Mementos...of that other war...

I was going through some boxes in my garage the other day and came across some things I haven’t seen for a while. They were tucked away inside a sock, inside a shoe box, inside a packing box, up in the attic. I knew they were there. I put them there years ago. Every now and then when we cleaned the garage or moved, these items would surface.

I’ve always wanted to do something meaningful with them. Maybe mount them behind a glass frame and hang them in my office, just never got around to it. So now I will.

But as I was looking at them, some thoughts came to mind. Thoughts that have pretty much been stored in the memory warehouse. Not necessarily thoughts about my experience over there. I spent over four years in a patrol squadron with the Navy which included two six-month deployments to SE Asia. Not many people are interested anymore in those kinds of stories. They just happened. It was a long time ago. You move on.

These thoughts concerned how I felt when I got back. The feelings that came from how I reacted to returning home, and how other people reacted to me.

For the most part, most everyone close to me acted like I expected they would. My family and close friends would listen to my stories and accounts of where I went and what I did. They would politely nod or shake their heads, and ask a question or two. They would tell me occassionally how what I did was noble and patriotic and how they respected me. I was the only person in my close peer group and family who chose to go. Everyone else either stayed in school or was somehow excluded from service. Again, it was something I chose to do in light of the situation. That situation being the presence of an aggressive military draft in 1968, and me losing my student deferment status. Those two factors presented me with a choice or two. I chose to sign up rather than be signed up. End of that episode for now.

Shortly after I got home, I remember going out with friends to a party. It was one of those college crowd gatherings in an apartment complex where a lot of students lived. It was mainly a beer-fest. There were guys and gals running in and out. Some were attached at the hip, others were solo. I struck up a conversation with a young lady that I recognized from high school, younger than me. We chit chatted a little. I was pretty nervous. Not only had I just returned from overseas, I was also recently divorced. I had gotten married in the middle of my enlistment and divorced soon after returning. Another topic from the memory warehouse concerning how people reacted to me and how I reacted to them.

While talking to this young lady, a guy came up (who I recognized from high school) and joined the conversation. After a few seconds, the girl told him that I had just gotten back from the service, from Viet Nam. At that point, the guy made some sort of anti-war remark, grabbed the girl, and said, “What are you talking to him for?” And left the party...with the girl.

There were other similar exchanges in my life after that, insigificant comments from insignifcant individuals. I would always tell them that I was not for the war either, I was just over there doing my duty. In 1973, I was still perceived as some sort of war monger, conservative, right wing, “hawk”. When in fact, I was raised by a Democrat father and was totally against the war and so on.

The reason I mention this now is, there was a news story recently in Sacramento, 70 miles north of where I live. I guy decided to protest the war by hanging up an effige of an American soldier on the front of his house. The signs read something like, “They are being killed in effige over there...the war is wrong...get out...etc”. Someone came along a tore the figure down, anonymously. A sign was posted concerning our soldiers and what they are doing over there. The last line on the sign read, “One more thing...if you can read this in English...than thank our troops and all the other troops who have made this possible”.

I believe you should be able to say what you want here. I believe you should be able to carry any kind of banner you want here, including hanging one on your house. It is America after all.

But I also believe that amidst all this exercising of constitutional rights, let’s not forget who is paying the ultimate tab. And the tab I am talking about is not money and military spending. Let us not forget about how this so-called fashionable Liberalism looks to our guys and gals over there...where ever or when ever that may be.

Let’s not forget...it wasn’t their idea. How will you make them feel when they get back...if they come back?