Christmas in Vietnam
He doesn’t talk about his days in Vietnam very often, many Veterans from that war don’t. Perhaps they just want to put it in the past and forget it. But we should never forget where they were and what they did. In fact, no soldier should ever be forgotten for the contribution he or she has made to the freedom of mankind.
He has told me that it was the worst Christmas of his life. People like him don’t want to be away from home on Christmas and he hasn’t been since then.
He is a homebody. He grew up on a farm in Henry County and really never wanted to go far from it. He was content there and had no great need for adventure like some men have. He will tell you that he didn’t feel very brave when he was drafted to go to a war in a country too many miles away from home. Then and now, his is one of those soft hearts; you can tell by the way he cuddles his grandbabies. His was not a heart that wanted to go to war.
Even though he didn’t want to be there, he volunteered for an additional two months in Vietnam so he could get out of the army sooner and come home. He missed home and on that Christmas Day in 1970, he wanted to be with his family as soon as possible.
He had five brothers and three sisters and two new brothers in laws who gathered around his Mom and Dad’s table that day. Everyone was there except him. His country had called and he went.
The metal bunker where he slept on Christmas Eve had no Christmas tree with twinkling lights. He could have hung an army issued green sock on the end of his bunk but Santa was no where in sight. There was no snow for a sleigh to run on. All around him lay the hot muggy jungle.
The mess tent did not smell of roasted turkey and pecan pie, although they did have potatoes. But he was sick of potatoes, he had eaten them all three meals every day since he had been there. He tried to remember what a piece of fudge tasted like.
He did have a a gift. His mother had made sure he received one from home. He was grateful, but it made him long for home and family even more.
His family that day was made up of lonely young men just like him. The ones who weren’t on duty were drowning their loneliness in whatever alcohol they could get their hands on.
There was no sound of Christmas carols or the laughter of family, just the rumbling of artillery. It was a sound that never went away and eventually destroyed his hearing. The laughter of his grandchildren is faint to his ears now because of the sound of artillery when he was a young man.
On that Christmas Day in 1970 he had to live on memories of Christmas’ past. But the memories brought tears and some fear that he would never experience another one. Death was all around him and all he had was hope. Hope that he would be one of the lucky ones who would spend the next Christmas at home.
He found out later, that it wasn’t just hope that brought him home for the next Christmas. It was the prayers for his safety that were said around the family table on that Christmas Day in 1970
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