This was the time my dad came from, these are the people who raised me. I remember going to the creek and hunting crawdads all day, tubing down to the swimming hole and skinnydipping while the grownups sat around on blankets rolling joints, getting stoned. We would get a big pot of boiling water going, melt some butter and eat our fill of crawdads, then they would get a game of frisbee going where us kids and even the dogs could play.
These are the people who gave their lives.
Why they did?
Why did Vietnam happen?
I don't know and haven't found an answer yet. My dad can't talk much about it, him and his friends joke about it, or get drunk and cry about it, but talk about it? No way.
It wasn't taught in school. It didn't exist in our school books. I remember asking my 7th grade history teacher about it and his answer was "Vietnam was not a war, WWII, now THERE was a war" and proceeded to tell his WWII stories for the next 50 minutes. The counselor called me into his office the next day, I was told not to bring up THAT subject again in class, it was not on the curriculum and would just cause trouble.
So the question still remains unexplained in my head, but the results of Vietnam are there for all of us to experience. My dad came home, different, distant, but home. Not all my friends have fathers who came home. Some do not even know if they are alive or dead. They just didn't come home
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