Some things — plenty of them, actually — are more important than baseball. This is one of them.<\/p>\n
The breakfast bar at Frisch’s Big Boy is one of my favorite places. It’s not exactly doctor-approved, however, so I only go there two or three times a year. Today was one of those times. Turns out, I got a lot more than food.<\/p>\n
As I sat down, I saw a fellow gray-haired gentleman sitting across the room, by himself, with a VIETNAM hat and a Marines logo. And as the word “Vietnam” always does, it made me sad and angry at the same time, remembering the stupidity and shameful, pointless loss of life from 1959-1975.<\/p>\n
I was lucky; I didn’t have to go. My draft lottery number was 181. My relief at not having to go overseas is always tempered with guilt that I didn’t go, and anger that anyone had to go at all.<\/p>\n
And of course, we tried to act like Vietnam didn’t happen at all, as soon as we got out and Saigon fell. The vets were largely ignored at a time when they really needed help coping with what they went through over there. I think that’s what leads to many scenes like this morning’s, where a vet has breakfast alone, or with other vets. They seem to seek each other out and share the bond that being “in country” gave them.<\/p>\n
So when I see a Vietnam vet these days, I try to quietly go over and thank them for their service, and tell him\/her I’m sorry they had to go at all. It isn’t much, but in reality, there’s probably nothing that can truly heal them or make up for their sacrifice.<\/p>\n
“At least I can buy him breakfast,” I thought. So I asked the server to give me the man’s check, and after I paid, I approached him.<\/p>\n
“Excuse me. Were you “in country?”<\/p>\n
“Yes, I was.”<\/p>\n
“Thanks for your service; I’m glad you made it back, but I’m even more sorry that you had to go there at all.”<\/p>\n
“Don’t be sorry. Actually, I volunteered to go<\/em>.”<\/p>\n I was flabbergasted. Hardly anyone volunteered for that mess.<\/p>\n Boy, I have just met a real man,<\/em> I thought. We chatted for a minute or two about how senseless the whole thing was, and what a waste of human life it became. He wasn’t bitter, nor was he upset that he went to Vietnam and I didn’t.<\/p>\n “That’s why politicians don’t fight wars,” he told me.<\/p>\n I thanked him again, and we shook hands. Then I had to leave, because I could feel the tears coming.<\/p>\n And I thought of our two sons, and how I hope they never have to experience anything as pointless and pathetic as Vietnam.<\/p>\n I am not a hawk, nor am I a super-patriot. But I believe in being respectful when the National Anthem is played at ballgames. That means looking at the flag, with hand or cap over the heart, and taking a moment to remember those who sacrificed so much for the rest of us, so we can have our freedoms and have time to go to games.<\/p>\n “An awful lot of people gave it up so that we can be here today,” I have told my sons. “It only takes a minute to respect them and appreciate them. You don’t have to dwell on it, but don’t forget them, either.”<\/em><\/p>\n Unfortunately, wars continue to happen, so it seems that each generation has “its” war that it can identify with: World War II; Korea; Vietnam; the various Middle East conflicts; and on and on. I’m sure each generation has its own feelings about what it meant to serve during those times.<\/p>\n For persons of my age, Vietnam was that war. And one of the most moving experiences of my life was a visit to the Vietnam War memorial in Washington, D.C., a few years ago. As I walked along the wall and saw all the names of those who were killed in action, there were many people with heads bowed and eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n And there was silence. Total silence. For the length of the memorial. Not one word.<\/em><\/p>\n It was as though the grief and anger and sorrow was palpable; it was immersive. I’ll never forget it.<\/p>\n I hope the rest of us never forget it, either.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Some things — plenty of them, actually — are more important than baseball. This is one of them. The breakfast bar at Frisch’s Big Boy is one of my favorite places. It’s not exactly doctor-approved, […]<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1309","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","category-haughts-thoughts"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t