THE WALL OF FACES

It takes place in the front yard of a house located in Coosa Court of Childersburg Alabama, where we living when he left. A brown haired man cut into a flat top dressed in black slacks and a red golfing shirt is building a swing set. The frame is erected and he is diligently working to hang the chains for the seats and a doubled benched swing that sat at the end of the frame. He keeps telling me to wait because I am trying to play on it as he is tightening the nuts for the eye bolts that hold the chains at the top. He can't get anything done and is constantly taking me by the arm and laughing as he is instructing me to stand back to let him finish. I am impervious to his instruction and insist on perching myself onto the bench swing. He finally gives in and tightens the nuts that attach it to the frame, all the while making sure that I remain still and don't fall out of the swing and hurt myself. It is summer, he's sweating and standing tall over me with his arms stretched out above my head turning the wrenches in the background of a clear blue sky. The smell of fresh cut grass is in the air and there is a hint of moisture covering the blades from a sun shower that had just fallen minutes before. His tan is dark, his smile is bright and his sweat drops are dripping down on me from his face as he leans further in to tighten the nuts. I am happy and can't wait to swing wildly as high and as fast as I can on my brand new swing set that my father is building. He wants to play golf and is anxious to finish so he can meet my mom's brother for tee off. It is said that he had a slice so bad that he would line up his drive stance facing to the left of the fairway as to offset the degree of his slice. He wasn't a very good golfer but enjoyed it just the same.
The house is the same house where I remember two soldiers knocking on the front door. My mom was in the kitchen with my grandmother crying and screaming for them to go away. I was three and didn't understand why she was sad. I stood silent in the living room just a few feet away from the door wondering if I should open it to the two soldiers. I decided to hide instead.

It was like a dream.

FOREVER REMEMBERED

"If you are able, save for them a place inside of you....and save one backward glance when you are leaving for the places they can no longer go.....Be not ashamed to say you loved them....
Take what they have left and what they have taught you with their dying and keep it with your own....And in that time when men decide and feel safe to call the war insane, take one moment to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind...."

Quote from a letter home by Maj. Michael Davis O'Donnell
KIA 24 March 1970. Distinguished Flying Cross: Shot down and Killed while attempting to rescue 8 fellow soldiers surrounded by attacking enemy forces.

We Nam Brothers pause to give a backward glance, and post this remembrance to you , one of the gentle heroes and patriots lost to the War in Vietnam:

Slip off that pack. Set it down by the crooked trail. Drop your steel pot alongside. Shed those magazine-ladened bandoliers away from your sweat-soaked shirt. Lay that silent weapon down and step out of the heat. Feel the soothing cool breeze right down to your soul ... and rest forever in the shade of our love, brother.

From your Nam-Band-Of-Brothers

You are remembered this day. Bless you and your family.