Th
ose of us coming of age during the sixties are well aware of just how tumultuous these times were. I am not ungrateful that I personally missed out on much of the so-called rebellion that characterized those days. But we all had to deal with the reality of our eligibility for the draft and the almost certainty, if drafted, of serving in Vietnam. Somehow my number did not get called, and after being married and having our first child I received a different draft status which no doubt played a big role in me not being called up. This was not the case for two of my high school friends.
In our small community people usually were informed of their name being on the list and were given the opportunity to enlist instead of being drafted. Floyd chose the Army and Roland signed up for the Marine Corp. Both were deployed at near the same time and both were killed within 30 days of each other after only being in the conflict for less than 90 days. I say killed, but Roland was for many years listed as missing in action and presumed dead. I was able to attend both their funeral services. To say the least, it was chilling.
I knew Floyd well but Roland and I had spent a lot of time together. We along with others had camped out, fished, done teenage mischief, and even dou
ble dated together. He was a cut up and a character. At the time of their deaths, being young myself, it did not impact me like it has over the intervening years. A number of years ago the replica ½ sized moving Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial Wall came to this area and I was able to go and find the names of my friends etched on the wall. It was a very sobering moment as I thought about my life and all that had come to me and how their lives had been snatched away so early.
While the experts and pundits continue to engage in endless debates over how we became en
tangled and lost this war, I tend to weigh it all through the remembrance of my buddies. They did not choose to volunteer but enlisted after knowing they were going to be called, but I can assure you, they were more than willing to go. There’s something about being raised up to believe in something greater than yourself and while we all had our wild times, these fellows were grounded in that attitude born from respect and love of God and country.
A couple of years ago I was in a little café in rural Louisiana having lunch with my parents when a lady came in. It was Roland’s mom. I likely had not seen her since Roland’s funeral nearly 40 years earlier. Flash back: After being out on the creek bank for a couple of days, many times the entire crew showed up at Roland’s house where his mom made a pile of homemade biscuits and served them up with mayhaw jelly (Never heard of it? Look it up in Wikipedia). I stood up and walked over to her and extended my hand and said my name. She dropped my hand, grabbed me, and held on to me tightly for what seemed like a very long time. Tears were streaming down her face as she blurted out all she had gone through trying to find out about Roland’s capture and death. It was a remarkable moment, sad but at the same time uplifting as together we walked down memory lane.
It’s Memorial Day holiday weekend (the official observance is next Wedn
esday, May 30). My family has a long legacy reflecting military service all the way back to the Civil War, (confederates, of course). Yet, I live with a profound remembrance of Floyd and Roland. May God bless their memory and all those who have heeded the call, taken the oath, and paid the ultimate price, by shedding their own blood. While it is human nature to ponder how things might have been different, I confess I often think about all that I have been blessed to enjoy and the fact that they never had the opportunity. This causes me to count precious and appreciate even more my blessings, while at the same time pledging to always cherish the memory of my hero buddies. More later…………
ose of us coming of age during the sixties are well aware of just how tumultuous these times were. I am not ungrateful that I personally missed out on much of the so-called rebellion that characterized those days. But we all had to deal with the reality of our eligibility for the draft and the almost certainty, if drafted, of serving in Vietnam. Somehow my number did not get called, and after being married and having our first child I received a different draft status which no doubt played a big role in me not being called up. This was not the case for two of my high school friends.In our small community people usually were informed of their name being on the list and were given the opportunity to enlist instead of being drafted. Floyd chose the Army and Roland signed up for the Marine Corp. Both were deployed at near the same time and both were killed within 30 days of each other after only being in the conflict for less than 90 days. I say killed, but Roland was for many years listed as missing in action and presumed dead. I was able to attend both their funeral services. To say the least, it was chilling.
I knew Floyd well but Roland and I had spent a lot of time together. We along with others had camped out, fished, done teenage mischief, and even dou
ble dated together. He was a cut up and a character. At the time of their deaths, being young myself, it did not impact me like it has over the intervening years. A number of years ago the replica ½ sized moving Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial Wall came to this area and I was able to go and find the names of my friends etched on the wall. It was a very sobering moment as I thought about my life and all that had come to me and how their lives had been snatched away so early.While the experts and pundits continue to engage in endless debates over how we became en
tangled and lost this war, I tend to weigh it all through the remembrance of my buddies. They did not choose to volunteer but enlisted after knowing they were going to be called, but I can assure you, they were more than willing to go. There’s something about being raised up to believe in something greater than yourself and while we all had our wild times, these fellows were grounded in that attitude born from respect and love of God and country.A couple of years ago I was in a little café in rural Louisiana having lunch with my parents when a lady came in. It was Roland’s mom. I likely had not seen her since Roland’s funeral nearly 40 years earlier. Flash back: After being out on the creek bank for a couple of days, many times the entire crew showed up at Roland’s house where his mom made a pile of homemade biscuits and served them up with mayhaw jelly (Never heard of it? Look it up in Wikipedia). I stood up and walked over to her and extended my hand and said my name. She dropped my hand, grabbed me, and held on to me tightly for what seemed like a very long time. Tears were streaming down her face as she blurted out all she had gone through trying to find out about Roland’s capture and death. It was a remarkable moment, sad but at the same time uplifting as together we walked down memory lane.
It’s Memorial Day holiday weekend (the official observance is next Wedn
esday, May 30). My family has a long legacy reflecting military service all the way back to the Civil War, (confederates, of course). Yet, I live with a profound remembrance of Floyd and Roland. May God bless their memory and all those who have heeded the call, taken the oath, and paid the ultimate price, by shedding their own blood. While it is human nature to ponder how things might have been different, I confess I often think about all that I have been blessed to enjoy and the fact that they never had the opportunity. This causes me to count precious and appreciate even more my blessings, while at the same time pledging to always cherish the memory of my hero buddies. More later…………
No comments:
Post a Comment