“The helplessness I felt when the bombs exploded, and mustard gas crept like ground fog into our trenches is hard to describe,” my Great-Uncle Leo said as we painted his barn red. After I dropped out of college, I became… Continue Reading
The day of the funeral, it fails to rain. It would be easier to bear if the sky wept with us. Instead, sunlight and warmth touch every corner of our mountains, flicker on every tree leaf, fill each breeze. A… Continue Reading
It’s like a jungle in the clouds and there’s this fog — like rain, except it’s not raining. Everything is wet and tangled, and the angles of vision are slightly distorted. Walking point, I can hear sounds that come from… Continue Reading
He had been cut this bad once before. In the Central Highlands, a punji stick had jabbed him below the knee. It had gone in less than an inch, but the feces that the VC had smeared on it had… Continue Reading
April 30th, 1972 I came home. It wasn’t the warm welcome that I had expected. What I expected was the abundance of romance and cheering that my father had told me about after he returned home from Germany at the… Continue Reading