I graduated from high school in nineteen sixty-five - during the time of the Viet Nam war. I was not interested at that time of much beyond the Beatles and spending time with my friends. I did not like the news at all. It seemed every college campus was shaken by one protest or another, sit ins, angry words and even violence were part of those scenes.. We heard about all those who dodged the draft by finding other places to live, especially Canada. All of this swirled around me while I blissfully lived the life of a sheltered, parochial school graduate about to enter the job force and more worried about the wardrobe I would need for work than the difficult times through which my country was going.
After graduation I was offered a job as a secretary and my life became one of work, friends from school and new friends and experiences, as well as my mother's sudden illness. I began to hear and see more of the world around me. My boundaries were expanding and I was beginning to seek opportunities to build experience and social skills. One of those opportunities presented itself in the form of the United Service Organization (USO).
My new maturity caused me to pay much more attention to the world in which I lived. I became extremely upset by the treatment I saw the young men received who were returning from the war. They were insulted, called baby killers, and treated generally as unwanted. No one seemed to care.
The militant in me was born. I determined to do something to support those who were fighting for my country. The politics of the war meant nothing to me. With a father who had served during World War II and uncles who served during the Korean War, I was raised to love my country and feel deep gratitude and respect for those who sacrificed themselves to protect the freedoms we have. To show my support, I became a junior hostess at the chartered United Service Organization (USO), which was the officially recognized organization. We were called upon to provide a "home away from home" for the men and women serving in our military as well as the occasional foreign military personnel coming through the city. One weekly opportunity quickly became my favorite. Each Tuesday evening we traveled to the hospital at the Great Lakes Training Center.
We were given strict instructions. We were to visit with the wounded, talk to them about their families or girl friends, play board or card games, and even write letters for those who were unable to do so. We were never, under any circumstances, supposed to ask them what happened to them. If they started to tell us anything, we were to listen quietly, but ask no more of them. I was nervous the first time we went because I did not know what to expect. I had never seen a wound beyond a cut finger or skinned knee. Now I walked into a large ward where each bed held a young man with various injuries from head wounds to missing limbs. It was amazing to me that they were happy to see us enter, and willingly talked about everything but the war. Many weeks we traveled back to our center with tears in our eyes brought on by the things we had seen and the stories we heard. My heart was touched deeply by the sacrifices that had been made. The wounds were grievous to be sure, but the attitudes of these young men were remarkable. They were proud to have served their country.
Perhaps the experience that most impacted my life, however, was when we were invited to attend a dance at the mental health ward of the hospital. These were not the young men we were used to visiting, but men who were literally old enough to be our fathers, World War II and Korean veterans, who were suffering with what was then called "shell shock," or PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). These men were unable to enter back into society because what they experienced during the war was so traumatic. They were gentle, sweet men for the most part, who enjoyed spending time talking to us, dancing and enjoying the company of someone not connected to their medical conditions. Those visits changed my life.
The wounds with which our military return from war are long-lasting and life changing not only for them but their families as well. They will bravely work through painful rehabilitations without complaint. They are proud to serve and willingly set aside their hopes and dreams as they leave their families to spend time in conditions most of us would never abide. They depend on our continued support and love. The thought they are not forgotten carries many through the most difficult situation. When they return home, it is often hard for them to adjust. So many are physically wounded, but many more are wounded mentally. We cannot see those wounds, but they are very real.
I have been overjoyed to see the difference with which our military are being welcomed home during this time. It was so very different for those returning from Viet Nam. I never heard anyone tell a veteran from that war thank you for your service. We can never take back the way the men and women who served then were treated, but we certainly can say thank you now. I don't remember the names of the men I visited with at the hospital so many years ago. I hope that they were able to return to loving families who supported them as they healed. I pray those who suffered invisible wounds have found help to overcome. I'm sure most have, but I'm also sure many have not.
These wounded warriors changed my attitude and my life. I am proud to be a patriot. I am proud of the men and women who serve in our military and sacrifice so much. I'm deeply grateful for the families that support these faithful volunteers. I pray that we, as a country, never forget that what we have is due to the sacrifices so many made, and that we learn to be worthy of that sacrifice.
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