RevRainbow

May the oil in your lamp never run out. Shalom.

and may it never happen again.

I likes it the way it is.

Me? I'm thankful every day. It's wonderful to look around and see all that I have been blessed with. One should take time every day to consider their blessings. Some things we worked for and some were gifts; we planned for some and others just happened. But there is a lot to be thankful for and I believe if we think on those things, we will not be drawn into so much negative thinking. Anyway, as Thanksgiving approaches, is there any one thing this past year that you are especially thankful for? Sharing your blessing can edify all of us. Sure, we have had out bad times this past year also, but what one thing lifted you higher? What one thing blessed your soul? Just list the best thing and, if that is hard to do, then, gentle reader, rejoice in a blessed year. You know, even something that didnt happen is something to be thankful for! Today is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Here is one photo I took of Harvey when he appeared in my yard last Easter. See, I wasn't kidding!

I'm with you. We should all pray for ourselves, family and friends, and each other. Thanks for stating it.

Remembering this nation's veterans today, a little more than usual. Thank you all for your service and God grant us peace in our time.

I try to understand why we enjoy computer games of mayhem, death and destruction. Some of those games are nothing but how many souls you can dispatch with an arsenal of weapons and vehicles. Then there is the paintball scenario (I guess that's playing "big"), running around dodging and shooting in both indoor and outdoor venues. There seems to be an inherent fascination with war as children and adolescents, and some never outgrow it. War is an ultimate extension of hating one's neighbor.

Thanks, RS. I appreciate the comments. Haven't done much photography this century.

Those who run the wars rarely actively participate in them, Fawzo.

In the words of Dwight D. Eisenhower: " I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it, can; only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility; its stupidity."

Freddie, Jose, Rich and I would play “War” at least once a week. We played Army in two different ways. The question we asked each other when we gathered after school was “Do you want to play ‘big’ or ‘little?’” If we played “little,” the rubber or plastic toy soldiers were assembled together in a battlefield of dirt, rocks and popsicle stick barricades. Back then you could buy a bag of toy soldiers for around a dollar. In the local Dime Store, they even had bags of “good guys” and “bad guys,” the only difference being, ironically, the color. We had hundreds of soldiers ready to engage in battle by the base of the old apple tree in my yard or Jose’s mom’s flower garden. There were rules of engagement. As we tossed dirt clumps or small stones at the advancing armies, they toppled over in the intense carnage. If the soldiers landed face up, they were considered only wounded and could re-enter the battle. If they landed face down, they were dead and stayed there. There is a toy cemetery in the back yard where Jose used to live which still contains the rubber bodies of mutilated toy soldiers who were given a military burial. If we played “big,” our yards became no man’s land, and we locked and loaded our Mattel “super-burp” weapons and cap pistols to dispatch one another. On a sunny afternoon you could hear the rat-a-tat-tat of our weapons as we chased each other over bushes and around trees. Jose’s mom would not let him play unless he was one of the “good” guys. Getting shot and having to fall down in Jose’s yard was difficult because he had an old dog named Sandy whose only outdoor activity was crapping wherever she wanted to. Many a time, a truce was called while one of us went home and washed the dog poop off our arms and hands. We died in battle over and over and we argued, “You’re dead! No I’m not! Yes you are!” many times, sometimes winning, sometimes losing. When the afternoon waned, when our mothers called us for dinner, we would resurrect ourselves from the battlefield, prepared to fight again another day. After all, it was only a game. It was only pretend. Ten years later, I was in Viet Nam, a real soldier. It wasn’t child’s play anymore. This was real war. Dog poop was replaced with feces coated punji sticks, soda pop cans we kids used as grenades were replaced with beer cans packed by the Viet Cong with gunpowder. Cap pistols and super-burp weapons were replaced with 7.62mm rounds of ammunition fired from AK-47’s and M-14’s. And when people got shot, it hurt and, when they died, they stayed dead. And no one’s mother was there to call out for us to stop and come home to dinner. Maybe that’s why so many of the wounded and dying called out for their mother. They were hoping this was all pretend, all a game, and now they could go home. After the skirmish, after the carnage, after the body counts, I could not help but wonder if those dead young combatants, enemy included, also played with toy guns and rubber soldiers when they were younger. Were they the backyard heroes and neighborhood platoon leaders who led their men to victory with water balloons and clumps of dirt? Did they think they were invincible? When will we stop playing these deadly games, especially now, when mothers and fathers are calling out that it’s time to come home?

I have been blessed at least twice today. First in seeing you're posting again and second by your thoughful words. Rabbi (for you are indeed a teacher), I am certain that you know of people who have endured much more, and suffered far greater and seen more horror than I care to imagine. John G. Whittier wrote: "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been.'" I no longer think of what might have been (well, accept for those thunderstorm nights, occasionally), for to do so, infers I am not happy with my present state. That is not so. Someone also wrote, "That which does not kill us, strengthens us." Perhaps this is so, at least in my case. I have been richly blessed, and I would not dare complain about that which I do not have or did not receive, for in all things, I have learned to be content. Thank you for your kind comments. You have been in my thoughts and prayers. Shalom aleichem.

I shall pray for your grandson and family, LW. (Your little one also, Fawzo).

If he took a photo of the location, enlarged it or projected it onto a screen and then superimposed his silhouette on the image, he could then paint his face and clothes to match the perspectives he wanted. I think its authentic.

Thank you all. remember, experience is not what is important, its the willingness to have served. Peace.

I originally wrote this story in July of 2005 for a class I was taking. It was also published in the college newspaper a few weeks later. I felt it appropriate to share this story again for those of my friends who have not read it, in light of the approach of Veterans Day. It's personal (as it was meant to be) and so, I admit, "it's all about me." Or is it? What if I had not served in Viet Nam? I would not have the nightmares, waking up in cold sweat in the middle of the night that I still have on occasion. I would not have the ability to hear helicopters (we called them choppers) approaching moments before my friends hear or see them. I would not have the ghosts of war visiting me throughout my life, reminding me of the faces and scenes I had witnessed – the little girl by the side of the road crying…the blank stares of civilian casualties stumbling past me. I would never have experienced the physical and mental stress of living in fear day and night; wondering if I would ever make it home alive, and I would not be able to tell the difference between fireworks and automatic weapons fire as I am able to do each Fourth of July and New Years Eve. I would never have met my first love, a beautiful Vietnamese girl with whom I spent many happy hours until she was blown away in a rocket attack. Would she have died anyway (I know part of me died with her), had I not served in Viet Nam? I would not have started a Vietnam Veterans of America chapter in my neighborhood, or involved myself for years in veterans affairs, nor have been founder and curator of the Viet Nam War Museum for fifteen years, nor been active in the Vietnamese community working with refugees, boat people, teaching English and citizenship classes. I guess my life would have been pretty dull and uneventful had I not served in Viet Nam. What if I had not served in Viet Nam? I would not be as passionate in my beliefs, steadfast in my convictions or determined in my goals. I would not be so intolerant of racism, bigotry, prejudice and hate. I would not be as skeptical of my government or unbelieving in the words of politicians. I would not believe so strongly in the sanctity of life and preciousness of freedom. I would never have seen the worst men can do to one another, but would also not understand the meaning of sacrifice, heroism, courage and bravery. There is much about having served in Viet Nam that I hate. Things that I saw that no one should see; things I did that I am not proud of, but had to do. But the experience has also strengthened me and influenced my life and made me into the person I am today. What if I had not served in Viet Nam? Well, I wouldn't be so nervous, nor apprehensive, defensive or distrusting, but, and more importantly, I would not be living life so fully, loving so tenderly, caring so deeply, working so diligently, writing so passionately, laughing so heartily, had I not served in Viet Nam. What if? Well, I really don't like to think about that, but if one looks introspectively at life and asks, "What if…?" certainly you could imagine how different things might have been if you had done this instead of that. But it doesn't matter. Life is a series of decisions with consequences. It's being thrown into situations that demand response. It's called living and you take what comes and make the best of it. Life is precious. Life is survival. Life is brief, a vapor, here and gone. What we experience and how we respond can make us into beings with substance, fortitude and determination. It is not so much what life does to us; rather what we make of those experiences. You'll make right choices and wrong choices. You will do things to be proud of and you will do things that will make you cringe later when you think about them. All of your experiences, and how you handle them, make you the sum total of who you are. And, you will be hurt. The secret of survival is that when you are wounded, to allow the wound to heal. If you pick at it and leave it unattended, it will fester, become infected, and possibly kill you. If you address the wound and allow it to heal, you will wind up with a scar. Later, when you look at the scar you will remember the pain, but that's all, you will just remember. What if I had never served in Viet Nam? I cannot imagine the person I would have become. I do not regret my decision, painful as it was back then, because it has made me a better person in the long run. I cannot see myself in any other light. I am a survivor. I am who I am because of the Viet Nam War experience, and I am proud of it. My only regret is that I can't help thinking, sometimes, on thunderstorm nights, what if…she had lived.

Next we will have the evils of Thanksgiving followed by the most dangerous of all...Christmas!

Thanks for your comments. when I look over these old photos, I wonder what ever happened to those young folks and the kids. I wonder if they remember the day some guy was taking pictures and talking with them. I wonder if they still have their copy of the photo, and how God has worked in their lives.

This year, the kids who come to my house get IOU's!