PROLOGUE:
A WAR IS A WAR IS A WAR…
Welcome to the United States. The one country that feels the need to muddle in everyone’s affairs. We cannot hold our tongue we just express our opinion no matter who we hurt or think needs to hear it. The country leading the charge! The only free country on earth! The only place, it seems, that “mind your own business” means “it’s ok, they’re home, don’t bother to knock.” So is the case in late 1955 when the United States tossed its hat into the ring and jumped into the Vietnam War.
Vietnam is significant to my story because I personally lost a lot from that war, indirectly. Yes, it was a war, not a fucking conflict. For the war deniers, respectfully regardless of who you are, you have no earthly idea what the hell you are talking about until you grew up in a home with an abusive Vietnam Vet dealing with his own demons.
It was in 1967 when my mother lost hope. In her search for it she and my aunt, her middle sister, decided to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Louisiana. Back then, during the war, many guys were coming home in a box or worse, not at all. Many women were left to fend for themselves in a time that women were expected to keep a tidy house, raise kids & be a wife. My mother panicked. She had no education and no work skills to speak of. She was scared. Many women were scared in 1967. She made a huge mistake that shaped hers & my life forever.
Drunk and partying with her sister my mother’s depression got the best of her. She did the unthinkable. The two young women picked up 2 sailors in town just off the ship and went to a hotel room for the night. That night my mother cheated on my father who was serving his country in Vietnam. From that point on she carried the guilt and inflicted it upon me for numerous years in various ways.
In late 1967 my father came home from his tour in Vietnam to hatred, political bullshit and protests. They spit on him and called him a baby killer. He was treated like shit, even though this “war” was not his idea or cause. My mother & father reunited and were still married. The happy reunion was short lived.
For the most part, my mother was an honest person. My father used to say that she was so honest it hurt. Since my father was home, safe & sound and obviously not going back to war, my mother had a confession to make. She told him about the one-night stand & the trip to New Orleans with my aunt. He was furious, most likely distraught and angry enough to kill. That night he raped my mother and I’m the product of that rape.
This biography delves into a dysfunctional upper middle-class family. This is my story. To me it seems surreal at times, unbelievable at others and reads like a bad episode of “As The World Turns”. I write this in hopes that it may help someone to have hope where there is no hope and find love where there is no love.
