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Sparkle (1)
Both my father and step-father are war veterans.
Before the age of 4 (which is when my parents got divorced) I have only a few memories of my father, and I would say all of them were somehow colored by his war experiences. My visual memories of him, other than his beautiful blue eyes that bordered on white, and thick curly black hair, his full dark beard that hid his weak chin that I inherited, was the back of his left leg, which had a hole that went all the way through it. He was shot during Viet Nam, both in the leg and in the ass. He was exposed to agent orange and had white phosphorous burns on his arms-- was in a hospital recovering from his wounds in the field when it was blown up around him. He came home after his tours with 6 purple hearts and an alcohol addiction.
He often fell asleep in the recliner in the living room. Waking him up was terrifying. He had nightmares and PTSD that last to this day.
My step-father (hitherto referred to as my dad) was a Marine. He served in Desert Storm in a platoon that was the first into Kuwait. He was in charge of many young boys and took that very seriously. They threatened to kill him and claim it as friendly fire because he insisted they dig in when they stopped for the day and they didn't see the use, so he yelled, enough to get them to do it, but at a price.
My dad was emotionally ripped apart, imagining having to tell these boys' mothers that they were killed because they just wouldn't fucking save themselves. He was afraid... of them dying, of being killed by the people he was trying to keep safe, of the look on a mother's face. He was told to expect 90% casualties. He had waking nightmares of burning Humvees with melting skeletons inside wearing military gear.
He killed a man. And for all of his bravado before going to war, "Oooh Raa, do or die," he was not okay with it. My dad was a sensitive person like me, but he came from a long background of manly men, and so he pretended all of his life. And war did not do him well.
I wish that no person ever had to go through what my fathers went through. I wish that wars were not something that we did, and more than being thankful to those who have fought for us, for the history of our people, I am sorry. I am so sorry for your nightmares, and pain, and the visions you see when your mind is not sufficiently occupied. For the addictions you brought home to drown the pain you will continue to feel, and the anger and fear that may just ruin you, for doing a job no one should ever be expected to do. I am sorry... I am so sorry.
