Not even one stitch. Not even a band-aid. Just a bacterial dressing and return to duty.
About the time John F'n Kerry was getting his purple hearts I received a wound "playing war" in the woods next to my grandmother's house. Stupid me, I ran into a tree branch and it put a wicked gash into my eye brow. It was one of those bleeder type wounds. My grandmother broke out her sewing kit, sterilized a needle and gave me two stitches. After I stopped bleeding, I went out to play again. I wish I had a digital camera, my grandmother was no plastic surgeon – the scar is still visible today. By the way, I didn’t receive a purple heart. Purple hearts were reserved for men like my uncle, who was wounded on the 7th day of battle on Iwo Jima. He spent two years in hospitals for his wound. By the way, my uncle never talked about that and put up great resistance to any questions about his war days. It was not something that you talked about. My father had to tell me about my uncle’s service.