Vietnam Revisited: A Child’s Viewpoint
Posted: Sunday, May 14, 2006
by Peggy Butler
PSB COMMUNICATIONS
Listening to him, all I could do was pat my uncle's back, in an attempt to ease his pain. But I was a kid, and since I could not comprehend the meaning of war, my hand on his shoulder was the only consolation I could offer.
This article is a tribute to all Memorial Days, past, present and future, and the men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice to ensure our freedom.
Beneath the lush, golden sky symbolizing the nation’s capital, a nostalgic haze looms across the terrain. On this evening, visitors to the Vietnam Memorial Wall are deep in thought, as they commemorate the 58,253 military personnel who lost their lives. Peering at their faces, I am suddenly aware that we all share a common bond. But unlike the rest of the crowd, my memory of the Vietnam conflict is told from a child’s standpoint, and from a little girl who discovered all too quickly that WAR IS HELL.
So how shall I begin this commentary? Shall I start in the middle and leave out the somber details? Or start at the beginning and tell the story as I experienced it 36 years ago? Yes, that is what I will do, I will tell you about the images and thoughts. And from there we will meet in the middle.
In the Beginning
The ghost of a battlefield strewn with fallen comrades, innocent civilians caught in the crossfire, napalms, explosive-laden bunkers and all night ambushes are forever etched in our minds as we experienced the war via television. And hard as we try, the memories of Vietnam can never be eradicated. Nor should they be.
All of us over 40 were personally affected by the war. As evidenced by the fact that I can still recall men in military gear, as they delivered those infamous telegrams to families that began with the words “I am sorry to inform you that…" The rest of the message painstakingly notified the recipient of a soldier’s injury, capture or death.
To further emphasize my point regarding the war’s momentum, we either had relatives, friends or knew someone who fought in Vietnam.
To that war I lost an uncle, who was killed by hostile forces using small-arms fire. Sadly, his death occurred 13 days before his 21st birthday. And because I was still in elementary school, understanding what happened was difficult. But over the years I’ve come to realize that his death had a major impact on my life.
As a woman it would seem that I have no inkling of the physical and psychological damage these men suffered. However due to the fact that in addition to my late uncle, my father, along with a second uncle also served in Vietnam, I can say with all honesty that I do understand. Hence, from a subconscious standpoint, I have kept a secret regarding the war and my uncle for three decades. And it is only through this article that I am finally ready to reveal it. Unfortunately, I have not told this information to a single person, not even my family. But the time has come to bring this issue to the forefront, with total candor.
I’ve Been Drafted
A week prior to my uncle being shipped to Vietnam, I noticed that his once fun loving demeanor had changed dramatically. Always outgoing, he now kept to himself. Of course I didn’t realize what was going on. To me the Vietnam war, was just a daily event, I along with millions of viewers watched on the 6’o clock news. Content in going to school and living my childhood, the war was as foreign as the photos in my geography book. However, my uncle’s sudden change in character, snapped me out of my perfect world, and transformed me to a place where for the first time, I became conscious of the war’s psychological devastation.
And hard as I tried to penetrate my uncle’s wall of uncertainty, I could not, until the day he left for the bus station. This is how I remember the events of that day. As the sun sank into its hazy core, the civility of the evening took over. It was then that the Foreboding Shadows stepped in. Standing in the middle of the floor, I observe my uncle. His body is rigid, the shoulders slumped and he is deep in thought. Moving toward him, I notice tears in his eyes. It is at this point that reality and immaturity collide head on. He looks at me, and quietly says “I don’t want to go to Vietnam." Hearing the fear in his voice, he tells me that he might not make it back alive. Listening to him, all I could do was pat him on the back, in an attempt to ease his pain. But I was a kid, and since I could not comprehend the meaning of war, my hand on his shoulder was the only consolation I could offer.
As he talked, I listened, occasionally throwing in my childish wisdom which caused him to smile, and at one point laugh. Three hours later, when he left our home, I could not shake the strange feeling that came over me, especially when he uttered “Don’t ever tell anyone what I said, or that you saw me crying." That is a secret I have kept, until now. Six months later when my uncle returned on leave from the Army, he was at peace, and no longer bothered by the prospect of becoming a casualty of war. It was at this point, that I put away the memory of that night of long ago and buried it.
Several months later on September 10, 1970, there was a knock at the door. It was two military officials telling us that “We regret to inform you that PFC Willie Junior Thigpen was killed on September 8, 1970." As anticipated, I blocked out the rest of the words. Upon hearing the news, Willie’s mother (my maternal grandmother) fainted, and had to be revived medically. The news of my uncle’s death took a huge toll on everyone, especially his brother and three sisters. For me, it was a time of deep sadness. Here was this charming, handsome and intelligent man, and he was dead at 20. Twenty, an age where you are free to partake of all the rituals and privileges of adulthood.
He Was too Young To Die!
Unfortunately for my uncle there would be no adulthood. No future. No career. No wedding. No kids. No showing the world what a terrific person he was. His future was forever lost, as his body lay sprawled on the grounds of BINH THUY, SOUTH VIETNAM, with the wind as the lone backdrop.
Following the funeral, my uncle received a series of medals including the Purple Heart. Moreover, he was posthumously promoted to sergeant. Looking at all those medals, my family beamed with pride. Here was a young man, who like the other 58,225 soldiers made the ultimate sacrifice, their lives. Recalling those moments, my mind slipped back to that night two years ago, and to the time I saw tears in my uncle’s eyes. As days passed, I became more aware of his courage, especially when I realized the magnitude of that heroism.
This year marks the 36th anniversary of my uncle’s death, and my memories of him are strong as ever. I remember his smile and his gentleness. But most of all I remember a man who overcame his fear of death to become an American hero, along with the men and women whose names are emblazoned on the Wall. And as I sit typing, I close my eyes and remember his face. Using my imagination, my fingers trace his nose, travel to his chin, and then we clasp hands. And then as if on cue, I offer a ceremonial toast, softly whispering, “here’s to the heroes of all wars."
For the average American the war ended 31 years ago, but for the participants and those who lost relatives and friends it will always be there. And for those of us familiar with the brutality of war, our sentiments can be summed up in the following words: The world stands still, as heaven and earth unite as one to form the universe. So stands the soldier, poised, ready to fight and filled with the quivering of valor, relentless and unfaltering in its glory. Tragically, that is where the sentiments lay.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I thought it a very moving story. Sadly stories like those were repeated to many times in nam. I to lost a relative I never got to know there. I wish I would of had the chance to.
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