I never asked my dad to tell me stories about the war.
You know how it is -- you're young and too wrapped up in your own world to be interested in dad's stories. But after I grew up, I was still wrapped up in my own world.
He talked some about it. When he'd see TV commercials for Herbal Essence shampoo "with coconut oil" he'd laugh about how the Phillipino girls washed their hair in coconut oil and it stunk. And I know he had a bomb hit near his tent. But that's all I know about his personal service to our country.
What other stories would be part of my memory of him, of our family heritage, if I'd asked? Did he see any friends die? What was it like going across the Pacific for 4 days on a ship into a war zone? Was he scared? How did the war change him? Did he ever...shoot anybody? What was it like when it was all over and we had won and he came home and saw his parents?
Maybe he didn't want to talk about it -- some don't.
But maybe he didn't think I'd be interested.
That's the thing I really regret -- if I'd asked questions and been interested, he would have known I cared. Three years of sacrifice and risking your life for your country, and your oldest son doesn't ask any questions? Does he not care? Does he not appreciate? I don't think he thought of it that way, but he could've.
If you care about someone, they need to know. Asking questions is a good way to show you care -- that they matter and that what they did matter.
Monuments in Washington, DC try to send the message that what soldiers did matters, and that we care. The Vietnam Wall is one -- I never knew it was this long, 140 panels with name after name after name...
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