It’s been a while now since my Dad left this world. Doesn’t feel like it, though. I still wait for his call, every day, until I remember that my caller Id will never again say, “Dad.” The memory of his passing can still sadden me, but then I remind myself that his life was far more than his death. My dad’s favorite aspect of his own life was his time in the Marines. Strange as it was to me, he also cherished his time in Vietnam.
He and I were driving home from the National Cemetery one day when I asked him if he hated the war. He shook his head and said, “No. Nothing in my life ever compared to that time. I’ve never experienced that kind of friendship since.”
Based upon the demons that accompanied his return from the war, I always thought he hated fighting in a war. He drank a lot and had a temper that sometimes showed itself in a way that the situation didn’t warrant. He’d talk about Vietnam with anger; if I asked him about what happened over there, tears would well up and he’d dismiss my questions. I figured his anger and alcoholism were demons that Vietnam created and that its memories nurtured.
But I was wrong. While the war probably did cause a bunch of hard memories, he loved his time in the Marines. Really though, I never knew that. I always blamed the Vietnam War for things I faced as a kid. I learned as much as I could about Khe San, Hamburger Hill, Ho Chi Min and other names and places as a way to protect myself from its legacy.
My dad probably made peace with the Vietnam demons. He stopped drinking alcohol in his “golden years” and his anger softened. While he could still raise Hell with a waiter if his plate was wrong, he was a kinder gentler version of himself that what I generally remembered. And I attribute his kinder gentler approach to life as the filter through which he answered my question that day driving home from the cemetery.
As I remember my dad, I carry his anger and his fear with me. I also carry his courage and his strength. His demons may still be with me in many ways. But he is my guardian angel that protects from both his and my own demons. Although Uncle Sam didn’t let me serve due to bum ankles, my dad gave a part of himself and he brought back memories through which I lived. My dad isn’t on this Earth anymore, but he is always with me and I am grateful for his time as a Marine. It’s as much as part of me as the his name that I carry forward. Thank you, Dad.
