On a Sunday when I was seven or eight years old, my parents loaded three of our five children (my sister was in college at the time) in a family station wagon and went to San Francisco to visit the aunts (daddy’s sisters) who lived there. . This should be 1966 or 1967. I suspect it was in 1967, because two things happened after our visit. My father is rather conservative, but also has a rather naughty sense of humor. He decided to drive through the city-in doing so, through the Haight-Ashbury district for the glory of love throughout the summer. My mother, when it comes to being restrained, was very nervous. She made Queen Victoria look like Stormy Daniels and was completely frightened during the show. Years later, my father commented that it took him a lot of time not to laugh at my mother’s fear of long-haired hippie freaks. I don’t have any cultural references other than what I see, and I think it’s great. However, it wasn’t until decades later that I became a big fan of Grateful Dead. But I digress.
We did the last stop before going home, and that was the beach. I don’t remember the stopping point, but I do remember that I was standing by the water and looking at the sea, hoping that there was some way to shout so that my eldest brother could hear me.
He was in Vietnam at the time.
He and I wrote to each other. In one of them, as my birthday present, he painted a smudge on the bottom of the letter and pointed out that unfortunately, he could only send it as a gift: a piece of real Vietnamese mud. In terms of naughty sense of humor, my father is not alone in our family.
I am one of the lucky brothers because my brother came back alive from Vietnam after two duties. He died of stroke complications in 2012, although misdiagnosis at the VA hospital has long been suspected as a contributing factor.
My brother didn’t talk much about his experience in Vietnam, although he did often proudly wear a hat that read “Vietnamese Veterans-We were winning when I left.” He is my rock-solid conservative bookend, and our three brothers and sisters are on the hard-core left side of the aisle. Over the years, it was designed for some extremely tense relationships.
After my brother passed away, my sister shared a letter he sent to my father, deliberately excluding my mother. The reason was obvious after reading it. Please note that my father is a veteran who served in World War II and South Korea.
November 12, 1966
Dear dad,
What I want to say is the most unpleasant, but we just spent a hellish night in Taining. This is what happened.
At 9:00, the Yue shared heavy mortars, recoilless rifles and rifle grenades hit our position. We hit the bunker and waited until the end of the attack at 10:15. A signal ship started to light up the sky, but one was a dud. It hit the tent of the Aviation Section, but it hit a person who had been in Vietnam for less than a month. This force almost made his scalp numb, and the torch was lit. The man was killed on the spot. I ran there and used a pot of water to help extinguish the fire caused by the flare just after the attack. The inside of the tent suffered considerable damage. The person with the fire extinguisher and I tried to extinguish the fire torch with the kettle (just filled with water) (which is almost impossible). The torch started to explode, so we hit the ground. After that, someone said that a person was seriously injured. I went to see if he needed some water, but he was dead when I got there. The scene is disturbing.
After midnight, we finally hit the sacks. Then at two o’clock in the morning, they really lashed out at us. We lost 12 people, WIA, 2 of them (both should survive.) A mortar shell landed three feet away from our communication tent and RTT truck. The attack continued until 3:30. After the attack, I was asked to clean the blood stains inside the RTT truck. I will not go into any bloody details of these two events.
I came out unscathed. I have no panic, nor any extreme fears. People never know how he will respond to an emergency.
Our artillery regiment suffered 25% casualties in the attack. I’m fine, they moved the heavy artillery, the 155mm SP howitzer this morning, to prevent another attack tonight. We should sleep tonight. I hope I never have to write another letter like this. The danger has passed, so thank me for getting through OK, and then go to Beth and Aunt Hazel’s house for Thanksgiving. You have a lot to be thankful for.
With love,
microphone
Later in Vietnam, in another attack, my brother rescued his comrades in the line of fire, putting himself in danger in the process of doing so. The adrenaline was so strong that he didn’t notice that he was injured until a few hours after the attack. Because of his behavior, he was awarded a bronze star. Although he was eligible for the Purple Heart Medal, he never applied because he felt that he was just doing his duty.usually Luke 17:10-ish for a person of unwavering faith.
Our father died in 1999. After September 11, my brother and I commented more than once that although loss and grief often left our hearts naked, we are all very happy that he did not see the twin towers there to a large extent due to the Clinton administration. Completely failed to properly respond to the threat of al-Qaeda. In other words, kill your irrational mortal enemy before they kill you. There is no other way to fight against the evil of Satan.
I most hope my brother is still here so we can share our views on politics and our beloved Indianapolis Colts. However, at the same time, I am grateful that he did not see here how the Biden administration so thoroughly and shamelessly wasted the lives of his bloody and dead brothers in Afghanistan in weapons, even if the government wasted his money in Afghanistan. The lives of brothers. Weapons of bloodshed and death in Vietnam. I am glad that he is not here to see our government cringe towards the Taliban.I’m glad he’s not here, so I won’t see what seems inevitable that American citizens suffer cruelty and worse in Afghanistan, and our government Screwing its incompetent hand.
I look forward to seeing myself, my elder brother and my parents again in heaven.Until that day, I will do my best to be honest, whatever Spirit or political. In this way, I respect those who are worthy of respect and those who are worthy of respect.
Dear God, I miss my brother so much.
