. Surprise. Shhh. Spread the word. Mum's the word.
And stockpirate
"It will take time, but I think we are watching the hand of God healing our nation of our self inflected wounds.
They've never stopped to think of the people they've hurt.
They've never stopped to consider what it must have been like to have been a soldier in Vietnam, so young, working so hard, only to have your youth and your idealism stolen from you."
People who do not want to hear anymore from the Swift Boat Vets for Truth - do not understand the deep wounds that were inflicted by the war protesters and especially Kerry. They may want to bury the whole topic of the Vietnam War - but that is why our nation has never healed.
For instance:
If you have a sliver in you hand and pretend it is not there - it will go in deeper and begin to get infected. Then it will get sore and pus up unless you attempt to treat it. You cannot just ignore it - wash it - and leave it in there in order to heal. You must directly address it - take it out or lance it.
That is why the Vietnam War has bothered our nation's consciousness - we have never addressed the feelings of hurt and pain that those who served in the war went through. We pretended that everything was over and we needed to move on.
I am so very grateful for the Swift Boat Vets for bringing all this out into the open. To me it is not about the medals Kerry is claiming - or it's authenticity - it is about the hurt he brought the MIAs and the POWs as well as the other soldiers that were still in the war.
I hope that those who were involved in the protest and Kerry will be honest enough - and as it has been said here - "are mature enough" to admit they did not know how grievous their actions were to soldiers still involved.
And I hope that those protesters that are currently protesting - really ask themselves are they truly pacifists? If they would use any means to protect their loved ones in an assault - then they cannot validly protest against any war - because it would be hypocritical. They would just have to watch their loved one be assaulted by someone and not do anything to protect them because true pacifists do not believe in Any kind of violence.
I pray that these unresolved issues will be addressed during this time that we have been given an opportunity to begin the healing - And that we will not continue to run from it.
I know it matters to me very deeply. I had two brothers and a cousin who served in Vietnam. My cousin became an alcoholic - he lost use of one of his legs due to injuries in Vietnam. The protests deeply bothered him. One of my brothers committed suicide years later - the protests always bothered him.
Yes -
"It will take time, but I think we are watching the hand of God healing our nation of our self inflected wounds."
Not me either, unc bob. Agreed.
I was a child during the 60's. Ten when Woodstock occurred. By the time I got to highschool, both the protesting and the Viet Nam war had come to an end. None of my peers or those a few years older, had been involved in any of the protests or were even thinking about them. A few had gotten caught up in drugs from hanging out with their older brothers and sisters.
To me the events of the 60's, the sometimes violent protests and the hippies, were all demonstrative acts disrespectful to the good things our parents and teachers were attempting to teach us. I saw the protesters (with few exceptions), contrary to the way the media characterized them, as spoiled, selfish, ungrateful kids who were motivated by their unwillingness to fight for their country and who were attempting to destroy all that was right and good in our nation.
After my mother died when I was four, I went to live with my aunt. She had three children all teenagers, the youngest of which went off to serve in Viet Nam, a year and a half later. My aunt, a good person, was stoic and stern and thus it was a difficult adjusting to my new environment. Joe, was a great comfort during this time. He let my brother and myself eat ice cream in the living room, to the chagrin of his mother; He snuck us candy, played with us, and bought us little toys. Thus, his leaving and extended abscence were quite painful.
I well remember when we drove him to Kennedy airport in New York to see him off to bootcamp. He was dressed in his army uniform and stood so handsome and tall. We were all so proud. We headed out with him to the runway, kissing and hugging him, none of us wanting to let go. I even remember what I was wearing that day. We waved good bye, and went back into the airport to watch his plane take off. I pressed my face against the window the way children do, with the horrible sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, that we would never see him again. Having lost my mother, I understood the consequences of death and knew in this case, it was a real possibility. We watched that plane until we couldn't see it anymore. Our eyes swelling with tears we turned away. The trip back to Philadelphia, no matter how we tried to make it otherwise, was a somber one.
In our home, as in so many homes across America, Walter Kronkite became a nightly fixture. And so did scenes of the war. We were not ones to voice our fears, at least at that time, but each evening I watched the evening news petrified that we would see Joe killed or learn that he was a casualty or worse....
Once Joe was able to come home on leave. He didn't tell anyone, he wanted to surprise us. I was in the front of my home playing, looked up to the corner and couldn't believe my eyes. Joe was walking towards me tall, and stong and handsome in his uniform. I realized there was one person, who would be even happier to see Joe than I. I resisted the strong temptation to run to him and instead ran inside yelling to his mother, "JOE IS HOME, JOE IS HOME." My normally well composed aunt, was beside herself.
She threw off her apron and was behind me running. I never saw that woman move so quickly either before or since. She ran down the porchsteps so fast and hard, she tore off the heal on her sandle, immediately thereafter, falling right into the arms of the son she so loved, while bursting into tears. It was then that I realized she was as human as the rest of us, and wondered at the many feelings she had been harboring, hidden, unbeknownst to any of us, with the exception of perhaps her good husband. She was the complete and joyous picture, of a very fortunate woman, whose son had returned home from battle, if only for a short while, unharmed and unscathed. Six months later, Joe returned to us for good.
While Joe was away, we visited Washington D.C. which was my first time. We saw the White House, the empire state building, and Arlington cemetery. The number of graves was to me quite astounding and there was of course discussion about men dying for their nation and freedom. I can recall thinking about my age, then six, and the age of the average soldier who might be killed in battle, and the age of my grandparents. The ultimate sacrifice that many men make was unimaginable and unfathomable to me. I pondered it for quite some time until I could no longer bear the sentiments so sad was I for those men. I have returned to those same thoughts many times since that day, and my reaction is no different.
When Joe returned from Viet Nam, there was a hush, hush feeling in the neighborhood. Despite that we putup "WELCOME HOME, JOE" signs and banners along with ballons and streamers both on the front porch and in the house, where a surprise party awaited him. We were proud of him and his service and ecstatic to have him home. AND we boldly let everyone know it.
My extended family is quite large, and Joe being one of the oldest in our generation, and the only one of us who had fought in a war, was a hero to us. Our Catholic schools, gave much support to returning Nam vets, and at times invited them as guest speakers to talk to school children. My cousins and I fought ferociously over who would have Joe come to their classroom to speak.
We have never forgotten Joe's time in the army. He married, had children and then served his country again for many years as a police officer. When my brother and I found ourselves in trouble several years ago, Joe, who always had a big heart, was the first to call to offer his services. Sadly, he passed away two years ago.
At his wake, which has become the custom, many pictures were posted. My eyes were drawn to one. It was a picutre of Joe, his parents myself and my brother, the day he left to give service to his country. There was my uncle holding Don, Joe, my aunt , and me standing beside her. In the same clothes and exactly the way I remembered it.
Soon a few of my other cousins and his brother joined my brother and I as we carefully studied some of the other pictures from bootcamp and one or two from Viet Nam. In one picture, he looked particularly strident, and I said, "There's Joe out to get Osama." We all laughed. We were never ashamed of his service and always most proud.
Partially because of him and my own observations of that time period, I found myself on a number of occasions, roundly defending the Nam vets and their service and despising men like Kerry who spoke out against them. And I do mean really despising them. We were lucky, Joe came home whole and in one piece. Others were not so lucky. This experience, however, well taught me about the sacrifice service men and women and their families make.
Joe was also lucky to have a family and a church that supported him and not only showed their appreciation but their pride. Not all Viet Nam vets were so lucky.
Many times I thanked the vets for their service. Though there was never a point in time when I stopped defending Viet Nam Vets, particularly to the ignorant and the left, there was a point in time when I regrettably stopped thanking them. Over the years there has been much revisiting of the Viet Nam war. Even though I understood the lack of appreciation, honor and vitriol Viet Nam Vets suffered from their fellow countrymen, and the lies that were told about them (I never believed them) there were times, when I thought, some Nam vets dwelled upon it too much, particulary after 20 or 25 years. THAT I deeply regret and for that I am sorry.
With the reopening of the Nam discussion by Kerry and the swifties, I am once again reminded, previous discussions were not honest. Not because of the men who served in VietNam, but because of men like Kerry who lied about them and his supporters on the left.
The Swift Boat and all Viet Nam Veterans are finally receiving a small piece of Justice they have desperately needed and well deserved after all these years. And THAT'S a good thing.
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