Fifth of July

Yesterday was Independence Day. The first news of independence I received yesterday was from an old Army buddy. He had an eye problem that was threatening him with blindness. His ophthalmologist worked out a way to save his sight. So my good friend won't need a white cane or seeing eye dog. He'll be able to walk and drive, even ride his Harley. That's good news about independence.

My family went to the Fourth of July celebration on the river. It was lovely. Toward evening, the temperature dropped and a light breeze sprang up. We listened to the music and were comfortable. My two sons-in-law explored the breweries here in Little Rock and found some beers that were very much to their taste. They were noisily happy on the ride home.

But there were other things that I did not like so well. They were nice gestures, well meaning and they put me ill at ease. When the Little Rock Symphony began their part of the concert, the conductor asked all members of the armed forces, past and present, to stand. My daughters urged me to stand and I did. But as I stood, I could not help but remember the friends I left in Vietnam. The memories were not just of the dead (my company was remarkably fortunate during my tour; they were very few) but of the people I spent a year with who did not answer the letters or wrote back that writing to a buddy brought back too many harsh memories. Those friends were lost to me as were the ones whose addresses I never managed to obtain.

At the end of the concert, during the 1812 Overture, the fireworks started. They were magnificent, the best I have seen in Little Rock. The pyrotechicians fired them from the Main Street Bridge, over the Arkansas River. But as I watched, I remembered what they had been originally. The black red air bursts that showered shrapnel down on soldiers, the white smoke that meant white phosphorus had been used. The horrible burns that it inflicted, how they would not stop burning unless the doctors put the soldier into some oxygen free medium and removed the glowing particles in the dark. Those were not good memories.

What I experienced was not the flat panic of a flash back. I just was remembering the purpose of those explosions originally. What we and others have turned into beauty are deadly serious in war. They can injure or kill inexperienced people who try to fire them without the precautions on all their labels. Never-the-less, I enjoyed my day and the evening. It was good to be with so many people I love and so many others whose sole purpose was celebration.