Bridges

Vietnam Memorial, Washington, D.C.

I was having a tough time sleeping recently, I think it may have been around 3 a.m. You know, one of those nights when there is something on your mind and you just can’t seem to fall back to sleep. The photograph above kept popping into my head. It is a section of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. from a visit there a few years back.

The reflection on the granite panel is me taking a picture of a name on the memorial. The name is that of a young man from my hometown back in 1967, I was only 12 years old. I believe he was about the 20th soldier from our area killed at the time. That number would climb to more than 50 from our area before the war ended.

I’m not quite sure why this particular photograph popped into my head in the middle of the night, especially at 3 a.m. I may have glanced over it recently when looking for a photograph for another post I was working on. It was important to me though to capture these thoughts I was having. To hell with a good nights sleep, I got up, made some coffee and sat down to do some writing.

I frequently try and start my journal entries or blog posts with thoughts of a single word. Today, that word was, “Bridges!” When I started to write on this early morning I knew I had a direct connection to the name of this young man. I remember exactly where I was when I learned of his death. I was a paperboy back in 1967, one of his brothers was too. Friends of his brother, some of the older boys, were talking about him being killed in Vietnam.

The normal horseplay that would go on at the paper stop was absent on this late afternoon. Instead it was replaced by the loudest, solemn, silence I had ever witnessed back then. We were all just kids, he was just a kid for God’s sake, so many kids in that war!

The Paper Stop

This photograph above is a picture of the paper stop I was at 54 years ago. I went there this morning and took this picture, it is nearly identical to how it looked on that day back in November of 1967. I knew as soon as I saw the picture of the Vietnam Memorial I would think of this exact spot, I do every time I see it. I also knew this area would be nearly the same as it was back then. The paper stop is in a public park that still exits, there is a public library just to the right of this picture, it too is still there.

The park itself has changed somewhat over the years, but this spot has remained as if frozen in time. Sure the trees have gotten bigger, some gone, others new. But like the young man’s name etched on the memorial, this “bridge” of events is still here for the ages.

Driving down there on this morning, I knew I would be reliving my own personal history from back then. I only lived a couple of streets away from this exact spot. Another bridge to this place in history. I played in this park nearly everyday back then, it was what we did. A greater calling took that young man to his final destination. In a sense we both returned home, he back then, myself 54 years later.

I remembered his mother from over the years taking part in both the Memorial Day and July Fourth parades. She was with the group of Gold Stars Mother’s from the local area. In the early part of her participation I remembered the proud smile she wore marching down the street. So happy to be representative of his ultimate sacrifice on these special celebrations.

I also remember the changes in her own looks over the years. I had become a grown man now, with children of my own. Her broad smile had aged into a solemness that only age can bring to all of us. Surely there were memories of her own, and a realization that age eventually brings all of us together, again!

Indeed, life is a bridge. All beginning with our birth and most often the happiest of moments. The journey begins as we all make our way across the bridge until we eventually make it to the other side, some sooner than others, and others way to soon!

Talk soon…

G