Skip to main content

About Vietnam



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

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Completion of Humanness

Completion of Humanness As we arrive to the completion of the first year without Norman, I had decided long before he'd passed that I would continue to do things certain things he liked yet could no longer do. I decided I would not take a day off of fitness.  I would run at least for 500 days in a row. I began that in early 2020.  I'd not be concerned with the distance I'd run. It was the very thing I convinced Norman and the thing that mattered to him, from the very first discussion we had August 11th, 1981, was fitness. I loved that he was a College Boy. He loved that I was a Marine. We tickled each other's soul with such admirations. Later fitness continued as an old discussion from 1994 ...getting outside and to run no matter what. I would say to him, "Run 200 meters, then 400 meters. If it doesn't feel good, stop. Turn around and walk back home and know you did your best. That is all you can ask of yourself." I said this,  knowing he would get dow

Reicher's 2021 Holiday Letter

  11/23/2021... The Reicher Holiday Letter... Yes, finally I'm on time...LOL. As the late November wind whips and the delayed leaves fall to the ground in our neighborhood, I await the first sign of snow. I stand outside, begin a run, do outside chores, bring in the mail and sniff the air for the smell of snow. Yes, humans can smell snow. Just like a spring rain approaching. It is awaiting to provide a cleansing of the dreams that need to be refreshed or re-routed. It’s all how you look at it. Really. Oh, the word ‘really’.   Per a few grammar writing geeks. A good writer is not supposed to use the word, ‘really’. I’ll say it again. Really? There is another word I discovered this year, not supposed to be used in writing by writers. I cannot at this moment remember what word that may be.   But I’m sure, it’ll arrive in my mind as I write this Holiday letter to you all. A reading audience. Where to begin this 2021 Reicher Holiday Letter? I’ll start with our smallest resident. T

Owed to a Valentine

What is Love? It's not owed. It's sometimes placated to or for or with. It remains quiet in storms, so that a bit of peace cannot be shattered. It may be that the insides of the other are fought against with it's own ego. In Love, true Love, ego is placed aside, because it's about we. It's about us... All of us. Us in all our entirety. We step back, gathering the view of possibilities.  It's as if we stand atop a mountain seeing the ridges having no end only to meet the sea of sky. That's Love. The willingness to gather all sorrows, all thoughts, all creation and say, "Wow!"  Wow, with glee. At that point, nothing else matters. After a loss of someone whom you loved. As well, if they were part of the essence of your living space, there will be things discovered.  More quiet, less grappling with decisions,  because perhaps they are all yours now. More doing, because in a full Love relationship you share 'stuff'. Stuff like chores. If yo