Gabriel Andrew
Last Saturday night, we went to the VFW club to have a drink after dinner. The crowd consisted of me, Bruce, the bartender, and the manager. It was too early for the younger crowd, and many of the older crowd who used to populate the place are now dead.
A young guy accompanied by an older one came in - both looking like maybe they had stopped a few places before showing up there. The bartender checked the ID of the young man and seemed to know the older one - I think his name was John.
"What are you drinking she said?"
"How about a Hot Damn?" John asked.
The young man said his name was Gabe "Gabriel Andrew after my grandfather". He was quiet and the bartender gave him a coke while he made up his mind on what else he might want to drink. I think she could sense that he had already had enough and another drink was not what he needed.
"He just got back from Iraq" the older guy, John, explained. "He was in the Marines".
"Shut up Bro, I don't want to talk about it" Gabe said.
"It's okay, these are friends, you are home and you are safe". Looking at us he said "He saw some of his buddies get killed. He saw some bad shit".
"Shut the F... up" Gabe said with some force. I was worried he would go off and maybe get violent. But his eyes looked more sad than violent. He looked like he was remembering, or maybe trying to forget that which he did not want to talk about.
John explained that they had drunk a bottle of Oouzo - apparently his way of helping Gabe forget what he had been through just a few months ago. He told us that he was a Vietnam Veteran and Gabe's uncle. Gabe's father had been a Vietnam Veteran as well. "I just wanted to take him out and help him to forget - and to have a good time" John said. Gabe did not seem to be having a good time at all.
"I am not proud of some of the things I did" Gabe offered up. "We were in an attic and it was 140 degrees and there were these guys and tracer fire. Do you know about tracer fire?" he asked Bruce. He seemed comforted a little, that Bruce did know what they were. "I am proud of the Marines though", he added."We did what we had to do."
His uncle said "I know what you have been through. We had heat and humidity in the jungles of Vietnam. You are home now and you have to forget. You are safe."
"Shut up!" Gabe repeated, looking down at his coke, tears in his eyes. I figured he was the age of my oldest son - about 26. I later found out he was only 24.
The bartender wrote down the name of the Veteran Service officer and offered it to him. "This guy can help you - maybe you need someone you can talk to", she said.
"He doesn't need that", his uncle said. "He can come in here and talk to people who know what he's been through". He doesn't need to go talk to a stranger who will try to analyze him, that's not going to help".
Gabe took the paper, folded it up and put it in his wallet. I wondered if he would remember what it was for the next day. But maybe he wasn't as far gone as his uncle. Maybe it was the uncle who wanted to forget. He probably never got any help either...Vietnam Vets were even less likely to get help than Iraq veterens are. PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder wasn't even recognized then. Even now, the government denies that agent orange had any effect on anyone. Tell that to our friend who has COPD and some other skin disease. Tell that to the higher than normal number of Vietnam Vets who have ALS. Tell it to those veterans who can't forget and it has affected their lives in not so good ways because they can't forget and because not enough people cared.
None of us know what Gabe has been through...not my sweet husband, or John, the uncle, both Vietnam Vets, nor the guy who came in later who was a Korean war Vet. I suspect war is experienced differently by everyone and it is probably never a good experience.
I got down from the bar stool and asked Gabe if I could give him a hug. I did not know what else to do for his pain that was damn near palpable and certainly visible. Bruce took his glasses off and wiped his eyes. Gabe let me hug him. I didn't say anything -just went and sat back down.
I thought about the thousands of young boys, and young girls, the ages of my sons, who were sent to war to witness things and do things they should not have to do at their age or ever and maybe never really know why.
The emotional effects of this war and others are not something you read about often. We read in the paper about those who are killed, but we aren't even allowed to see pictures of the coffins being unloaded from planes. Besides the thousands killed so far, there are thousands more who are maimed physically. But the numbers who are changed forever, maimed emotionally, and who can't sleep at night and who drink to forget are not mentioned. And they are not helped enough either. What kind of country do we live in? Sometimes I am so ashamed. I hope Gabriel Andrew doesn't become one of the many homeless Vets who at 24 drinks or does drugs to forget what they don't want to talk about but should. I wish our government cared more about helping them.
A young guy accompanied by an older one came in - both looking like maybe they had stopped a few places before showing up there. The bartender checked the ID of the young man and seemed to know the older one - I think his name was John.
"What are you drinking she said?"
"How about a Hot Damn?" John asked.
The young man said his name was Gabe "Gabriel Andrew after my grandfather". He was quiet and the bartender gave him a coke while he made up his mind on what else he might want to drink. I think she could sense that he had already had enough and another drink was not what he needed.
"He just got back from Iraq" the older guy, John, explained. "He was in the Marines".
"Shut up Bro, I don't want to talk about it" Gabe said.
"It's okay, these are friends, you are home and you are safe". Looking at us he said "He saw some of his buddies get killed. He saw some bad shit".
"Shut the F... up" Gabe said with some force. I was worried he would go off and maybe get violent. But his eyes looked more sad than violent. He looked like he was remembering, or maybe trying to forget that which he did not want to talk about.
John explained that they had drunk a bottle of Oouzo - apparently his way of helping Gabe forget what he had been through just a few months ago. He told us that he was a Vietnam Veteran and Gabe's uncle. Gabe's father had been a Vietnam Veteran as well. "I just wanted to take him out and help him to forget - and to have a good time" John said. Gabe did not seem to be having a good time at all.
"I am not proud of some of the things I did" Gabe offered up. "We were in an attic and it was 140 degrees and there were these guys and tracer fire. Do you know about tracer fire?" he asked Bruce. He seemed comforted a little, that Bruce did know what they were. "I am proud of the Marines though", he added."We did what we had to do."
His uncle said "I know what you have been through. We had heat and humidity in the jungles of Vietnam. You are home now and you have to forget. You are safe."
"Shut up!" Gabe repeated, looking down at his coke, tears in his eyes. I figured he was the age of my oldest son - about 26. I later found out he was only 24.
The bartender wrote down the name of the Veteran Service officer and offered it to him. "This guy can help you - maybe you need someone you can talk to", she said.
"He doesn't need that", his uncle said. "He can come in here and talk to people who know what he's been through". He doesn't need to go talk to a stranger who will try to analyze him, that's not going to help".
Gabe took the paper, folded it up and put it in his wallet. I wondered if he would remember what it was for the next day. But maybe he wasn't as far gone as his uncle. Maybe it was the uncle who wanted to forget. He probably never got any help either...Vietnam Vets were even less likely to get help than Iraq veterens are. PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder wasn't even recognized then. Even now, the government denies that agent orange had any effect on anyone. Tell that to our friend who has COPD and some other skin disease. Tell that to the higher than normal number of Vietnam Vets who have ALS. Tell it to those veterans who can't forget and it has affected their lives in not so good ways because they can't forget and because not enough people cared.
None of us know what Gabe has been through...not my sweet husband, or John, the uncle, both Vietnam Vets, nor the guy who came in later who was a Korean war Vet. I suspect war is experienced differently by everyone and it is probably never a good experience.
I got down from the bar stool and asked Gabe if I could give him a hug. I did not know what else to do for his pain that was damn near palpable and certainly visible. Bruce took his glasses off and wiped his eyes. Gabe let me hug him. I didn't say anything -just went and sat back down.
I thought about the thousands of young boys, and young girls, the ages of my sons, who were sent to war to witness things and do things they should not have to do at their age or ever and maybe never really know why.
The emotional effects of this war and others are not something you read about often. We read in the paper about those who are killed, but we aren't even allowed to see pictures of the coffins being unloaded from planes. Besides the thousands killed so far, there are thousands more who are maimed physically. But the numbers who are changed forever, maimed emotionally, and who can't sleep at night and who drink to forget are not mentioned. And they are not helped enough either. What kind of country do we live in? Sometimes I am so ashamed. I hope Gabriel Andrew doesn't become one of the many homeless Vets who at 24 drinks or does drugs to forget what they don't want to talk about but should. I wish our government cared more about helping them.
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