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Gil: Served with the First Cavalry Infantry 1967-68
Why I Write
I write because I like puzzles, and there is no greater puzzle than life.
I am Gil.
I want to dance with life,
Sometimes I dance like an idiot,
An elephant,
And a Fred Astaire.
Don’t They Know?
I can kill ‘em in so many ways
Without thinking, I can become a killer
God, help me stay here
I am here
Yet I am still there.
God, don’t let me hurt them,
Kill me first.
Silence!
I must not move
I must not lose it
Imagery of loved ones
Superimposed on memories of the dead and crippled,
Children and women of war
Leave me alone.
I am here,
I am there,
I am nowhere.
Letter to My Younger Self
Dear Gil,
You are wondering, “How will I be able to sleep without alcohol?” No easy answer, but I
know that you will find better ways than booze, and I am grateful that you will. Resilience, loyalty, self-determination and other character traits will carry you across the madness and injuries
of war and will serve you later – after the drinking stops. Once you give up drinking, the work
will begin and you will quiet the demons that mess with your sleep and mind, that isolate you
from others.
I know you are thinking, “Shut up! This is my life. I have to experience it for myself. You
can’t relive your life and be someone different by changing me.”
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I know you are thinking, “Shut up! This is my life. I have to experience it for myself. You
can’t relive your life and be someone different by changing me.”
I understand and respect that self-determination and resilience that makes you think
you can overcome anything. Don’t ever forget that I did. I, too, am hesitant telling you about
those wishful “do-over” moments that I sometimes wish for. Yet, all experience, the good and
the bad, helped make me who I am today. If you changed, there isn’t any guarantee that I
would exist today. I might disasppear.
Yet, I think that if you changed just a little bit – a little less angry, a little kinder to those
you love and others – you would find more good things going your way. You and I would still be
who we are, but perhaps just a little happier. Be kinder – as you might have been before you
were betrayed by country and church. More kindness would make you drink less while also
making you more tolerant and compassionate. That would make a world of difference and you
would still be you.
Perhaps you will hear me in this letter because today, I decided to be kinder and more
tolerant to you, my younger self. It will make our lives just a little more human.
– Older Gil
Coming Home, The World Has Changed
What a glorious day, I feel so alive. So often in war I dreamed of this, riding a trolley
where little cable cars climb half way to the stars, clam chowder for lunch, a dream come true.
The world has changed, alien in ways I don’t get, refreshing in others, nothing scary,
nothing threatening. It is good to be home.
The trolley fills beyond crowded. It stops and goes. People bump, bodies touch; no one seems
to care, but me. Habits die hard, internal alarms give warnings, the body forgets. I remind myself: No enemy here, war is in another world, far, far, away. I am here “half way to the stars…..”
And as I say the lyrics I am filled with gratitude, so good to be alive, so good to be here. I turn
and smile at the pretty girl who bumped me, accidents happen. I think of the wharf. Soon I will
be there. I’ll have that great chowder, just as I did, a lifetime ago; before I flew to do what soldiers do.
Habits die hard, I am aware of who get in, who is around me. I see families and singles,
tourists and residents, old and young, no enemy here. I am home and I enjoy the ride.
I feel a hand, I don’t attack, I don’t move... It’s the pretty girl’s hand. I know. I am
speechless and much too soon, her hand moves away. I wish for her touch again. The City goddess hears. Within moments, I feel her body shift; she moves a little more behind, a little more
closer and her hand a little more intimate. Her touch warms my heart. I wonder if she is a hippie, I wonder about many things but mostly I tuned into the sensation, my body quiets, I am in
peace.
I like her playful touching and intuitively know hippies are a good thing... I am so glad to
be home, no enemy here. The world has changed; girls aren’t what they used to be. No more
skirts below the knee, miniskirts are in, bras an optional accessory, women hit on men, women
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say what they want, no more guessing, no more stress. I love this women’s lib stuff - a change
worth fighting for
The trolley stops, the hippie girl gets off. An intimate friend leaves and no good-by, the
world has changed. I remain in joy; no doubt there are more women like her. I relax. I am
grateful for a little intimacy, for a world without war. So good to be home, to be in the real
world, I won’t think of that other world. I think of clam chowder and wonderful bread. I am
almost there, no longer a world away.
I order my soup, reach for my wallet, it isn’t there. I check my other pockets, no wallet
there. I remember the hippie, her playful manner and I laugh. The world has changed and an
ancient lesson learned, a wallet for a feel. I smile and wonder: How I will get home? Hungry,
no doubt.
Love Prayer
Love is freely given and freely received.
I cannot love what I need and I cannot love what I desire.
I can only love what is and not what I want it to be or need it to be.
Love me for who I am, not for my success, my failures, money, status.
That isn’t who I am.
I am the one who is walking a path that changes me everyday.
So love me for who I am right now.
Not who I was or whom who think I will become.
I will be a different person.
Love me as much as you are willing or able to give.
And receive.
And thou and I will be sacred to one another.
(Inspired by ‘Still I Rise’, a poem by Maya Angelou)
Out of human bondage
I rise
Up from dependent relationships
I rise
Leaving behind needs and wants
I rise
Into mutual freedom
I rise
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Rex: Former Hospital Corpsman and Grunt Corpsman, USMC
Why I Write
My writing is cathartic
And once I have written something
I know it to be a true reflection of what my life is, was, and always will be
A reflection.
In order to reflect,
I must project.
But I don’t consider myself a projectionist.
Reserve Duties
My father used to go away when I was a young boy for his reserve duties as a pilot. I do
recall how the radio in the house would then be turned on to the rock and roll station, and
songs like Telestar and Lightning Striking Again would play. For my dad had banned rock n roll
from the household. Fighting over radio stations and TV were common among my older siblings. But the sound of a prop plane overhead was always a comfort.
After a week or two of my dad being gone, the phone would ring and it would be the
control tower calling my mom to tell her my dad was 10 minutes out.
That was a cue for the whole family to go out on the lawn and listen for the drone of a 4
-prop airplane coming in low over the eucalyptus grove as my dad approached. The neighbors
would follow suit as they saw us outside looking up.
What a thrill it was to hear the approach and finally see my dad’s R5S clear the tops of
the trees – against all regulations – and come down low over the house with a roar as we
waved and I squealed with joy – That’s my dad!
That was also a cue to put the radio back on KABZ “In the Air Everywhere over the San
Francisco Bay.”
Love Is…
Love is all encompassing
And I do believe that love has a great deal to do
With the life force that sustains all things in the universe.
God is love…
Love is the greatest feeling one can own
But only temporarily and cannot be controlled
As all things in life seem to be fleeting
Love is something to accept humbly
And to let go of, as it needs to be spread evenly.
Love is never lost or won
But is a constant.
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In the Dawn
In the dawn, I have clawed and crawled with fin to feet
Up through sea and sand to land
Clutching clay
To play and sculpt with hand of ape and money sea
Back to spear and catch oblivious fishes
They of my forgotten come uppance.
The reward of such struggle
Through grass, glade and trees
Vine of jungle. Now it is (all) mine
It seems temporary, until my unforeseen demise.
That’ll be the time that cockroaches learn to drive
And they too will lose sight, lose their heads
and die of starvation
To pass the baton to another (per say)
A torch to light the path…The way
Towards and in to a beautiful, heartfelt extinction.
(Inspired by ‘Still I Rise’, a poem by Maya Angelou)
Out of the primordial ooze
I rise
Up from sea with feet
I rise
Leaving behind an ocean of struggle
I rise
Into a purifying flame
I rise.
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Tree: Veteran
Running With Bees
This happened at basic training in Port Smith, Virginia. I just turned 18. We were marching and it was August and it was hot. The sun was really coming down! Everyone was quiet, but
me. Everyone was taking orders, but me. That’s because I was being chased by bees. They were
swarming. They picked me. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I was the sweetest.
I ran from formation in the other direction. The drill leader started yelling and everyone
else was laughing.
I had many run-ins after that with the drill leader because I was being myself.
I joined the Navy to get away from home. To get freedom.
I pursue freedom all the time.
I was a wild one! At least, I used to be.
Going Home
Get me out of here!
I will take me out of the world I grew up in
I began by going Navy.
The Navy ended
And I was told by doctors:
Go home to your parents.
Get me out of here!
That was on my mind
As soon as I walked into the door
Of my parents’ home.
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Mike: Veteran
Why I Write
Eat, drink, write.
We write to feed our souls.
Writing is a journey with friends and family.
It is love.
It is joy.
It is said, “So shall it be written, so shall it be done.”
So you write, therefore you are.
I write, therefore I am.
Letter to My Younger Self
Dear Younger Self,
Don’t eat that burrito!
No, seriously, it all works out. You don’t get everything in your life that you dreamed of,
but like that burrito, there were a lot of heavenly moments, with the odd one thrown in that
gave you gas.
I also want to remind you that success means nothing without someone you love to
share it with. And I need to add that success is a process, and that going with the flow of life
and not against it, will be how you define yourself.
Those old clichés ring true. You do need to stop and smell the roses. In time, you figure
that out, but there is more to that phrase than just slowing things down. It means enjoy life as it
comes, and be a lot more like the grasshopper in that Aesop’s fable than the diligent ant. In
other words, sometimes you should eat dessert first.
Work for the sake of work is no virtue. So relish more moments, never stop exploring and
spend as much time as you can with your loved ones. If there’s a choice between love and career – choose love. It’s the only thing that has the potential to last. Choose career and you’ll
have far more money, but will be poorer for it.
So absorb all of life’s experience. Let what you see, hear, taste and feel guide you, and
you will accomplish great things. I would just add that when you hit a bump that fragments
your energy and saps your strength, it’s the little things that put you back together. So remember, it’s the small comforts you take along the way that make the memories worthwhile.
Oh, and though I was just kidding about that burrito, I am not kidding about your dentist. Find a good one and see him often, and you will be smiling late in life while your friends
and family deal with the sins of their past.
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Just one more thing. Skiing will be important to your future, so invest in some lessons
now and you’ll enjoy the payoff later.
Love you deeply, and you’ll be seeing me soon.
Mike
Coming Home
Sleeping late
Is really great
Feeling free at liberty.
Now I’m home
And all alone
Friends and family all around
With me hating every sound.
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Bob H: United States Air Force, Vietnam era
Why I Write
When I write out the thoughts I am trying to convey, I feel more confident people will
understand them than if I try to explain it verbally.
I cannot believe how often, for instance, something’s been put into my medical records
that is the opposite of what I was trying to convey.
Some of us were injured by one of our own in a purely non-combative situation. And
have never been able to express our voices.
What’s That?
I looked out the kitchen window
like I had done so many times before
And I knew I would do so many times since
so routine
I must have seen that scene before
but it really caught my eyes this time.
It was just some high school students waiting for the school bus
a daily event
But that day it looked different.
it was alive.
They seemed to be happy, friendly
they seemed to be relating to one another
The gals’ long hair so beautiful
the guys’ smiles so inviting.
Had I been part of this once?
it was just outside the front door.
Was it a mirage or a dream?
was it real?
Suddenly it hit me
they were happy
so full of life
How could they be?
I wasn’t.
Couldn’t you mourn with me?
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Letter to Younger Self
Dear Bob,
Please give me a few minutes. I know there is a lot going on, almost all bad, and maybe I
can give you a little insight on what I have learned.
So much has happened to you; I know it is overwhelming. You are very angry about it,
and I don’t blame you. The thoughts of killing somebody are there, I know. So is the pain of every movement of your body. Also, every thought. It’s very sad.
I know you have been rejected by almost everybody you ever knew. Please consider
some things I want to tell you. It might help a little in the future. No, I’m not going to tell you all
that will happen, but I want to share some of what I have learned.
You have pain and damage in three areas and all three are real. You are well aware of
your new physical limitations because of pain and injury. The good news – now that you are out
of the military – is that you can get more than one item worked on at the same time. I wish I
would have documented more of what was happening to me at your age.
The second area is what has happened to you mentally. You were knocked out. You
have what is called a Traumatic Brain Injury. That is why you have memory issues. Your eyesight
is shot. You can’t balance on a horse or a bicycle like you used to. What you are not aware of
yet is the reason you are always tired. Your brain sometimes forgets to tell you to breath. That
is also why sometimes you gasp for a breath.
The third area is a little more confusing. Because of what happened, you have some
emotional issues. This is what is causing you so much trouble relating, keeping a job and why no
gal is willing to put up with you. But don’t panic. You will not starve by being out of work. Also,
off in the future is someone who will actually marry you. She has issues of her own and that will
put pressure on your relationship, but she will be supportive at some very critical times.
I know you are wondering why all this happened. The training instructor that kept calling you “College Boy” must have really resented you, so he raped and tormented you to belittle
you and make himself feel better. It caused you to lose your self-esteem and any hope of the
future. You may not see that yet, but that is what is going on. I know it’s scary.
There will be people, even medical providers at the Veterans Administration, who will
not understand you, and you will find inaccurate information in your medical records. Don’t
give in to their shortcomings. Hold on to what you know is the truth. I don’t know what the ulti
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mate outcome of your life will be, but hang in there. In time, you will have some friends around
you that understand and support you. They will have their own issues, and that is why they can
help.
I wish none of this had happened and I wish I could make it all go away. I’m so very sorry. It’s okay to cry. It might even help.
– An Older Bob
(Inspired by ‘Still I Rise’, a poem by Maya Angelou)
Out of when life didn’t seem to even exist
I rise
Up from the restraints of past events
I rise
Leaving behind the scars of experiences
I rise
Into actively living again
I rise.
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Bobby O: United States Marine Corps
Why I Write
A way to put to paper my thoughts that could last forever.
A part of me.
Fiction is in part a way of building air castles.
Mine.
Writing is sometimes you or me can’t help but do.
Writing means showing your inner-self
That you would like others to see.
Letter to My Younger Self
I am writing this letter to you when you were seventeen. You had written a song which
was stolen from you, but you didn’t know that at the time.
You were in a love affair, which at first was neat, but soon went sour because of age
differences. You will always love your first love, which caused you to quit school and drink a
lot. I wish I could have been there to stop you and help you go through that phase of your life.
Your first car was next. You went to work with your dad. How proud you were that
your dad trusted you with $5,000. People trusted you and that was your best trait, and you
learned all that from your dad. I don’t think I could have helped you with that.
On your 18th birthday, you and your friend Edwin decided to join the Marines. All
through boot camp, you were together. After that, he went to one base and I reported to
Camp Pendleton for advanced combat training. That was a three month course and very hard.
When I was your age, all I wanted to be was just like my dad.
Now that I am in my golden years, I still have that same desire.
Have a great life.
To Bob from Bob
These writings are the product of a series of workshops held September through October
2014 at the Menlo Park VA Medical Center. The workshops, with author Jill Wolfson, were
designed to give veterans the tools to examine and tell their stories through the written
word. The workshops were part of War Comes Home, a state wide series of events
sponsored by Cal Humanities.
In Palo Alto, sponsors included the Palo Alto Library, the Palo Alto Art Center, Palo Alto
Unified School District, VA Palo Alto Health System, the Friends of the Palo Alto Library, and
American Legion Post 558.