Letter to a Fallen Soldier

I was asked to pen a letter to a soldier who died in Vietnam, as part of a project by a founding member of Veterans For Peace. It is to be one of hundreds, maybe a thousand or more letters to be placed soon at the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. The email I received said the Pentagon is attempting to paint the Vietnam War in a more favorable light.
I can understand why, I guess. The current wars we are in are much like that quagmire. That cannot make recruiting and retention an easy thing for them.

But back to the letter. I stopped wrapping myself in the American flag quite a while ago. Yet, I in no way hate the American soldier. In fact, I support the troops by my open and unapologetic hatred of war. Read on....

Dear Joe-or Bob or John or maybe Susan(...how many, many names...they seem to stretch forever on this wall).

I was probably just learning to write my own name when you died. Born in 1964, it was a confusing time to be a little girl. I am sure it was far more confusing-and frightening-for you to be in Vietnam.
I wondered about you back then. Who were you, this young man on my TV, running through tall grass and jungles, carrying a gun? Or perhaps you were a nurse treating the wounded. But why were they wounded? Why were they there? Someone must know, I thought.
I tried to ask my mom these questions but if she gave an explanation at all, I still could not understand it. The one thing I was sure of was that some of these men were killed. My oldest brother was of draft age and I was terrified to think he might have to go. I cried one day, asking Mom if he would be killed. Again, there was no sufficient answer, no reassurance.
That brother did not get the call. He is sixty-two now, alive and well.

But you had to go-and you died. You were somebody's brother or son or sweetheart.

As much as I tried to figure out "war" back then, no one-not even Walter Cronkite-could make it seem right. It was simply a nightmare no one could wake from. "That's the way it was", as Walter would say.
I am fifty now. You might think in all these years that I would have made sense of it, that I could finally believe it was more than just senseless death and destruction. Wasn't I taught that we were always "the good guys"? The powerful, the wealthy and elite, many in the halls of Washington, are still trying to spin it, to put it in some sort of good light. But if I bought that, if (even worse) I repeated that lie, I fear it would be one more betrayal of you.

Here is the ultimate haunting question, I think: Did you die in vain?
Never mind if it was heroic. Forget if you should have been there or not. 
The fact is that you were there-and you died there. So, did it serve any greater purpose? When they folded up that flag and handed it to your loved one, was there anything they could take comfort in?
I cannot answer that.
All I know with certainty is this: Beginning with that war-maybe even on the day you fell-I knew there was something terrible about this whole business, no matter what Walter Cronkite or any Senators or the President had to say.

War should never be glorified, or worse, glamorized. It cheapens life, I think, to try to convince anyone that killing and being killed is anything but horrific.

So if you did die for a cause, let it go down in history as this-a lesson in the sanctity of every life and the horror of every war. For that lesson, I thank you.

May you now rest in peace.

Gail

http://www.veteransforpeace.org/our-work/vietnam-full-disclosure-campaign/memorial-day-letter-we-need-hear-you/

My Neighborhood, My Home

When we moved to this house two and a half years ago, I was less than thrilled with the neighborhood. It is called the Taylor Neighborhood, named for the elementary school just one block from our home.
The apartment complex we had just left was infested with drugs and petty crime. The management kept the units just barely habitable. If anything went wrong, it was pulling teeth to get them to fix it. I had definitely grown tired of them.
The house is more expensive to rent. We have to pay for all the utility bills. The day we moved in, a near brawl was happening right across the street, with some young people shouting obscenities at each other. The matriarch of the family came out on to the porch and began to shout at them, "You all need to learn how to communicate with each other!", in a sort of drawl that made me think she wasn't from around here.
Next door to us, more youth hung out on a regular basis, none of them appearing to be in school or working. They were, however, able to afford firecrackers they liked to set off at all hours of the night. I put in more than one call to the police.
Eventually, the family across the street was evicted and the fireworks stopped next door. Little by little, I became acquainted with my neighbors. David and his Aunt Gloria are on one side of us, and on the other side lives a couple that I was at first convinced were vampires. I never saw them come outside except on rare occasions and they had black curtains over the windows. At all hours of the night, I could see just through a small crack in those curtains, that the lights were on. By the time the sun came up, they seemed to retreat in to darkness again. Who but a vampire acts that way?? But once in a while in the evening, they would emerge to play a game of bean bag toss on their small lawn and my son enjoyed watching them. No one offered to bite him, so I began to relax a bit. To be honest, I still do not know their names. I need to remedy that.
For more than a year, we had no washer and dryer of our own. So, I did our laundry at Soapy Waters laundromat, about three blocks from us. Right next to Soapy Waters, is Jim's foods, a small mom and pop grocery store that has been an icon on the Southwest side for decades. It had recently come under new ownership, however. A Pakistani man, known as "Jimmy" because no one can pronounce his name, bought it and has turned it in to quite an operation. He has kept the groceries but added fresh coffee, fountain pop and slushies. The next thing he put in was an entire liquor section. This has been very popular with the alcoholics in the neighborhood. They are of the variety that don't bother anyone much, so it's all good. I find it amusing that Jimmy came to America from a predominantly Muslim country, where alcohol consumption would not be the norm, and has made his liquor section such a wild success! Jimmy also sells a full line of hookas, and the latest craze, the e-cigs and mini e-hookas. He added various pierced jewelry items, for any and all parts of the body, which have also been very popular. Jimmy is friendly and well liked in the neighborhood. Another Pakistani, a pony-tailed, rather handsome fellow, is his assistant manager. I have never asked his name, knowing I could probably not remember or pronounce it. I just know that he remembers my brand of cigarettes, and he and Jimmy are both very nice to my son, Austin. Jimmy tells me how smart he thinks Austin is and says 'He is going to go places!" Austin gives him a high five on each visit and Jimmy gives him a free little box of candy.
In the other direction from our house is the local Casey's gas station, complete with home baked pizza that is just the right amount of greasy. In the morning, their warm, fresh baked donuts and pastries, along with coffee, get everyone in the neighborhood off to work with a smile.
Right across the street from our house is James and his little bicycle shop. James and his girlfriend moved in  about a year ago and James began fixing up used bikes and selling them. Austin got his first bike from his shop. James is a very large black man from Mississippi. He has this rather adorable habit of calling every woman he meets, "baby". How he ended up in Cedar Rapids is beyond me-all his family is still down South. James drinks a bit (quite a bit).
He recently drew no less than five police squad cars to his apartment. We watched the drama unfolding, from the living room window. After a long time, the cops emerged with James in handcuffs. No fight, thank God.  I felt very sad. I like James and did not know why this was happening. In a few days, I found out it was not a serious deal, just a violation of his probation, which stipulates he is not to drink. Call me crazy, but I miss the big lug! He is always friendly to me and the kids so I have no issues with James.

There is a small glimpse at the Taylor Neighborhood. I have actually grown quite fond of it. My neighbors all know my dog, handy for when she darts out the front door and goes on a run. My neighbors offer me some of their garden produce in the summer, for free. I know Austin could go to any of my neighbors for help if I needed him to, even the vampires next door! 
When I left the farm and my hometown, I never really thought I would find a place I liked as much in the city. I grew up where everybody knows you and your folks. They know your business, which is a pain sometimes but comforting in a way, as well.
Now, after living in the Taylor area for nearly three years, I feel that "settled down" here. So, I think we will be here a good long while yet. I am even thinking of investing in a hooka from Jimmy's assortment. That alone is reason to stick around. You don't find that stuff just anywhere and you don't often find a place that feels like home the way this neighborhood feels for me. 

Signing off, from "Our House", as I watch the sun set over the baseball field. Peace to all....

Here We Are, Much Later

I'm not even sure where to start.
What has happened since that last post, back in what? 2013? Wow!
I am not a dedicated blogger. That much has been established.

The really good news is that my husband and I have been getting along famously ever since he found work again. 

The bad news is....well, how do I put this? I have lost my faith-in God anyway, and most of humanity.
But just when I think the world is nothing but evil, along comes some young person (or a group of them) and they are doing amazing things to help their fellow man. How do you respond to that with cynicism? I can't.

No-it does not make me think there is a God. It makes me think that when I say "We're on our own here", there are young people of faith( and no faith) who already understand that at some level. They are not waiting around for a miracle-they are making miracles themselves.

One such group is in the Gaza Strip, trying to provide direct aid to some of the poorest families there. They are using "indiegogo", a crowd-funding site, to raise the money they need. Please check out the following link and do what you can to help! Even if you cannot donate money at this time, you can surely share this on your Facebook and Twitter accounts.
I thank you in advance. Pay it forward....

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/gaza-relief-5-keys-campaign/x/9535018


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwAYpLVyeFU