My dad served in Vietnam. He didn’t volunteer to go. He was
drafted when he was just a kid. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to
be an 18 + year old kid and hearing the rumblings from the news of a war brewing and
told that you may be forced to go?
How scared must my dad have been? After all these years can you
believe I never even asked him if he was. That’s pretty damn selfish of
me. When you’re sent to war against our
will, given a gun, and told to kill what does that do to a man? All those kids
who were sent off to a war and a land they more than likely never heard of, to fight a
person they never would have met in their lifetime, must have been a nightmare.
Being a father now I would be petrified for my children to be carted off
overseas into battle without them actually volunteering to go.
When I was 18 I was told that I had to register for the
Selective Service. I didn’t quite grasp what that meant. Basically it was a
registration card that all men filled out and mailed to the federal government
on their eighteenth birthday. That post card was your tickets to be drafted if
the need to fight for our country was greater you’re your need to live a
happily ever after life.
When America was involved in War World II, men and women
from all over the country, stepped up and volunteered to fight overseas or take
up jobs in America to support the war. It was in our, and the worlds, best
interest to get involved. America was dragged in after the attack on Pearl
Harbor.
My dad won the lottery he didn’t want. His social security
number was selected out of a lottery system the government came up with in
order to choose the ones going to battle. He left his 18-year-old wife and
one-year-old son behind and was shipped off by the Army where he was sent to Missouri to complete basic training before heading to war. Damn that must have been a whirlwind for
him.
Intense government indoctrination began to make my dad into
a warrior who would gladly sacrifice his life for the greater good of God and
country. A warrior? My father was stick skinny, blonde hair; blue eyed 6 foot,
kid. He was entrusted to carry the basic
M-162A rifle or just called the M16 into battle. Up to that point the only
thing my dad carried in his hands was a paint brush that he used to paint
houses. Before that he used his hands to push a broom and bag groceries at a
local market.
When my dad was done and ready to go to war. He may have fit
the Army’s mold of a warrior but underneath he was still a dumb kid who at 21
had no idea how the world worked. Most people travel on their own to
self-discovery and culture shock. My dad was carted off like a herd of cattle
where the only self-discovery he was going to search for within himself was did
he have what it takes to survive.
Imagine:
In the driving rain a war rages on despite sheltering
yourself from the wicked weather. Gunfire and explosions over take mother
natures lighting and thunder. Despite being afraid you begin moving with the
pack of men, because the fear of being alone out weighs the fear of death. You
begin searching for an enemy behind the lines of a gigantic green jungle. The
tree top brush was so thick not even the suns rays could penetrate the green canvas
that overlays the land so it is unable to light up the open areas beneath the
leaves and branches. You step inside the blankets of shrubs and brush only to
encounter a person who wants to kill you. Gunfire erupts and like a fast pitch
baseball, the bullets wiz by your ears. You hunker down because you are scared
shitless. Unable to determine where your enemy is you just shoot down range
hoping your bullets strike whatever is in front of you before they kill you
with their bullets. After an intense battle there is an aftermath of smoke and
haze. The scream of the wounded is now replacing the sounds of gunfire. There
is only death and destruction instead of rain and wind. Some how you survived
but many of the people with you did not. Now, the time comes to treat the
wounded and bag up the dead. Clean the battlefield, regroup and head out again.
Are you the next to die?
In America we celebrate Memorial Day. America honors our
soldiers that died fighting wars. It is a day that I salute the men and women
in uniform who have volunteered to enlist in the armed forces to represent
their country, America. I thank you all for the sacrifice. I thank my dad, who is still alive.
Today I honor Memorial Day.
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