December 7

It occurs to me that, thirty-nine years ago, at about this very hour, I returned home to St. Louis from Vietnam.   I always remember it because it’s Pearl Harbor Day.

One day a rocket flew right over our hooch.   The next day we were down on the coast, checking out of the Nam.   The day after that, I was in Ft. Lewis.   That day after that, I was taking the first hot bath — or for that matter shower, or hot anything — I had taken in six months.

Thirty-nine years.   Thirty-nine years.   I feel so sad that life is so short, and so grateful that it is so beautiful.

Filed under: John Samuel Tieman, Prose