What I Missed in 1969
In January, Richard Nixon became my Commander in Chief.
As for me, I didn’t care.
In February of that year, the Saturday Evening Post ended publication after over 140 years.
I didn’t care.
In March, I had my 20th birthday. We celebrated it by dodging 19 122mm rockets into our position.
I had already accepted my own death, so I didn’t care.
In April, Charles De Gaulle stepped down as the President of France.
At that point, I really didn’t care.
In May, John Lennon and Yoko Ono did their “Bed In” to protest the war.
Yes. You got it. I didn’t care.
In June, Judy Garland overdosed on drugs.
Nope. I didn’t care.
On July 20th, while taking a break outside of a small Vietnamese village, one of my guys turned on his handy dandy transistor radio to Armed Forces Radio and we heard the announcer say that Neil Armstrong had just set his feet on the Moon.
I kind of cared.
In August, something happened in someplace called Woodstock, New York. I didn’t even know what had happened. About 3 years later, I decided to look up what had happened at Woodstock.
When I found out, I certainly didn’t care about that.
In September, I lost two of my good friends in a battle that we took part in on Que Son Mountain.
Nobody else cared, but I did.
In October, we got back to our home base. There were 26 guys from our company who didn’t make it back with us.
Hell, yes, I cared about that!
In November, I started thinking, “I just might survive this war.”
I finally started to care.
At the end of December, I boarded what we called a “Freedom Bird,” and we all applauded as the wheels left the ground. Then we all became quiet and spent the rest of the journey in silence, trying to fathom what had happened over the last 13 months.
We didn’t know how to care.
55 years later, in a small town in Colorado, I looked at my wife, my children, and my three grandchildren.
And I finally realized how much I care.
After all I missed way back then, I finally came to see how much I have gained. I have been taught how to care again. I learned how desperately I needed to feel compassion again and rediscover what true hope is.
by Contributing Poet Steve Sisson Copyright © 2024
VWP 2024 First published in www.CherriesWriter.com 2024
In January, Richard Nixon became my Commander in Chief.
As for me, I didn’t care.
In February of that year, the Saturday Evening Post ended publication after over 140 years.
I didn’t care.
In March, I had my 20th birthday. We celebrated it by dodging 19 122mm rockets into our position.
I had already accepted my own death, so I didn’t care.
In April, Charles De Gaulle stepped down as the President of France.
At that point, I really didn’t care.
In May, John Lennon and Yoko Ono did their “Bed In” to protest the war.
Yes. You got it. I didn’t care.
In June, Judy Garland overdosed on drugs.
Nope. I didn’t care.
On July 20th, while taking a break outside of a small Vietnamese village, one of my guys turned on his handy dandy transistor radio to Armed Forces Radio and we heard the announcer say that Neil Armstrong had just set his feet on the Moon.
I kind of cared.
In August, something happened in someplace called Woodstock, New York. I didn’t even know what had happened. About 3 years later, I decided to look up what had happened at Woodstock.
When I found out, I certainly didn’t care about that.
In September, I lost two of my good friends in a battle that we took part in on Que Son Mountain.
Nobody else cared, but I did.
In October, we got back to our home base. There were 26 guys from our company who didn’t make it back with us.
Hell, yes, I cared about that!
In November, I started thinking, “I just might survive this war.”
I finally started to care.
At the end of December, I boarded what we called a “Freedom Bird,” and we all applauded as the wheels left the ground. Then we all became quiet and spent the rest of the journey in silence, trying to fathom what had happened over the last 13 months.
We didn’t know how to care.
55 years later, in a small town in Colorado, I looked at my wife, my children, and my three grandchildren.
And I finally realized how much I care.
After all I missed way back then, I finally came to see how much I have gained. I have been taught how to care again. I learned how desperately I needed to feel compassion again and rediscover what true hope is.
by Contributing Poet Steve Sisson Copyright © 2024
VWP 2024 First published in www.CherriesWriter.com 2024
Bio: Steve Sisson enlisted in the Marine Corps in January of 1968. In Vietnam he was an infantryman and linguist for 1st Battalion 7th Marine Regiment (1968-1969). He received a Bachelor of Arts degree from MidAmerica Nazarene University and did graduate studies at Nazarene Theological Seminary. He was a Pastor in Nebraska, Colorado, and Florida for 21 years and a Police Officer for 17 Years in Colorado. He also served as an International Police Advisor in Baghdad, Iraq for 26 months (2006-2008). He lives in Johnstown, CO with his wife, Amy.
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