About Vietnam
‘Food and shelter. Food and Shelter and someone is dying for
me. Food and Shelter. Food and Shelter, and someone is dying for me’. That is
what I awoke to at five after one this morning. The words that came out of my
mouth, after I prayed, hoping all was well in my household. Of course, I arose
and checked every person and every room in our homes. My natural action, of
course.
I knew what made me rise, even though I’d only had a little
more than a three hour sleep. It was my creative mind that woke me up. I
thought at first, that it was something more serious. Not to say my creative
mind is not. After checking on everyone, I lay back in bed at eighteen minutes
after one. There was comfort, yet a discomfort that sat in my mind. It was the
question, ‘Am I thinking differently than others, right now? If so, why?’ I
thought as I lay in bed. I prayed, figuring the answer would arrive. I
wondered, ‘Was God wanting me to get up and write? Was this my only time? What was to occur from
this disruption?’
Then the words rolled out as I was five years old, “I got
food and shelter. I got food and shelter, and someone is dying for me.” As the
five year old I was in 1967, I then asked as I did in the middle of this night.
“Yes, but what can I do? How do I die for someone else?” Yep, that was the
question. It was the question I’d had most of my life. But yet, it wasn’t like I was trying to die.
It was a childhood question. How do I go do something for someone else without
them asking anything of me? That was the
question. How do I do it, nearly unrecognizable? In a sense. So, from then on,
it was my thought to go into the military.
Because there, you’re just a number. But yet, you were given an
opportunity to truly give it all.
I reflected back last night to the time the Vietnam War
waged on. Walter Cronkite gave us the news.
Casualties listed quite regularly, that I can remember. My mother
extremely worried that her only son would be taken, and she would lose a third
son. The young adults I mingled with as a child were either my recreational counselors
at our local elementary school during the summers, through 1967-1973. Or they
had been the recovering addicts in the basement of the Nazarene Church I’d
attended between 1968 through 1972. They were young kids who now were
attempting to straighten out their paths.
These young adults were lost. They appeared disillusioned. Disillusioned as
to the direction that the country was going in. They had not too many
sympathizers in my family. Except my Mom. On some Friday nights, my Mom would
take me to the basement of the church.
These young adults would hang out there. As they would play guitar and
sing songs of love, peace and what I called ‘Jesus Hippy’ songs. I would help
serve them fruit drinks. As well, cookies that my Mom and the other women had made,
who attended Sunday church services. I
listened to them talk about LSD, tripping and such. I didn’t understand it all.
But I listened. They spoke on how they felt about life. The only category I
could put them in, was good. Good
people, who were either misunderstood or didn’t understand or both.
I can say it left it’s mark in my mind, and my soul. Not a bad
mark. Just another episode I witnessed as a child about being human. Even
though I wanted to become a Marine, I never told them that. I didn’t tell my
parents till 1973, anyway. My Dad Poo-pooed it.
My Mom questioned it. My brother
ignored it. I didn’t tell them all my reasons why. I also knew it was something
I had to do. I had a lot of reasons. I accepted the fact that many wouldn’t agree
with it back then. I wouldn’t dislike anyone because they didn’t have the same
feelings as I had.
I can say, the times when I do have admonishment for those
who deferred during that time is when they show disrespect for what I may have
learned and know. Or they lied about why they deferred military service at that
time. As well those same persons who’d lied, were condescending, bigoted and
oppressive to others. Then I learned that was not what I perceived Americans to
be. Yet, I may have to defend such abhorrent ungrateful sorts. And hopefully, I
would be lucky enough to not have to serve them much.---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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