I was crushed. I
didn’t know what a veteran was. I’d thought my mother said veterinarians’ day, and my head was filled with thoughts of adorable
animals parading down the street with these veterinarians proudly by their
sides. I couldn’t wait to meet a vet, and maybe talk to one about how I, too,
could be one someday. Anxiously, I squiggled through the crowd, shivering in
the chill as I awaited the arrival of my idols.
A trickle of
vehicles signaled the beginning of the parade. All the grownups stood tall,
silently at attention as our flag was carried past. Next came a group of men in
fancy uniforms, some somber, some smiling. A marching band was next, and
another – Where were all the animals?
Gradually it
dawned on me that I’d gotten it wrong. My mother bit back a smile as she
confirmed my disappointment; “No, not veterinarians,
Barbara, veterans.” She smiled
the way grownups do when a child says something innocent and cute, patiently
explaining to me the difference between the two.
Until then I had
not given any thought to the matter. My young life had unraveled in a period of
peace, my little town far removed from any military presence. Yet for some
reason, that moment seared itself into my brain, and I never forgot it.
Decades later I
finally understood the significance of veterans. First, I stood by my husband,
pride outweighed by the swelling crush of fear as I kissed him goodbye and watched
him deploy to Iraq. Losing him just ten days later nearly killed me, too. But
in addition to my family and friends, another family stepped forward. One I’d
never fully appreciated before, but which has never left my side since: Vietnam
veterans.
The following is
an excerpt from an article I wrote years ago. Rewriting it is unnecessary, as
it still rings true:
The Vietnam veterans and their families have demonstrated a
depth of compassion and support to my family and families like mine that they
themselves were denied. The soldiers who were met with hostility upon their
return from Vietnam, the widows who were left to mourn their husbands and raise
children alone without the help of the government, the children who buried
their fathers without a society who embraced them, have now adopted our
families and current soldiers in a campaign to ensure we do not endure what
they did.
My first experience with these veterans happened within days of Lou’s death. The contractor we had hired to re-do our main floor bathroom left my house a shambles. Cardboard served as a door to a switchbox for the tub. The floor was stripped, the sink not hooked up. Knowing I would be inundated with people in the coming days, a friend put the word out to her friends that I needed help. Before I knew it, a small group of men — Vietnam veterans — were at my house, tools in hand. They worked straight through the days to finish the bathroom and make the main hallway accessible again, thus allowing me to accommodate friends and family. They refused payment, and even apologized that they may not have lined up tiles properly. My thanks was met with a simple explanation: “Lou was our brother.”
Over the years, numerous other Vietnam veterans and family members have continued to support us. The Vietnam widows initiated legislation to establish benefits. They created support groups to help us new widows. Adults whose childhoods had been impacted by the loss of a father in Vietnam volunteer at events for our children who lost a parent in today’s wars. The Patriot Guard rides for funeral services, protects families from protesters, and appears at events for our families. Children tug on beards, sit on Harleys, wave flags and grin widely with these people who came through one war, only to come home to another. They have all left an indelible impression on our lives.
A few years ago, I was brought to tears by the monumental gesture of another Vietnam veteran. I received a package from a name I didn’t recognize. It contained a letter, a picture, and a small bulky pouch. In that pouch was this man’s own Purple Heart he received as a 19-year-old soldier in Vietnam. His letter explained that he read an article about me and the case, and it took him two days to digest what had happened. He wrote that Lou deserves this Purple Heart more than he does, and enclosed a copy of the letter of authenticity. He assured me people do care, and are moved by our story. Turning the Purple Heart over, I nearly passed out when I saw it was engraved “In Honor of Lt. Lou Allen.” Within months, a second Purple Heart was presented to me, as another Vietnam veteran expressed his support.
Who does such a thing? A stranger to me and my family, but no stranger to war and sacrifice. In the years since, we have been blessed to meet more of these men. They have dried our tears, helped us laugh, inspired us, pushed us, and stood watch over us, as our husbands can no longer do.
My first experience with these veterans happened within days of Lou’s death. The contractor we had hired to re-do our main floor bathroom left my house a shambles. Cardboard served as a door to a switchbox for the tub. The floor was stripped, the sink not hooked up. Knowing I would be inundated with people in the coming days, a friend put the word out to her friends that I needed help. Before I knew it, a small group of men — Vietnam veterans — were at my house, tools in hand. They worked straight through the days to finish the bathroom and make the main hallway accessible again, thus allowing me to accommodate friends and family. They refused payment, and even apologized that they may not have lined up tiles properly. My thanks was met with a simple explanation: “Lou was our brother.”
Over the years, numerous other Vietnam veterans and family members have continued to support us. The Vietnam widows initiated legislation to establish benefits. They created support groups to help us new widows. Adults whose childhoods had been impacted by the loss of a father in Vietnam volunteer at events for our children who lost a parent in today’s wars. The Patriot Guard rides for funeral services, protects families from protesters, and appears at events for our families. Children tug on beards, sit on Harleys, wave flags and grin widely with these people who came through one war, only to come home to another. They have all left an indelible impression on our lives.
A few years ago, I was brought to tears by the monumental gesture of another Vietnam veteran. I received a package from a name I didn’t recognize. It contained a letter, a picture, and a small bulky pouch. In that pouch was this man’s own Purple Heart he received as a 19-year-old soldier in Vietnam. His letter explained that he read an article about me and the case, and it took him two days to digest what had happened. He wrote that Lou deserves this Purple Heart more than he does, and enclosed a copy of the letter of authenticity. He assured me people do care, and are moved by our story. Turning the Purple Heart over, I nearly passed out when I saw it was engraved “In Honor of Lt. Lou Allen.” Within months, a second Purple Heart was presented to me, as another Vietnam veteran expressed his support.
Who does such a thing? A stranger to me and my family, but no stranger to war and sacrifice. In the years since, we have been blessed to meet more of these men. They have dried our tears, helped us laugh, inspired us, pushed us, and stood watch over us, as our husbands can no longer do.
Veterans Day is about all soldiers and all their sacrifices.
One does not have to fall in battle to earn the title “hero.” While I admire
and appreciate all of our veterans who serve with honor, it is the Vietnam
veterans who have become my friends, and my children have embraced as family.
Thank you, and Welcome Home.
