Things you remember....

I was with the Nut Doctor this week and sometimes things come out and I wonder where did that come from and why did I say that. All of the sudden I was telling him about coming home from Vietnam and was physically and mentally drained. One day your in Vietnam on Thanksgiving and then you leave and your in San Francisco on Thanksgiving. Then the next day your home and you feel you are in this Twilight Zone where you feel you don't belong, don't know those around you and yearn to be back with your family in Vietnam. It was a terrible feeling that just kept getting worse. Then someone says "Mom, why don't you show Mickey what he did to you when he was in Vietnam." or something to that effect. She then pulls off a wig (she never wore a wig) and she was pretty much totally gray. There seemed to be giggle and laughs from her and my family. Inside I was horrified. Not only did I feel I left my family behind in Vietnam and didn't want to be in Omaha, had guilt I was now home, didn't feel I fit in at all being back, people were dying and now - because of me - my mother has gray hair. I know this sounds really stupid but that is how I felt. It was just one more thing to have guilt about. I always felt I was a poster boy for being Catholic. God knows I carry guilt, especially about Vietnam. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed I just don't know why God just doesn't take me. Maybe I'm already dead and I'm in hell. Maybe I just have not suffered enough. So, I'll stop the post here and stop whining and hope I'm not coming across as feeling sorry for myself because that is not how I feel. It's more that maybe I just never did as good as I should have done. Maybe I should have tried harder, been better, etc. The Nut Doctor told me I remind him of Boxer in Animal Farm. I finally read the book after hearing this from him for some time and I think he is right.

Special Olympics 1973 Boulder Colorado...

There was a program that was started where service men had the opportunity to volunteer and work in a civilian job for three weeks prior to discharge to get them ready for civilian life. After working in the hospital in Vietnam I wanted to be a special education teacher. I knew I was not smart enough to go into a medical profession but thought I might be able to go to college and teach special education. There was no program for that but I was able to set one up and volunteer at the Rocky Mountain Rehabilitation Institute in Colorado Springs. It was a school for mentally and physically challenged children. It was a rough start. I am really quiet and actually quite shy which made it very difficult at first. In a short period of time I was put in a class where I felt I fit in. I loved the kids and going there every day. (I was lucky to have stretched it past three weeks.) One kid's name was John and I took to him immediately. He couldn't speak but I'd see him trying to read a word with his finger under it and felt in my heart that eventually he would be able to speak. During this time the Special Olympics were going to be in Boulder. I was asked if I'd like to go with the kids and I jumped at the chance. We left for Boulder week or so later in the afternoon. Me, an Air Force Bus and Air Force bus driver and about 40 Olympians which were a combination of kids in school, older kids in workshops, etc. It suddenly hit me I was the only chaperon on the bus and really didn't know but 7 or so of those on the bus. Regardless, it was a fun time but as we got close to Denver I started to hear Mic, I need to go to the bathroom and that was echoed more and more. We stopped at a gas station and there was a mass exodus. They were in the gas station trying to put pennies in the machine for candy and pop, going to the bathroom and, well, everywhere. Stupid me didn't even then they would swarm out the doors and that I needed to do a headcount, etc. Well, the Air Force driver and me got everyone rounded up and to the bathroom and on the bus and didn't lose one of them. As we got closer to Boulder they began to shout "Whose going to win? We are we are. Who is going to lose? They are, they are." That evening there was a dance and dinner provided from McDonald's. The kids had a blast. By now, one of the teachers from the school was there and told me to go to Ronald McDonald's bus and knock and the door and say I was a coach. He had a bar in it and we could have a drink. Well, I was too shy to do that which I have always regretted. That night I got all of them them to bed in the dorms and my kids from my class got their meds, I had for them. There were helpers to stay with them for the night and off I went to a dorm room to get some Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz's. Soon there was a knocking on my door. One of the helpers was there saying I had a sick kid. I got dressed and ran to the elevator. Unfortunately it got stuck between floors and I was so worried about my kid. I eventually got back to the floor where I got on and ran up the stairs. When I got there the kid who was sick said he needed his meds. I wasn't given any meds for him and asked him was was wrong. He said his stomach and head hurt. I asked what his mother gave him and he said Anacin. I was relieved and got a couple aspirin for him. The next morning I woke up with tons of people sleeping in the dorm room. I was so tired I didn't hear them come in. That day we walked in the opening ceremonies in our donated green tank tops and my kids started winning medals. It was one of the most wonderful day's I had ever had. Finally we had the closing ceremonies and got this kids on the bus. This time there were teachers as well as myself. It didn't take long to realize I was totally sun burned on face, arms, etc. Worse yet, so were the kids. We really noticed it more when the driver turned on the heater to defog the windows due to a rainstorm. Lucking there was creams, etc. to put on the kids. After we got back to the school I had dinner at the directors house and told them of this adventure and just how wonderful it was. I went to school that following Monday totally sick and burned. When I got there the said I should have stayed home but I was excited to see my kids and so proud of them. And they were so glad to see me as well. You know, I never became a Special Ed teacher but worked with kids for a couple years after I got out of the service. I have had a good job that I worked hard at, a nice car and some good vacations. I built a new home to retire in several years ago but lost that due to financial issues. But, when it comes down to it they were only things and I don't think things were ever the most meaningful to me. It was those chance encounters with people with their kindness I'll always remember, the kids I worked with who I think of often and those GI'S whose patch I crossed with in Vietnam that I never knew but will never forget. To me the most important thing to me is "Did I make a difference?" It has been a constant struggle with me as I fell as such a failure in so many ways and have made so many mistakes. But, did I make a difference? Did I make a difference in any of these kids lives? Did I make a difference at the 24th with all those incoming and wounded GI's? Did I make a difference being with some of them when they died? How can one compare a new car, home, etc. to the overwhelming feeling of joy (or possibly sorrow)when you hopefully touch someones life even if for only a moment. Well, its time to hit the sack and fall asleep thinking of paths that have crossed.

Turning 65

This week has been rather tough with a lot of things going on. And then I turned 65 today and it was a very emotional day for me and I really feel for the VA Social Worker I saw today. Maybe I should have told her it was my birthday and we could have chalked it up to that but I don't think it has anything to do with turning 65. The Nut Dr. I see at the VA asked me several times to read Animal Farm. He says I remind him of Boxer. So I read it a week or so ago and I can understand why. I keep thinking if I only worked harder, loyal and taking care of others. At least that is how I feel. It is hard to get out of the mind frame of if I was better, a better person, a better worker, a better father, provider, soldier, etc. What makes it even more difficult for me is that many times I feel that way based on how someone treats me and can't seem to believe I'm an ok person. I really hide who I am, how I feel, etc. I have always felt lesser of myself with some of that coming from other people and how I believe I have been treated. Maybe that is why I am more accepting of people and really don't care if they are Gay, Lesbian, Hispanic, Black, etc. as it really comes down to they are people and what matters is whether or not they are a good person. I can find myself at ease with these people, sometimes more than people I know. Well, the day is almost done and time to get some Zz's. Sleep has been hard this week and two nights ago I seemed to get bombarded in my sleep from GI's reminding me what I did and it was good but that is for another time.

The Pedro Helicopter

There were two helicopters that really made me nervous when they brought in wounded/causalities. The Loach and the Pedro. I can only remember getting a causality off a Loach once but may times for the Pedro. Working nights when it was completely dark only made it worse. You see, the Pedro (Kaman HH-43 Huski) was short and had two rotor blades inter-meshing together and at an angle (at least while on the ground dropping off wounded. After it landed we*d stand in front of the Pedro with our litter (stretcher) on a gurney. The Pedro would have its spotlight on and it was blinding. Once landed, the pilot would get on his loudspeaker and walk us in to the chopper. He'd say take two steps to the right, a step to the left, etc. until we passed the blades. I could hear them twirling and wind gushing. Then we'd walk to the back of the Pedro and get the wounded off. One that I distinctly remember getting off was a blonde stewardess off (their title back then. The plane carrying GI's into Vietnam had hit turbulence and she was injured. Once we got them on the litter the crew chief would walk us out past the rotors. The crew chief always seemed to have a smile on their face. They probably saw the fear in me caused by those blades. It could be scary as the choppers landed, some damaged, some coming in very fast with casualties, etc. Although scary I didn't really have time to think about it. Getting the wounded and causalities into the ER as soon as possible is what mattered.

The Salute

Veterans can now salute the Flag during the National Anthem, etc. at least according to the VA and laws passed by Congress. Something that I thank should just be considered normal and one that doesn't need a law or an OK to do. Didn't we serve our Country and earn that right? I know there are some sporting events, etc. where veterans are asked to salute during the National Anthem. Well, I was at my grandson's (who we are raising) baseball game. This is a league for children and adults with disabilities and each team has a child or two bring out a flag and the Anthem is played. I finally got up the nerve and saluted the flag at the fourth game. Something I have always wanted to do but have always felt that I was not good enough to have that privilege. After the game my wife asked why I saluted and that I was not in the service. I gave a very very brief response and left it at that. The following week I did the same thing. Later in the day my wife said two men wearing veteran type baseball caps had a lot to say about my salute. They said that it was a disgrace, that I didn't look like a veteran and what right did I have to salute the flag. She said she moved away from them and didn't say anything. I was devastated and hurt and thinking "What right do I have to do that? I spoke with the nut Dr. at the VA the next week and he confirmed it was allowed, OK and that I did deserve that right. The next week I saluted again but carried my dog tags in my pocket. I needed something close to me from the service. The two guys were not there so nothing was said. The last game I again brought dog tags but and the last minute decided not to salute. Sometime after the game my wife brought to my attention that a guy whose son is on our team did not salute and if he was in the service shouldn't he have saluted? It has been so difficult for me as I have always felt the others gave so much in Vietnam and even though I was there I was not worthy. Something I work on all the time with my nut Dr. at the VA. I have always been privately proud of what I did in Vietnam but find it extremely difficult to actually accept and show that pride.

A clean comb.....

There was a Vietnamese woman who was may have been raped and the MP's brought in a GI might has been the one who did it. The way they were going to determine if he did it or not was to comb through his pubic hair and gather hairs. Then those would be looked at to determine if any of those hairs were her's. I remember the search for a brand new, never used, comb. I believe they got one from a Red Cross that goes to new patients or GI's needing personal items. Then there was a request for a volunteer within the ER for someone to go in and comb his pubic hair and gather any loose hairs for testing. Not sure of the outcome but it was such a strange course of events....and it was hard for me to take in or understand. Not sure if it was just my immaturity of things or just the situation and events that transpired that night. I seem to remember this young GI who was quiet and just did as he was asked and who looked scared. Who wouldn't be especially if innocent.

What do I do with all this "Stuff".

The stuff I'm referring to is a storage bin that has what I consider my most treasured items. There is a binder of most of my orders during my time in the service. Most of letters are in there, primarily from Vietnam along with some other items. I have tried going through them recently but struggle in doing so. One letter is about a GI losing an arm in surgery and then going back in and then dying. It talks of a three year old girl with a bullet in her head in surgery and then about a Vietnam women with her insides coming out from wounds and me trying to help the Dr. in the ER and feeling so inadequate and then her death. These letters reflect how uneducated I was, terrible spelling, etc. and just how immature I was at that time. But what they really reflect is the terrible effects of war on civilians, soldiers, etc. I'm reading them probably for the first time as I go through my things and memories flood through my brain. I can only read a few of them and then have to stop. I guess in one way it confirms what has flashed through my memory for all these years and that it was not a dream and really happened. Anyway, I struggle on what to do with the items in this bin. They are of no value to anyone and I know no one in my family would want them. Do I burn them now? Do I have the letters put in my casket when I die or burn them or put the ashes in with me? Stupid I know but I just can't seem to get past what to do with them. So, I'll go through them and put them together and then see where that leads.I suppose in the end I'll burn and bury them and say goodbye.