When did I get old

Back when my wife and I were in our late twenties we treated my grandparents to a day out, all around the countryside where they grew up, and met. It was their golden wedding anniversary. they were full of stories and anecdotes.

At a restaurant, where we enjoyed lunch, I remember my grandmother expressing surprise at being married for fifty years. "What happened?" Grandmother said with some surprise, "I'm not old,"

What seemed like a relatively short time our thirties came round and shorter still our forties, fifties and sixties. Now there's only eighteen months left before our eighties are here. Grandmother's words often ring in my ears: "What happened?"
 

I think there comes a time ... or will come a time ... when we admit to ourselves that we are old.

I don't see family often these days. Everyone is scattered about. But about five years ago, I ran into my uncle. We were having a pleasant conversation but after a thoughtful moment, Uncle John paused and said, "Jim, I've gotten old." I didn't know what to say. I looked down, then looked up at him and nodded. I felt he was sharing something quite personal. Uncle John was on a pace maker. His body was failing him. His mind was ... I don't know, not old ... but his body was and he was acknowledging it to himself and to me. Uncle John passed away about a year later. He'd gotten old and he had accepted it. Such is life.

I think too when times in our lives seem so fresh yet from so long ago, for some, there are issues perhaps still not resolved. Under other circumstances, some may cling to memories representative of the best time of their lives and embrace and keep THOSE memories fresh.

Welcome Home squatting dog :SALUTE:
 
@squatting dog ... when I was stationed in San Diego (Point Loma), my very best friend there was an Army veteran who had 30+ years in. Skip ... real name Harry but don't call him that ... was a Crow Indian from Dillon Montana. He had spent much time in S.E.A. Parts of which he couldn't talk about having even been in ... areas and operations outside of Vietnam that were classified. Skip was a dog handler with a Silver Star ... then a food inspector or something during an "easier" tour in S.E.A.

I mention Skip because In some ways, he may have still been there and parts of him never left. I'm sure the memories were fresh. Skip didn't put "things" in a box, compartmentalize them or hide them away. The way Skip found to deal with what he'd experienced and survived, still fresh in his mind, was to become involved in Veteran organizations and outreach programs.

I suggested to Skip once that we go camping one weekend. He looked me square in the eyes and laughed and laughed. Said he was long ago over the thrill of camping :ROFLMAO:

Sadly Skip passed away this past December. His memorial service was about a month ago. Sure do wish I could have gone. It was requested that in lieu of flowers, donations be given to the American Legion or VFW.

I still have a P-38 Skip gave me that he'd carried in country. He also gave me a Native American necklace in a deerskin beaded bag but I passed that along in a manner I'm sure Skip would have approved and it resides with a Native American on the Tulalip Reservation in Washington state.

There's a nice tribute video on Skip's obit page. Really worth a watch, dog, if only for the music HA. Mine is the most recent listing in the guestbook at the bottom of the page. But the others are worth a read.
Travel Well and Rest in Peace Wolf Snot ~~~
* Obit Link removed for online security *
 
Last edited:
Naturally said:
@squatting dog ... when I was stationed in San Diego (Point Loma), my very best friend there was an Army veteran who had 30+ years in. Skip ... real name Harry but don't call him that ... was a Crow Indian from Dillon Montana. He had spent much time in S.E.A. Parts of which he couldn't talk about having even been in ... areas and operations outside of Vietnam that were classified. Skip was a dog handler with a Silver Star.

I mention Skip because In some ways, he may have still been there and parts of him never left. I'm sure the memories were fresh. Skip's didn't put "things" in a box, compartmentalize them or hide them away. The way Skip found to deal with what he'd experienced and survived, still fresh in his mind, was to become involved in Veteran organizations and outreach programs.

I suggested to Skip once that we go camping one weekend. He looked me square in the eyes and laughed and laughed. Said he was long ago over the thrill of camping :ROFLMAO:

Sadly Skip passed away this past December. His memorial service was about a month ago. Sure do wish I could have gone. It was requested that in lieu of flowers, donations be given to the American Legion or VFW.

I still have a P-38 Skip gave that he'd carried in country. He also gave me a Native American necklace in a deerskin bag but I passed that along in a manner I'm sure Skip would have approved and it resides with a Native American on the Tulalip Reservation in Washington state.

There's a nice tribute video on Skip's obit page. Really worth a watch dog, if only for the music HA. Mine is the most recent listing in the guestbook at the bottom of the page.
Travel Well and Rest in Peace Wolf Snot ~~~
Skip Bybee October 25, 1943 — December 26, 2023
Click to expand...
Naturally: I have just finished watching the funeral service of you dear friend Skip Bybee. It was indeed a touching tribute to a great man.
 
Interesting anecdote Skip once shared. He said before one tour in S.E.A. he had to go through a jungle mock up in Los Angeles of all places for specialized training. Yep a jungle mock up in Los Angeles. The Army had one there in the 60's.

Anyway, his wife at the time worked in a bar in Los Angeles. Skip always wore a Native American leather concho belt that he had inherited from his grandfather. I never saw Skip not wearing it in San Diego. Well, the bar Skip's wife worked in was a favorite bar of the Doors band. Skip said Jim Morrison greatly admired his concho belt and wanted one just like it. That's how and when Jim Morrison started wearing a concho belt. True story.

A05fp5W.jpeg
 
Last edited:
oscash said:
Naturally: I have just finished watching the funeral service of you dear friend Skip Bybee. It was indeed a touching tribute to a great man.
Click to expand...

Thank you oscash. In the pictures of veteran's parades in the video, Skip is always carrying the M.I.A. / P.O.W. flag. A part of him never left and there are those he never forgot.

Skip had taught me a few Native American words from the Crow "Children of the Large Beaked Bird" language. So it was one night over adult beverages, Skip had brought a young Native American girl out with him that evening. I wanted to impress her warmly and respectfully and spoke a greeting to her in her Native language. Boyee Howdyy ... it was like a switch was tripped and next thing I knew this young woman was all up in my face about NEVER use her language. I had no right to use her language. I don't think she ever calmed down that night. I thought she was going to kick my a55 :oops: ... I'm not Native American and had to apologize profusely. I haven't used those words since. Nope :ROFLMAO:

LTSr5as.jpeg
 
Last edited:
I have heard of an aged person looking in mirror and suddenly realizes he's old. Well, I always thought that was just an old story or myth- you know how you look when you look in a mirror each day, as you slowly age. But at about age 76, I looked in the mirror and there was this old geezer looking back. I hadn't really noticed him, but there he was. There was none of that "age is a number" or as "young as you feel" nonsense, there was a geezer looking back at me. My mental age is probably 9 or 10, and I used to think I was still 18; but it's a bitch to realize you're 76.
 
hawkdon said:
Well, ,my last two days of "fall"ing, has re-inforced the truth
of the fact of my age sez I'm old, and lack of co-ordination,
lack of strengh, too fragile, all tells me I'm old and damn well
better accept it and start acting my age.......damnit....
Click to expand...
A cane might be helpful. I have been considering buying one. Also walking slower and staying alert to changes in the terrain as we walk is helpful. Why? Well, because now, Heh! Heh! those seemingly insignificant irregularities on the sidewalk surface, or on any other surface, can very easily send us flying face first into the concrete pavement. It happened to me once resulting in a broken nose. My mother started racing younger walkers to prove to herself that she was still young, and wound up loosing her front teeth.
 
Last edited:
Radrook said:
A cane might be helpful. I have been considering buying one. Also walking slower and staying alert to changes in the terrain as we walk is helpful. Why? Well, because now, Heh! Heh! those seemingly insignificant irregularities on the sidewalk surface, or on any other surface, can very easily send us flying face first into the concrete pavement. It happened to me once resulting in a broken nose. My mother started racing younger walkers to prove to herself that she was still young, and wound up loosing her front teeth.
Click to expand...
She was bound to lose those front teeth! Did a dog cross her path? :ROFLMAO:
 
Whenever I can't sleep, I tend to dig around and discover what I can about our time in S.E.A.
Some interesting stat's.

“Once you have gone through the trauma of war, it’s with you forever.”

I was doing some research on Vietnam casualty statistics. Of the 58,318 killed in Vietnam 47,434 were the result of combat deaths, or 81%. The rest were accidents, illness or suicide. Naturally, the Army and Marines suffered the highest casualties. The Army had 30,963, or 65% and the Marines, were disproportionately higher, had 13,095, or 27%. 84% of the combat deaths were in the 18 to 22 year old group. 92% of those killed were killed during the years 1966 through 1970, with 28% occurring during 1968 alone. 88% of the men killed were enlisted men.

Of the 2,,637,915 men who served in Vietnam it is generally recognized that 90% served in support roles which equals 2,374,123. The remaining 263,792 served in a combat capacity, (never knew our class was so small), resulting in a 18% chance of getting killed, not the generally accepted 10% rate. If you were there, in combat, in 1968 the rate was a 31% chance of getting killed
.
Statistics for being wounded follow this general pattern.
During WWII, a study found that symptoms of "Battle Fatigue" now called PTSD could manifest itself after only four weeks of sustained combat. Combine that with the above statistics and you now know why you have nightmares and flashbacks.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Back
Top