The War

   Vietnam was my war. We didn’t talk about it around the Sunday lunch table with the relatives like we always had for WWII. I grew up with those stories from my aunts and uncles, but mine was different. John Wayne didn’t glorify mine and people were angry and confused about the whole thing.

   We had Kent State and protests and love-ins.  Hair, Peter, Paul and Mary, and “For What It’s Worth” by Buffalo Springfield. I knew people that went to Canada and more that thought about it.

   We had the draft lottery and boys with lower numbers were scooped up and sent to training camp. I had no brothers, so I was slightly removed from the process, but I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to go away to school after Kent State.

   I thought I’d forgotten about it, but then Rebel Ink asked for short stories involving men in uniform. And there was Welcome Home – already written in my head.  The people aren’t specific. I didn’t know them in real life. But I knew them and I remember how it was.

   A war doesn’t have to be “popular” for the men and women that answer the call to be appreciated and thanked. I think we learned our lesson on that. I hope so.