Tuesday Tunes
A small boy and his friend run through the yards, they are 5 or 6 years old. They slide partially down a hillside and slowly peek over the top, looking for "Charlie".
The one boy turns to the other and asks, "What are you going to do when you are drafted?"
War comes to them on the TV every night. They know about those that ran to Canada. They know those that stayed. They know of the bodies of what were once vibrant young men arrive day after day from that horrible place, Vietnam.
They talk of their grandfathers. Of those that served in WWII. They speak of the silence of those veterans who returned.
Today, I remember my Great Uncle Joe talking about all the heroes he knew. Some of whom died in the skies over Germany. He was never a hero. He flew in the same plane, he put his pants on the same, he ate with those heroes. According to him, every man aboard his plane was a hero, except him.
He was a hero. He was a bombardier of a B17 Flying Fortress.
Today, Vietnam is ancient history. Desert Storm, V1 in 1991 is ancient history. The war on terror is what is remembered by men older than their years.
"All gave some, some gave all."