The Day Before 911 by Elliot Tucker

Author:Elliot, Tucker [Elliot, Tucker]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Mesa Publishing
Published: 2013-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

5

My dad fought in Vietnam. My uncle died there. Years later, I was born. My mom named me after her hero brother, the one who never came home. As a kid I’d often ask about my uncle. A son for a flag is a lot of sacrifice. My great-grandmother had told me that. I’d see my uncle’s picture on the wall at my grandmother’s house, and alongside it I’d see the flag given to my grandmother when she buried her son, and I’d get curious, ask all kinds of questions about him, about who he was, what he did, and how he died. Back then I was proud of my name. It came from a true hero, after all. Who wouldn’t be proud? And of course I had a thousand questions for my dad, too. Only for a long time he’d never answer, he’d just get sad and change the subject. Then one night when I was about ten, my mom told me I shouldn’t ask my dad any more questions about Vietnam. She told me that my dad felt guilty because he’d come home safe from the war that killed my uncle and that he wouldn’t talk about the war out of respect for her family—but at church there was a man who lost a leg in Vietnam and he’d talk about it openly. I went to school with his kids. They’d talk about Vietnam with anyone who’d ask, because their dad was a Swift Boat Veteran and a hero.

It made me curious about my dad, and I became convinced he was a war hero, too. I dreamed that he’d done extraordinary things on the battlefield, only he was too modest to tell the world. We’d be out on the lake fishing, just the two of us in the boat, and I’d ask him: Dad, what’d you do in Vietnam? Was it scary? Did you shoot people? How old were you anyway? Did you do anything top secret?

He’d give me sad and desperate, and then change the topic. How about the Reds this year? We’ll get down to Spring Training, take in some games. What do you think?

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night, sure that I was having a nightmare because someone was screaming horribly. Then I realized it wasn’t a dream, it was my dad. I scrambled out of bed, ran to my parent’s bedroom, to my dad. He was thrashing the blankets, trying to get free, crying, and I heard him say: No, it’s going to crash. Oh God NO! It’s going to crash! My mom wrapped him tight in her arms and he struggled to get free. She held on until finally my dad began to sob, and then he grew calm. Go back to bed, my mom told me. I did, and I imagined my dad had saved a dozen lives from a crashed vehicle just before a fiery explosion tore it to pieces.

We’d play catch in the backyard, and I’d

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