About a year ago, my dad was part of a committee that organized a Welcome Home event for Vietnam veterans. That weekend was more meaningful for my family than I ever imagined. It made me realize that there were a lot of things I wanted to share with my dad, but didn't really know how to do it. Whenever I have emotions that I can't quite resolve…I write. So, this one is for you, dad.
Dear Dad,
Thank you for your service to our country. Welcome home.
I learned more about you during the Vietnam reunion weekend than I knew my entire life. I heard you say that people asked you if you were scared to go over there. You told them you weren't scared because you knew you were coming home. I heard you talk about the horrific things you saw. I heard you say that you didn't even remember anything about your time there until 10 years later. I heard you talk about how your platoon leader told you to take off your uniform when you got to the airport and burn it when you got home. They said you shouldn't talk about the things you did or saw. They told you to "put it all in your foot locker and close the door". And you said that's what you did.
I learned more about you during the Vietnam reunion weekend than I knew my entire life. I heard you say that people asked you if you were scared to go over there. You told them you weren't scared because you knew you were coming home. I heard you talk about the horrific things you saw. I heard you say that you didn't even remember anything about your time there until 10 years later. I heard you talk about how your platoon leader told you to take off your uniform when you got to the airport and burn it when you got home. They said you shouldn't talk about the things you did or saw. They told you to "put it all in your foot locker and close the door". And you said that's what you did.
During the Vietman reunion weekend, I realized how much you had in your foot locker.
Your footlocker holds the horrific images you saw of people dying.
It holds the image of the young kid beside you in a rice paddy who told you he was scared and then was shot by a sniper seconds later.
It holds the grief you felt for the friends you lost.
It holds the fear about your health from because of the chemicals you were exposed to during war.
It holds the anger your felt for the people who called you baby killers and spit on you when you came home.
It holds that exhaustion you feel from replaying those events every night in your sleep.
To paraphrase part of Corey's speech at your anniversary party "….we will never know what you went through in Vietman, but we're grateful for it and we're proud of you." Thanks to Operation LZ, we know a little bit more about what you went through. We know some of the things that are in that footlocker. But, more importantly, we also know the things you never put in your foot locker.
It holds that exhaustion you feel from replaying those events every night in your sleep.
To paraphrase part of Corey's speech at your anniversary party "….we will never know what you went through in Vietman, but we're grateful for it and we're proud of you." Thanks to Operation LZ, we know a little bit more about what you went through. We know some of the things that are in that footlocker. But, more importantly, we also know the things you never put in your foot locker.
The faith that you had in yourself to survive Vietnam and, maybe more importantly, to survive the aftermath of Vietnam, never went in that locker.
The pride that you have for your country never went in that locker.
The honor that you felt for a job well done never went in that locker.
The respect for every single person who has had the courage to put on a uniform for this great country never went in that locker.
The hope that you have to heal from all the mental and physical wounds from Vietnam, both your wounds and your fellow soldiers wounds, is not in that locker.
The brotherly bond you have with your soldiers is not in that locker.
That faith that you can help those who suffer from PTSD by talking to them and listening to them never went in that locker.
The unconditional love you have for your family never went in that locker.
And when the time came, when the world realized that we owed all of our Vietnam vets an apology and a welcome home, you forgave us. You could have put your forgiveness to all of us in your foot locker because it was too little too late. You could have put it in your foot locker because we owed you so much more than we could ever give you. But you didn't. The strength you have shown since you came home from Vietnam is incomprehensible.
That faith that you can help those who suffer from PTSD by talking to them and listening to them never went in that locker.
The unconditional love you have for your family never went in that locker.
And when the time came, when the world realized that we owed all of our Vietnam vets an apology and a welcome home, you forgave us. You could have put your forgiveness to all of us in your foot locker because it was too little too late. You could have put it in your foot locker because we owed you so much more than we could ever give you. But you didn't. The strength you have shown since you came home from Vietnam is incomprehensible.
I'm so proud of you and I'm so glad your my dad. You taught me to always do what is right. You taught me to always be honest. You taught me to always work hard. You taught me to believe in myself, even if other people don't. You taught me that I can mentally overcome anything. And you taught me to forgive.
So, if you ever worry about whether having a dad who is a Vietman veteran affected my life, I assure you has. Not because of what you put in your foot locker, but because of what you didn't.
So, if you ever worry about whether having a dad who is a Vietman veteran affected my life, I assure you has. Not because of what you put in your foot locker, but because of what you didn't.
I love you Dad.
Meg
