COMING HOME
by Bob Shaw
My part of Viet Nam was 1966 – 67. I can remember the first day on the flight
line like it was yesterday. The CO met with us that morning, and went out of his
way to welcome us to the base. The Colonel explained the mission, and looking
back at the moment, seemed to have a way about him, to make us feel important,
and essential to the effort.
As the time to come home grew near, we’d heard the stories of the homecomings
some of the guys endured. Most of the time, they just wanted to make it home,
shed their uniform, and try to blend in with the crowd. It was a hard time for
everyone, and much of the time, there just didn’t seem to be a common ground.
My turn to rotate home finally came. As we climbed on the plane, and settled in
for the long flight, most of us just wanted to sleep until we came in sight of
the mainland (The World).
It took us a full days flying time to reach the West Coast. Excitement grew as
we descended, coming in for a landing. Just as the wheels touched down, one of
the stewardesses keyed the intercom, and with an audible crack in her voice,
said "Welcome Home Guys". I never knew her name, or even saw who she was. But to
this day, my eyes still water up just thinking back to that moment. I guess not
all of the trips home were as bad as we’d heard about.
After going through customs and check in, I made it to the ticket counter to
line up the final flight home. There in front of me, stood a long haired,
bearded, hippie type. I figured this was it, the dreaded homecoming encounter.
As he finished his business, I stepped up to the counter. As I pulled the cash
for my ticket out of my pocket, the "Hippie Type" reached over touching my arm,
and said, "Hey man, you just dropped a wad of dough". As I looked down, I saw
several dollars, folded, that had dropped as I pulled my hand out of my pocket.
Retrieving the little bit of money that I had left, I reached out and shook his
hand, my eyes met his, and giving a nod of my head, said, "Thanks Man." He gave
me a smile, nodded his head, and was gone.
Finally making it home, the first stop was my Grandparent’s home. Grandma had
the big American flag hung over the railing of the front porch, with a big
welcome home sign. She started crying as soon as she saw the car coming up the
road, nearly walking out in front of it. I was six feet tall, and weighed 129
pounds. Grampa looked at me and asked if they’d killed me over there. Grandma
just shook her head and said, we’ll take care of that". What a meal we had that
day.
Fortunately, the homecoming that I had dreaded was a nightmare that never came
true. But for many of the guys, it was something they'd rather forget. It’s with
those, I’d like to share mine…and to give a heartfelt "Welcome Home".
Bob Shaw
Caperabbit@SEMO.Net
Yesterday’s Warrior
Over the last few weeks, I’d been talking to a young man who was waiting for his reporting date to join the Marine Corps. He would ask me questions about what he was going to face, and, although I had not been a Marine, I could draw on my past experience of boot camp, and answer some of his questions. I gave him a few tips on study habits, physical training, and behavioral guidelines, hoping they would be of use, and not too outdated. I knew one thing would not have changed. What ever the Marines put into the boy, would last the man a lifetime.
As I was making a delivery to the store, I noticed he had come by to say his good byes. Time had gone by a bit quicker than I had thought, plus the events of the week had taken the attention of everyone. With the attack on the World Trade Center, and the Pentagon, it was a surprise to see him there, and ready to leave so soon.
He came over as soon as he saw me, and held out his hand, and told me he was on his way. After a little small talk, I smiled and told him "Go get ‘em". With a crooked grin, a small nod of his head, and a gleam in his eye, he said "yes Sir", and was on his way.
I slowly went on about my business, giving some thought to the scheme of events that had just taken place. It was difficult trying to put my feelings into perspective. Probably the best way to describe them was the passing of the torch. I knew that if duty called, I would go again. God….Flag….and Country. But here was tomorrow’s warrior….smarter, stronger, with the look of something familiar….like looking into the eyes of a past generation. I liked what I saw. The torch had been passed down….and Liberty’s Light was in good hands.
With a damp eye, Yesterday’s Warrior smiled.
Bob Shaw
