Remember son you’re not a soldier you’re a surfer

by surfermike

Posted to Stories on 2001-12-05 19:36:00

We had been on a 48 hour march from a landing zone called “Target.” Our destination was in the middle of the rain forest to camp-in and and wait. I had been in Vietnam for 11 months, and I was worn out. Mentally, emotionally and physically. I had seen so much death and suffering, that I doubted I would ever recouver. The sights and sounds of the war were awful, but the actions were worse. I had shot men and cried later all alone. I was lost in it all.

This day the mission was simple. We were dug deep into the jungle waiting. We were just a few ‘klicks’ from a village where a group of ‘Special Forces’ were snatching someone. A kidnapping we surmised. None of my business, but if the gunfight started, we were there, and we were in too. We waited, it rained, and after five hours, orders came to move out. I guess the mission had been a success. Who knew. We moved out toward the landing zone and pick-up.
As we walked along the road that afternoon, the squad was relaxed. To be relaxed in Vietnam is risky, but as the twenty-four of us sauntered along, we smoked, and laughed out loud. You’d think it was Sunday afternoon on Venice Beach.

Shots rang out from the trees on the right, and it was intense, and my friend Donny and I dove into the ditch to the left. We had been ambushed like foolish school children.
Luc’ was lying on the road shot and not moving.
“Oh Christ Mike, we have to get him.” said Donny.
“Let’s both go,” I said. “It will be quick.”
Before we could move gunfire, engulfed Luc’. He was finished. Then we hear it. “Damn, it’s incomming artillary
“Mike.” shouted Donny. We were screwed. Everyone started to
yell.. “Incomming.” The huge shells were exploding everywhere. Donny and I looked at each other. Almost as
if to say ‘goodbye.’

I woke up and there was a nurse adjusting an I.V. bottle in my arm. She stood over me. She smiled and I noticed she had
wonderfull perfect teeth.
“Hello Michael,” she said.
“Hello, you have beautfull teeth.” I lost focus, I passed out. I woke up again. In three days.
Someone stood over me. “I’m Dr. Mark, you’ve been wounded. It was eight days ago. You’re at Clark Air Base in the Phillipnes. You’re left ear drum is shattered. We’ll fix it. A pencil size piece of cluster shrapnel was removed from your head, and you have a grade one concussion. You’re
nose is broken. We’ll fix it also. We’ll take care of you son. I’ll be back.” I remember crying.

Six days later a nurse came in. I was sitting by this time.
“You have a visitor,” she said. It was the squad sargent, Harris.
“Hi Mike. Came to visit from Saigon.” We embraced, and he
began to tell me the story. “Kofax the corpsman pulled you
from the ditch. He yelled out ‘this one’s still alive.’
We thought you were dead. Donny died.” I broke into tears.
Soldiers crying in a VA hospital is not shamefull. It’s expected. Harris and I talked about that battle and how ignorant we were that day. Then he left. I felt defeated, and so empty. A lost boy. I took out a picture of my dad and kept repeating his name. “Burt, Burt. Daddy, Dad,.” I was quite mad.

Four days later I stopped crying long enough to phone my father. “Dad, it’s Michalel.” that’s all that came out. I could not stop crying, I could barley breath. Where did the air go? My father was yelling into the phone.
“Michael, Michael, son please hang in there, Mike, Michael! Then it happened.. He said the most wonderfull words to me.
Very calm he said,
“Remember son, you’re not a soldier. You’re a surfer.”

Today I councel people with durg and alcohol problems. These souls are societes rejects. Theives, convicts and self loathers. I motivate them,I sure try. I have seen a young man or woman light up when I say to them.
“Remember son, you not just a dope fiend or an alcoholic. You’re a father, or a teacher, or you’re a surfer.” What a freedom to know you’re not just a looser in your own eyes.
Thanks Dad. I love you.








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