| I remember Viet Nam When I was a child, television was black and white Barbie was the best toy to have. Things were simple and Viet Nam was a place on the 6 o'clock news. Every night on the news there would be a white circle and inside the white circle was a silhouette. The black silhouette of a soldier. Written in white, in the soldier, was a number. That was the number of soldiers who were casualties that day. I cried for them, even though I didn't know them. My father told me they died because they fought for the things America believed in.. Each number was a man, and a family, and a little girl waiting for her father to read her a story or hug her when she cried. I loved my father and it scared me to think he might be one of those numbers. But hee didn't have to go to Viet Nam. I thought of all the other daughters whose fathers were so far away. My father said the soldiers were all heroes, that they fought for me, and I should be proud of them. And I should pray for them. And I remembered to pray for them all, and for their duaghters, like me, who loved their daddies like I did, every night. I remember when the bells all rang. The soldiers were coming home. I stood next to my mother on our front stairs. The churches and schools cried out "Come Home! Come Home! The War is Over!" I remember thinking that God heard the prayers of little girls. No more white circles with soldiers in them. no more daughters without fathers. But when the soldiers came home people didn't cheer them. The men looked tired and drawn, not shaved, not crisp like the soldiers who marched in the parades. People spat. Called them Baby-killers. Threw things. Booed them. They fought for America, but did America welcome them home? It made me cry that the home they fought for rejected them. How their hearts must have ached. I remember waiting for the POWs all to come home. But they all didn't. And some still haven't. I kept one POW MIA bracelet until finally years later when his body came home. I sent his mother the bracelet to show her I remembered. The soldier on my other bracelet didn't come home at all. I buried the bracelet near "the wall", and I still remember him. Somewhere, the prayers of a little girl went unanswered. Her daddy never came home. I remember. But many forget. Now, Television is color, hundreds of channels, and the nightly news plays 24 hours a day. No white circles, instead, color photos take their place. Play Stations are the toys to have. life is not so simple. it is fast, full of information and images the war is flashed to you in the comfort of your living room on CNN. I will not forget all the heroes who have fought for America Who lay down their lives and surrender their pain for what America believes in. I will wait for the bells to ring and I will applaud the soldiers and cheer for them... and welcome them home. I will not allow anyone to do what was done so many years before. While I wait for the bells I will think of them fighting for not liberty, not against terror, not for the glory, but for me. And you. Even the people who spit on the Viet Nam Veterans. And, POW/MIAs, I have not forgotten you. Nor your daughters or your sons, or your wives, or your parents. I promise I won't forget. I owe you at least that much for all you have done for me. I remember Viet Nam. cBPS 2001 |
 |
 |
| Freedom isn't free. Someone bought your liberty with their blood and their family with their grief and pain. Thank a Vet- they have secured the life you have today. and remember the POW/MIAs They didn't forget *you*. Thank you to Sarge Hultgren. I love you, Sarge. |
 |
| Tune: Stand By Me |