There’s always something to howl about.

A Veteran’s Journey Home

It was Christmas Eve December 24, 1967, and he stood in front of his parents house for the first time in 21 months since he had left to serve his country in Vietnam.

The cool San Francisco fog was a pleasant change from the sticky Mekong Delta heat that he had endured less than 28 hours earlier.

While pleasant and welcoming, the faint background sounds of traffic and sea gulls confused his heightened sense of awareness.

Trying to gain a perspective of his new surreal, yet familiar surroundings, this 23 year-old kid paused at the bottom of the long steps that led up to his front door….

Can I look my own mother in the eyes without letting her see right through to the pain and fear that is hidden just beyond this external shell of a man?

It had only been weeks, or days, or maybe even minutes since he raced to stop the bleeding and save another brother’s life.

As a Field Medic, he had been trained to maintain composure while holding a dying man’s hand, yet the Army never prepared him for when he returned to the real world.

His mind drifted back to the day his father dropped him off at the bus station when he was heading off to boot camp.

A solid man, who fought back tears as he explained to his son that he joined the fight in World War II so his children wouldn’t have to.

Will his return open up wounds that his father spent years healing? Does he even have to share his story with his Veteran dad, or will he already know the ending?

He took the first three steps…. only 8 more to go before he has to face his future.

A soft bed, secure behind locked doors was motivating him to gently move up a few more steps, only stopping for a brief moment as he cringed with the thought of his prior sleeping conditions.

Nights were either spent in a foxhole infested with fire ants, or on moonlit missions into the jungle rooting out ambushes. Either way, the thought of a full 12 hours of sleep in his own bed overcame his prior anxieties as he neared the top of the front porch.

What would he remember, or how would he be remembered?

As he took his trembling hands away from his weathered face, he realized that he had been kneeling on the first step the entire time.

Looking up, he saw his parents standing in the open doorway with welcoming arms waiting for him to complete his long journey home.

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The happy ending to this story is that my father finally made it up those steps and went on to raise a great family.

While he continues to struggle with the questions and answers about those 21 months of his life, he has made this world a better place by sharing his compassion and love with everyone that he meets.

On this Veterans Day, I’d like to thank my father, grandfathers, uncles and their wives and children whom have sacrificed their lives so that I may have the freedom to sit here and blog about it.

VietNamWall