My name is Jen. I am 43 years old and I have been greatly affected by the Vietnam War. I may have only been 1 years old when the war ended but it has and continues to have tremendous influence on my life. You see my father fought in Vietnam from 1966-1968. While his military service ended almost 50 years ago, he continues to fight battles from the war. His experiences, the good and bad, during his time in Vietnam has influenced his role as a dad.
There are of course the quirky influences that the war had on our household such as no rice at dinner because of his time in and near rice patty fields. Names like Jane Fonda and Muhamad Ali could not be spoken of. There were obvious choices for holiday and birthday gifts for my dad- copy of Platoon on DVD, the book Charlie and Company, date night with my mom to see Good Morning Vietnam in the movie theater.
Then there were the heavy burdens that my dad carried and shaped his world view and mine. While my dad shared in the celebrations of soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan, he also shared stories of a less than jubilant welcome home when he returned to the states. He was yelled at, called obscenities, and spit on. This helped me to understand the roots of his hurt just a little bit. But through this he taught me what it feels like when you disparage another person rather than understand their story, pain, and hopes.
The other burdens are apparent when a memory is sparked. It could be a smell, a dream, a song, the weather or something else that brings my dad back to the jungles of Vietnam. On the anniversary of September 11 my dad isolates himself to avoid any TV, radio, or any image of the smoking towers. That day brings by dad back to the war and he horrors that war cause. When I see my dad, my childhood superman, in pain that cannot be described I begin to understand why anger runs in his veins.
There were also wonderful influences. During the war, my dad found his best friend, Bruce, who then became his best man in his wedding and my godfather. My dad and Bruce formed a relationship based on ultimate trust and support. They shared days on patrol for the enemy as well as beers and stories about the people and lives they missed back home. That bond was passed onto me. Uncle Bruce was a second dad to me and helped me through my toughest times.
Lastly there are the conversations about the war that are etched in my memory. I remember one day when my dad was driving me back to college. I can’t recall what led to the conversation but there was just the 2 of us. We were driving in his pick-up truck with the POW MIA stickers proudly next to the Providence College stickers on the back window, and I asked him the question that no one wants to ask and not sure if you should, but for some reason I did. I asked him if he had shot anyone in the war. He paused and said “Yes”. Now I expected him to say yes, I was not naïve to what happens in war, and I was worried that I would be angry and disappointed in my dad. But what I didn’t expect was what he said next- “I had no choice.” Upon hearing those words I felt an awkward sense of relief and deep gratitude. Because my dad did what he needed to do to survive and for others to survive, I existed. And today because my dad survived, me, my sister, my 3 children, and 3 nieces and nephews have a life where we can make my dad proud by being kind, compassionate, and grateful people.