I remember when we were stationed at Camp Pendleton and the Vietnamese were evacuated from Vietnam and placed down below where our housing was. I remember how the MP’s were stationed all around that area so our husbands, who fought so hard in that war that was not a war, would not have access to walk down there, and kill them all.
I remember when I got orders to go to Vietnam when I was 19, and stupid, and gun ho. I remember my disappointment when those orders were canceled. Woman had to be 21 to serve in a war zone. I remember being ordered NOT to wear my uniform into town.
I remember when my husband, a combat vet in Vietnam, and I were asleep in bed when the freedom train went by and blew its whistle to announce its arrival. It was 2am. My husband jumped straight up, came back down, rolled out of bed, and under it.
WOW, he was a big guy even then, had no ideal he could fit. I rolled to the end of the bed, looked under it, and asked “what are you doing?”. He replied “air raid siren”, hmm, nope “freedom train whistle”. In those days it was funny. As time went by, such actions became less and less funny.
I remember about 2 years ago when a young grocery store bagger came up to my husband, shook his hand, thanked him for his service, and apologized for the way his parents treated returning service men from Vietnam. Awesome!
I remember the pain and agony of all the vets I met over the years and all the vets that didn’t come back. I remember.
But I’d rather not.