Recently while going through some memorabilia I came
across a collection of letters I had received from various boyfriends during my
senior high school year and my first year of college, 1964-1966. While I don’t remember the reason for keeping
these letters, I do know that I had some awareness that they were somehow
important. My choice to re-read these letters now was mostly to learn more
about my adolescence and how I viewed romance during this time of my life.
To be truthful, I did not find what I
expected which was statements of
admiration for me; statements about missing me, and eagerness to get back to normal life and dating
me as soon as they returned. My
expectations were quite egocentric. I
only had one letter that mentioned looking forward to dating me when he
returned.
Instead these letters focused on daily life, feelings of
loneliness, eagerness for home and familiar places. One letter focused on the physical terrain of
Vietnam; another one described his daily routine; still another mentioned how we
could make our home town a better place when he got back. One of the guys talked
about the loneliness of standing guard at night and a longing for someone who
could speak English. One letter talked
about the food and customs of the Vietnamese.
Having not found what I expected, I put the letters away,
but continued to think about them. Why
had I waited so long to re-read them?
Did these guys survive? Where
might they be now? What was their life after Vietnam?
Looking
back fifty years now I realize how important daily coping is in a foreign place
where you never knew who or what the enemy was. I now understand the horrors of
war, not because I fought in them, but as someone who realizes the glory in surviving
a war. I also understand that we grow and understand more when we are placed
outside our familiar comfort zone and are forced to find new pieces of
ourselves. Perhaps these young guys
found comfort in this strange and unwelcoming environment by writing a letter
to someone ‘back home’ in order to survive another day or another week, or
another year. I only hope that the letters I sent in return, as immature and
awkward as they were, were somehow helpful and made life more bearable for
them.
