Revisionist History 101
I took US History in high school. I remember the teacher, the classroom, I can still see the names that were carved on my desk. I traced them with my finger, avoided splinters while resting my head on the cool, rough surface. The other students watched movies in the dark, I kept my eyes closed, head down. I know they learned about Vietnam, probably spent several weeks on the subject. They walked fingers over geographical blues and greens. Memorized dates, names and numbers. Studied wide-eyed photographs to decipher the truth. I'm sure there were tests and that I must have taken them. I remember that desk and Dezi luvs Mitch por vida.
The truth is this: I only know the word Vietnam. I know that my father was there before I was born. I know they call it a war. This is what else I know: My father did not speak a word of his 11 months overseas for a full decade after he came home and married my mother.
I also know this: some years back he walked into a veterans memorial hall filled with memorabilia and dropped to his knees. I know he made it to the restroom where another vet lay his hand on my father's shoulder and told him that he was not alone. "He said, 'most guys have this reaction'." My mother whispered this secret into my 10 year old ear. I did not see it happen, maybe it didn't happen at all.
But in my child's mind, I watched my father fall, I can see it even now. I see his jester's face, hazel eyes out of focus. I see him fall, then comforted. I can see it, but it is a fictional tale to me. A movie in the dark.
I have only seen my father cry twice in my life, both for family death. I think it was this secret that sent my small body reeling away from Vietnam. I simply and secretly decided it was off the map.
The truth is this: I only know the word Vietnam. I know that my father was there before I was born. I know they call it a war. This is what else I know: My father did not speak a word of his 11 months overseas for a full decade after he came home and married my mother.
I also know this: some years back he walked into a veterans memorial hall filled with memorabilia and dropped to his knees. I know he made it to the restroom where another vet lay his hand on my father's shoulder and told him that he was not alone. "He said, 'most guys have this reaction'." My mother whispered this secret into my 10 year old ear. I did not see it happen, maybe it didn't happen at all.
But in my child's mind, I watched my father fall, I can see it even now. I see his jester's face, hazel eyes out of focus. I see him fall, then comforted. I can see it, but it is a fictional tale to me. A movie in the dark.
I have only seen my father cry twice in my life, both for family death. I think it was this secret that sent my small body reeling away from Vietnam. I simply and secretly decided it was off the map.
posted by Tristani at 7:39 AM
2 comments
![[ Registered ]](http://www.diarist.net/registry/button.gif){kind=small}