My Vietnam Journal post from April 1970 doesn't particularly show that I have poetry writing talent, but it does indicate that I tried! I agreed with myself, after a serious argument, in which I lost, to go ahead and post these on my blog:

The Young Years:

I sit cross-legged among the white spring flowers
Growing outside our age-old house.
Too young to realize it needs paint
And patches on the roof to keep it from leaking when it rains.
The tin roof, above the kitchen
Where my mother is busy cooking
Over a wood-burning stove
Is rusty and sags to one side.
The chimney is cracked and falling in at the top
I'm too young to be aware of these things
I only know my feather bed is soft and warm
When the nights get cold.
My interest lies only
With the piece of soft White Pine I'm whittling on.
I'm not carving anything
I don't even know what carving is!
I'm only watching the shavings pile up
I can hear the wind whistling
Through the pine trees on the west forty.
I can hear the chickens
Scratching around in the dirt for bugs
And the singing of birds in the trees.
I can see the honeybees
Going from flower to flower
Then flying away again.
I was at peace with myself
Until I cut my hand
And saw that I was bleeding.

Sadness on the Front:

Clad only in briefs
I lay on a simple bunk
In a simple, cluttered room.
The cool breeze of a fan
Blows across my half-sleeping form.
The noises from jet engines and machine guns
Keep me from a peaceful sleep.
There's a war going on
But I am dreaming now.
In my semi-conscious state
I call her name...
She does not answer
Why can't she hear me?
I see her standing right there!
I reach out to take her hand
But she's not there.
Where did she go?
I toss and turn.
All of a sudden I find her;
She's lying beside me.
From the light of the moon
I can see her eyes
Soft and warm upon mine
Her long hair lies tangled
On the white pillow.
I touch her skin and it feels cool
To my warm hand.
She's beautiful
Her lips are sweet and moist
And the alarm clock shatters the early dawn.
It's another day in Vietnam....

Phu Cat, Vietnam,
Journal entry for:

April 23, 1970:
"It's a beautiful evening, even if it is a bit warm! I sat outside for a while looking at the stars and thinking about you; wishing we were together. It was very nice outside. This evening, Don and I cooked some pork chops on our barbeque pit and that was fun. We mixed up our own sauce with some odds and ends we found. I guess we used too much ketchup because that's what we mostly tasted! But it was pretty good.
"Old Stupid (our German Shepherd mascot), came around putting on his begging act so I had to give him some. I can't stand to see a grown dog cry! He's a real weird dog. I can easily see why he was named "Stupid".
We give him food and he usually takes it out and buries it somewhere and then forgets where! Crazy dog! He gets drunk with all the guys so I guess booze keeps him going! That's one thing he can't bury! He's the only beer-drinking dog I've ever seen that's particular about the brand! He won't touch the cheap kind! Imagine that!! Good 'Ol Stupid!
"Yea, I guess it was kind of mean for us to sell that Monkey to another GI. But he sort of deserved it. He was drunk at the time so maybe that will teach him a lesson...I think it's funny!
"I almost got my early out disapproved today. Luckily I went out to Ops and talked them out of it! So today I asked for August 16, we'd have to wait and see what happens... poor Mike never got a chance to get his. Don and I were really shaken up about that because we thought he might have made it. We're going to send his wife some money for flowers or whatever she wants to do with it. I'm sure the gang in Germany will do the same, because they always have when something like this happened. I know Mike would appreciate it."

April 26, 1970:
"You know, after what happened to Mike, I'm almost afraid to fly anymore. I'd give anything to have this war end. Not only for me but also for the sake of all the other GI's here. Did I tell you about us who knew Mike, setting up a little trust fund for his child? Well, I'll tell you again. Don called down to Pleiku to get his home addsress so we could send flowers and a guy there said something about setting up this trust fund for college. All the guys there are in on it, as well as his friends in Germany. There are some here who will contribute including some who don't even know him. The Security Service is a closely-knit organization and when something like this happens, everone wants to help. I think our organization is one of the best and we have a bunch of great guys in it!
"I'm sure having it rough trying to get my early out. It was disapproved again today. That's the second time in a week! But I put in for it again. This time it's for the 20th of August."

April 27, 1970:
"...I'm flying again in the morning at 9:35. I have Wednesday off! I can't stand it! I'm actually getting a day off! I've been working since last Thursday. That's 6 out of 7. After tomorrow I'll have 62 missions behind me. Those I don't worry about...it's the next 62 that bother me! Actually it doesn't bother me all that much; it's when I start THINKING about it....!"

I almost let it slip by......

Memories are those things in your brain that linger for a long time, whether they be good or bad. I'm not sure why we can remember some things forever, yet so easily forget other things before we have time to turn and walk away. One thing that burns into our minds are those events we call tragedies.

The following are exurbs from my Vietnam Journal written 36 years ago.....

April 21, 1970:
"...I can look out the window (of my EC-47 Airplane) almost anywhere and see fighting going on down on the ground. There are lots of flares down there lighting up the area. From here they look like big stars. I can see tracer rounds and mortars exploding all around. And the war goes on. We are a little too high for them to shoot at us but it has been known to happen...".

April 22, 1970:L
"I'm feeling a bit down this evening. Remember that friend of mine, Mike Conner, in Pleiku? He's the one besides Tom and I who were trying for that early out. Well, I have some bad news. He was flying today and his plane went down. We haven't any definite news on what happened but word has it that it was shot down. You know he does the same work and flies the same planes I do. They (the people here) don't know if he is dead or not, but they think he is. There were 6 guys on the plane... four parachuted out and were picked up by helicopter. Mike and the pilot crash landed...and 15 minutes later the plane caught on fire. Maybe they were still in it...we don't know. I can't be sure but some guys say he's dead. I am shocked to say the least. I've known him since Germany and it's really bad when something like this hits close to "home". He and I were pretty close; so is Tom.
We all three ran around together in Texas. Mike and I were always going to the lake every chance we got. We would go fishing almost every evening. We even went to Mexico together. You know that picture of me that was taken at the lake? He took it. I just hope and pray he's alive somewhere. He may get captured but at least he'll be alive! It's sad, too, because he's married and his wife is expecting. It's really shocking! We fly over here all the time because we have to. And we try to make ourselves believe it's real safe. So things go smoothly for a long time and we've convinced ourselves so well that it's like in the states. We feel just as safe flying as we would going out for a Sunday drive to the lake. Then this happens. A lot of guys are shaken up...myself included. It isn't quite as bad as it could be. If it had been a plane from this unit, things would be very shaky for us. I would be afraid to step onto another plane! So would a dozen other guys. I guess people have to die in a war, even your friends. That's why they say, "War is hell". Well, enough of that. I just hope he's safe."

DON’T PARK
HEAR
STUPID

A few years ago, our company was one of several Sub-Contractors involved in the construction of the new Parkrose High School. One day, as I pulled my Service Van into the construction site to drop off a roll of blueprints, I parked in front of the General Contractor’s Modular Office space, alongside other commercial vehicles. Unknowingly, I was apparently parked in an empty, unmarked spot claimed by the General Contractor’s Superintendent as his own personal parking place.

My short visit with one of the General’s engineers ended up being 15 minutes longer than I had anticipated, as we were friends and fellow Scout leaders. As I left his office and approached the driver’s side of my van, I noticed this misspelled inscription drawn in the dirty film covering my door: “DON’T PARK HEAR STUPID”.

The very fact that we were all professional people, doing a professional job, building a facility of higher education with a well known General Contracting firm employing highly skilled, well educated, supervisors scrawling words in the dirt on my van with a scrawny finger, that told more of his educational achievements than any employment interview could have, caused me to laugh out loud! I couldn’t wait to run back inside the office to bring out my well educated engineering friend and show him the love letter I received from his boss! He laughed uncomfortably and went back inside.

Had the General simply scrawled down a few words telling me not to park in his space, this would not have been so funny. But the fact that he chose to call me "stupid", following a mis-spelled word, made this the most laughable event all year!

As I drove away, I couldn’t keep myself from laughing! I thought this was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time! It made my day! In fact, I decided to avoid washing my van for a few days to see if other people thought it was as funny; several people did!

I submitted this to Reader's Digest a few days ago. It will be interesting to see if this laugh is worth $200 or not.....

The joy of children....

Years ago I never thought I would love children as much as I do. I suppose it was something that I had to grow into to get to where I am today. Children are a big part of my world. I can't seem to get enough of their smiles, laughter, antics, interaction, love, friendship, simplicity, joy and so many other emotions that come from sharing time with them. I feel like I'm an advocate for children.....wanting to be available for them if they need me, or need something. Inside of me I feel like a protector, a prayer warrior, a mentor, a friend, a dad or a champion for them.

Over the years I have been a Bible School Teacher from 3rd graders through high schoolers, a Cub Master, and a Scout Master. I've read books to litle ones, rocked the babies and sang to them, changed diapers (not a fun job) and wrestled with the todlers, making them laugh. I've taken kids to the Zoo, Nature Preserves, Lakes, Camping, Theme Parks and Carnivals; we've been

on mountain hikes and backpacking trips, bicycle rides and snow skiing trips. I've played with them at the Beach, streams, lakes, in the snow, the rain and the sunshine. I suppose there are countless other ways I've had fun and interacted with kids. They are a special people who are probably closer to God than any other people on earth.

Those who missuse and abuse kids are perhaps the lowest of the low life and I have no place for them in mine. They have given themselves over to satan and their fate is in God's hands. I can neither respect them nor love them except with God's love. I do not care for those who abuse others, especially children, nor respect people who protect the abusers.

I am a watcher. I notice not only the kids playing in parks or along the streets, but I notice cars driving by and the drivers. Those who slow down and stare at children are given closer scrutiny by this watcher. I memorize their faces and write down license numbers......just in case. I don't believe a champion for children can be too vigilant.

God entrusted us with many of His blessings. Among those are His children. It is my duty to help them. It is also a joy and a blessing for me to have fun with them. I believe all of us are protectors of all children, especially our own and those of our families. How can we be any different?