"Pale Blue Eyes"

I was having difficulty breathing since the air was so heavy with excitement. It had been forty years since he had spoken the words that had tormented him.

Despite the fact that my father had never had a problem holding a conversation, he grimaced as if he were in pain as he tried to relate the horror that he had experienced for three years on this dismal Sunday afternoon.

Although he was never a huge man, my father was always a sturdy and powerful man. When I had to introduce a guy I was dating to my father, I feared that he would be intimidated by my father, as he often was. This time around, I nearly didn't recognize that little frightened person that I glared at.

This moment of his emotional naveté deeply affected me. It seemed like a lifetime before the man finally glanced at me and smiled weakly as I held my newborn kid in my arms. He told Pooh, "Go put the boy to bed, Pooh." "I'm prepared to the fullest extent possible."

However, he held up his hand to calm my concerns as I tried to tell him that everything was fine and there was no need to tell me these things that were so heavy on him. For the sake of being close to my father while he spoke, I put my sleeping infant boy to bed per his instructions and sat on the couch near my father's chair.

The man admitted, "I've never spoken to anyone about my experience in Vietnam." he claimed. "I have nothing to hide," I tell myself.

We did our best given the circumstances, and I want you to know that there were things we had to do in order to survive. I hope you understand that." She let out an exasperated gasp. I feared he was going to suck up all the air in the room before he finished speaking.

There were judgments that no man should have to make, but we were still boys and we were battling an army that wasn't there."

As he went on, my father's sky blue eyes glowed with tears. When I turned 18, your grandfather expected me to enlist in the military, and I never wanted to disappoint him in any way.." "You've seen him in action."

It brought back memories of my grandmother's old sepia photo, which she kept next to her bed.

Rather of softening the picture's stark, masculine subject, the low-quality timber frame enhanced its ominous tone.

After nearly six decades, his distinctive half smile was clearly visible, despite the picture being taken in his army BDUs (Battle Dress Uniforms). He, too, would have served in World War I if he hadn't been born with flat feet, a condition that was considered incompatible with combat at the time. In response, my father said, "You never got to see the side of that man that I saw." He had a point.

The man I remembered was hardworking, but he also had a great sense of humor. He was always accompanied by a lanky blonde female in his garden overalls. Grandpa's strict treatment of my father made me respect him, but I was aware of it. I was instantly addressed as "boy" by the elder Leslie, who insisted that by doing so, he would finally have a son.

As the flood of memories returned, I turned to face the guy who would become my lifelong companion. "Daddy" is what you should say. Because of his hard work, his hands had become callous and dry, and I realized how far dad went to offer me the life he never had.

However, I was aware of how drafted men were treated, and I was confident that I would be selected at some point. If I had been drafted, my father would never have forgiven me. Enlistment followed."

He took a sip of water and took a breather before continuing. In my mind, I knew that the narrative that he was going to tell was going to be more of a challenge for him than for me.

'In 1966, I was serving in the 101st Airborne Division. Screamin' Eagles is what they nicknamed us. Regardless of who came up with the name, we thought it was a good fit for the project.

There were times when we bragged to our peers about how many planes we had jumped off of. It wasn't long before we realized that we weren't on top of the world.

In front of his daughter, he was unable to shed a tear as he spoke these final words. In an effort to hide the fact that he was breaking down, I stiffened myself up. I was shattered on the inside.

The most of us were in our late teens or early twenties when we played the part of males. There were many stories coming out of the jungle: children with bombs strapped to their bodies, men dying, and the countless who had vanished. We pretended to be unconcerned. As a result of this, we've convinced ourselves that it will never happen to us,"

He raised his gaze to my face, but his eyes remained unfocused. He could see his squad, his soldiers.

I had no idea that my mission as "Screamin' Eagle" was to be put into the midst of conflicts at their worst." We were dumped in the middle of a hail of gunfire from both sides. We were caught completely off guard.

As soon as we landed, we began shooting our weapons and sprinting away from the enemy. In our ignorance, we didn't know that the Vietcong had constructed underground tunnels and bunkers that would fit their small bodies. When you least expect it, they'd appear out of nowhere and snatch you up."

His heart rate had accelerated, and he was crying uncontrollably. He had a hand in it. The tears that streamed from his delicate blue eyes were not wiped away. Leslie, we were just a few months old when we first met." Imagine sending an 18-year-old boy to a boarding school.

"What kind of place is that?"

My father regained his composure and went on. To win a ticket to watch The Bob Hope Show, we held raffles over there." It's on stage. It was a means for us to leave that pitiful patch of earth and relive the joys of a few days of normal life. The raffle had been won by a friend of mine, but he would be returning home. He gave me the ticket because he was going to be away for that period of time."

I focused my gaze on my father's rough palms. Even his repeated twisting of them couldn't hide me from noticing how violently they were shaking now.

However, I remember that it was the first time I realized just how much I loved the show. "

People despised the conflict. In addition to the war, we are also affected. There were objects thrown in my face, and I was referred to as a "baby killer." It's no secret that while serving in Vietnam, I had to make some difficult decisions, but I never killed anyone who wasn't trying to kill me first. "

His eyes were still wet, but the anguish had given way to rage.

My battalion was eager to hear about the labels that we'd put on ourselves when I returned to Vietnam after four days. Were left behind, but my CO was waiting for me when I got off the helicopter. Despite his dismal expression, I tried my best to put on a jovial face. I attempted to retain a positive attitude throughout my time there, which was difficult given how draining it was. My entire unit had been wiped out while I was away," he told me.

As if this was the first time he had heard the news, his eyes expanded. His mouth was dripping with saliva.

He choked on a sob that had been trapped in his throat as he stared at her, mouth open To get to his chair, I slid onto the floor and crept across. I sat down on the tan carpet in front of my father, which was soiled and uncomfortable from years of use. I had a strong desire to.

But I realized that he needed to tell someone about these horrible thoughts, and I couldn't hold him or urge him to stop thinking about them. How on earth did he manage to keep these atrocities hidden for four decades? In spite of my sorrow, I was proud to know that my father had to be the toughest and most resilient guy in the world.

A gentle moan came from my lips as I grasped his beaten hand in mine. "Pooh, there was never a pause in the combat. A week seemed like a lifetime to me. It was a harrowing experience to fly in, leap out of a plane into the line of fire, run, shoot, and be shot at by the enemy.

Most of the time, either we won the battle or we had to hide until the choppers arrived to pick us up. We had to flee the jungle on multiple occasions until the entire area was napalmed," he recalls.

His face tightened, and his pale blue eyes turned empty as his mind relived the past four decades.

When it came to running, I was apprehensive. Landmines and booby traps were all over the place. You never knew if you were going to be blasted to pieces or if you were going to get caught in a spike trap. My eyes were always drawn to it.

He quickly came to a halt, wiping his face as if he had finished his tale.

I removed his wire-rimmed glasses, squeezed his hand, and unwillingly let it go so he could clean them.

What's the deal with that, do you think? A black POW flag, which he pointed out, had long-standing fixture in our living room. To my father's dismay, I said softly, "No, why not?" "I was caught after one of the times that I tried to flee a napalm attack." When they had finished beating me up, they took me to one of their "camps."

I can see the look of astonishment and dismay on my face. My jaw dropped to the floor.

When I saw the door open, my eyes sprang wide with surprise. A small smile appeared on my father's tanned and sun-wrinkled face as he went on,

"They tormented us in ways that I will never reveal to you or anybody else. Because of our inhumanity,

To have been subjected to their abuse was a nightmare. Only two of the five people who were in that camp survived."

My father was overcome with melancholy, and it was palpable. My bones were aching from the pain of my sadness. A gentle hold on my hand was all it took for him to tell me that everything was fine. The reason I was so fortunate always puzzled me. My daily prayer was, "Why am I allowed to live when these other men have so much more to live for?" After a brief pause, he brought his hand up to my chin, bringing our faces to be inches apart.

As he stared at me, his pale blue eyes were filled with a twinkle. In fact, they were identical to both mine and my son's. Because we were all only children, my father referred to us as the "onlys" and passed down a pale eye color.

He said, "And then you came along," as he closed his tale.