We were out on patrol one day. You know, makin' sure all was right with the world and safe for the folks back on Hennepin Avenue. In the world we were traipsing' though, the only men between the ages of eighteen and forty who could be found in the light of day were the ARVNs and us. Oh yeah, I forgot the VC. But we never saw them, just the shell casings they left behind and a few thousand booby traps.
Damn, it seemed Vietnam was populated by women, old men and kids playing soccer when they weren't stealing our trip flares (little bastards). Some of our men took the 'little bastard' seriously. We'd be headin' down the road, a squad of us in the back of a deuce and a half. Vietnamese kids would come runnin, lookin' for the good stuff we carried. Food, candy. Usually, if we had some to spare, we'd share. And, just as usually, what we carried was what we needed. No more, no less. That's the way of the grunt.
But some of us always had a few bars of Hershey's tropical chocolate. Sounds like good stuff, doesn't it? And it is if you like grainy chocolate that not only doesn't melt in the tropics but does about the same in your mouth. Not complainin'. After all it was free.
And it was fairly dense stuff that didn't float. Just ask the kids who fished the bars out of puddles. Or were whupped upside the head with a well aimed toss by some numba ten GI who just didn't like any of the Vietnamese. I had a hard time with GIs doin' stuff like that even though the kids got little off of me. Let's just say it was a bad situation all the way around. In the long run even the good guys could be the bad guys.
So, we're on this patrol. Just stumblin' along goin' from one nowhere to another, all the while in single file keepin' our proper military distance from each other. And I'm softly singin'. No shame in the field even when you're like me and can barely carry a tune. I recall it bein' a Beatles song. Believe it was written by Ringo and called Obla Di, Obla Da. Don't quote me on the spellin' of the title. Spell Check sure as hell don't like the way I wrote it.
I used to sing every now and then when we were marchin'. Did that from the days of Basic Training on. Why not? I like to sing. Most every one does. Passes the time in a real friendly way. Back in civilian life me and the car radio did our share of harmonizin'. That, two bucks of gas and a pack of cigarettes was cause enough for celebration.
Don't believe anyone but me was singin' and don't recall anyone else ever singin' while on patrol. Anyhow, I'm walkin' along, load on my back, lost in a daze and who should I see when I looked up but Bravo Six, he be the Company Commander, starin' me in the eye. And he doesn't say a word. Guess it just struck him as odd that a grunt in the Nam should be happy enough to be softly beltin' out an upbeat tune and he pulled out of line to see who it was. Yup Cap'n, it be me.
Lesson learned from the Nam: Life is short. Way too short. Enjoy it while you can even if it's singin' a Beatle's tune when you're in an unhappy place.
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