Welcome Home

How many times have we heard that phrase? Welcome home. It is a nice little group of words that evoke a feeling of warmth and belonging to something familiar, home.

Imagine being far away from home. On a trip you didn't set out to take. In a place you didn't want to be. Doing things you didn't want to do for a period of time that probably felt like an eternity. It seems to me, in that situation, home would be constantly on your mind.

This scenario played out for my father almost 50 years ago. He was in a place called Vietnam after being drafted at age 18. I am sure at such a young age there were lots of things on his mind besides taking care of men who were wounded in a war that wasn't really understood. He was told he was fighting communism. That seems like a big fight for thousands of young American guys. Romantic even.

I have always been curious about my father's time in Vietnam. It was a subject that didn't come up much and when it did, the stories were benign - the R&R trips he took, the shots he had to administer, and the food he ate. There is one sad Christmas story I remember about being so homesick it was almost unbearable. There's that word again...home.

So if those were the stories I got, it made sense that I didn't get the full story about coming home. He didn't tell me how bad it was - the names he was called and how insensitively he and countless other veterans were treated across the country.

Recently, I had a co-worker tell me he took his uniform off on the plane during his flight home because, upon landing, he didn't want anyone at the airport to know he had served his country for fear of what someone might do or say. Not long after returning home, he eventually had to steer clear of mentioning his military service on a job application or resume, just so he could get a call back. Yes, welcome home indeed.

These stories make me sad and angry and I know I am not alone, but my dad's story is so personal to me for selfish reasons. I know despite his treatment when his tour was over, it beat the alternative of not coming home at all. Seeing the traveling Vietnam Wall that was recently in McKeesport, bearing 58,318 names, it became real that my dad could have easily been one of those lost but, his return paved the way for me and the life I have been able to enjoy.

A beautiful opening ceremony was held in Renzie Park last Thursday, to kick off a four day period during which The Wall That Heals could be viewed. The ceremony was thoughtfully crafted and really brought the audience full circle with the Vietnam experience. Although the focus of the Wall is to honor the dead, local elected officials also had the opportunity to recognize the living Vietnam veterans who never received a proper homecoming.  The names of 80 men were read, most of whom came forward, and they were presented with a commemorative pin and a Vietnam Veteran hat.

I can honestly say, I have never been more proud of my dad then when I watched him approach the podium to be recognized. It seemed like time went in slow motion as his hand went up to greet state Senator Jim Brewster, who was a classmate of his at McKeesport High School. Their embrace did me in and the waterworks began in earnest. Watching him stand along the wall with others who had served as the audience erupted in applause is a moment I will never forget.

Leaving Renzie Park that night, although overwhelmed with pride, I felt sad because it took that long for my dad and other veterans to get properly recognized for their service and sacrifice. But I came to the conclusion that for my dad, the wait provided 11 people with an opportunity to see something they would have missed had it happened 50 years ago.

When my dad returned to his seat in the audience, he was met by a storm of hugs and kisses from his family - three children, five grandchildren, sons-in law and, last but not least, his wife of 45 years.  If that isn't a proper homecoming, I don't know what is and I am thankful I was lucky enough to be a part of it.

Welcome home, dad.