A Date with Vietnam

"A Date With Vietnam"
by Steve Weathers 288 pages

My latest book is to be released this Veterans Day November 11th and will be available on Amazon.com and also will be available on Kindle. 


It was strange, my relationship with the Nam I mean. Even when under fire, even when I was scared and feared for my life, I didn't question why America was there, why I was there. Back then, so many of us just believed our parents, we had faith in America and we believed we were doing the right thing. 
I entered the Army with that doing the right thing attitude. So much so, that I signed up for a second tour because I felt our military presence was making a difference.

This is not a book about being conservative or liberal in thinking. It is simply my story, my experience in a time when young people seemed to have wisdom beyond their years and wise, older people, seemed to take leave of their senses. That's how screwed up society and the Vietnam War was.
 Death occupied our minds constantly, no matter where you were stationed in the Nam.

Now accepting orders for  pre -released signed copies, contact me by email

What's it like being a veteran?

Available on: Amazon.com

Becoming a soldier, well, what does it mean?  Maybe it depends on whether you ask a soldier before going to war or after he comes home.

Being a soldier meant doing what we thought was best, we thought we were fighting for America.  It turns out not to be so true.  If we fought for freedom, why do people disagreeing with the government not have freedom of speech?  Why do people protesting unfair treatment get tear gas and tazers?  Did we not fight for your freedom, for mine?

Many times, soldiers become disillusioned with what war really is.  Did we think that bullets, bombs and any weapons of war discriminate?  Did we think they somehow they would not cut down anything and anyone in their path?  Maybe we did.

With the erosion of freedom, did we do such an excellent job fighting, fighting for, not your freedom, not my freedom, but for the freedom of rich banks and corporations to take over, not just other countries, but America as well?

Did we fight for the freedom of going backward in time, for the elite to take our jobs, to take our homes, to run us all into the ditch economically?

Well, Brothers and Sisters, then I guess we won that damned war.  Not for you, not for me, but for the rich and powerful.

Money cannot buy votes unless we allow it to.  Voting rights cannot be taken away, unless we allow them to.  Jobs cannot be sent elsewhere, unless we allow them to.

As a veteran, I see "support our troops" slogans that mean nothing more than just that.......words, meaningless words.  What in hell are you supporting?  Do you even know?

When I shop and the clerk says: "Do you want to give your change to help buy school supplies for the military families kids?"  I think:  Why in hell isn't our supposedly grateful, government buying those school supplies?  Isn't the government their present employer?  Is American government the Wal-Mart of America now too?  Low wages, crap services and driving military families into poverty?  Shame on America for hiring military people to be their private mercenaries and not paying them well enough for the job.  Fighting for our freedoms you say?  Look again and guess again.

When I to to the VA for services, services are limited.  Yet when I served, my time was not limited, those men who died did not limit their service to the government.  Limited?  Well, the hell, you say!  

Soldier, one day you will grow older

             

                              The soldier then

When young we know no boundaries

We come to war from factories, offices and foundries

Hormones and patriotic feelings abound

That's a mix of energy to be used in leaps and bounds

The youth factor is what the military count on

"Step up here, we will help you release that energy, Son."

We feel patriotic, we think, we will win a war, what fun

Not one recruiting brochure tells you; When you're done, you're done.

That's the important part they always leave out, Son

We survive, we come out alive

We then grow older, we grow much bolder

The veteran now

We finally see war without all the fog

Plenty of memories in our brains we have logged

Don't resent those who don't understand

I highly doubt if anyone fully can

What we've seen as soldiers can only confound it

Even we who were there cannot fully wrap our minds around it

Those who've not seen aren't being mean

When you actually stand on the turf, it isn't so green

Given the small facts we were given back then

I'm sure, as young men, we would all do it again

Available on: Amazon.com

Barnes&Noble.com

Kindle

Soldier you are not forgotten

                                                  photo: Steve Weathers



Soldier, you are not forgotten

I once served in an entire war, all but forgotten

Forgotten, forgotten, your government treats you rotten

But always remember, by other veterans, you aren't forgotten

I know how those dreams make you feel

I know how those memories, night sweats, make you reel

Bad sights, into your dreams they steal

Don't feel bad, don't feel sad, you really haven't been had

Don't give up or give in

You haven't committed the greatest sin

We joined, for whatever reason

We joined in good faith, we served for a season

Don't think it is all in vain

Even if it's hard to see past the pain

How could you know?  How could I know?

We signed up in good faith, why did we go?

We thought it was the right thing to do at the time

Friends, relatives, thought we lost our minds

Don't give up, don't close your door

We all; veterans, support you, from shore to shore

Feeling bad, feeling sad?

Contact me, together we can once again feel glad

For what it's worth, the pain is great, I know it hurts

You can't redo your past

Decide to go on, do it fast

The pain sometimes feels it will last and last

Together, Soldiers, this hurt we can get past

Reach out, to other vets, those you know, some you don't

Don't suffer alone, don't close your door

We as veterans, know, it was a hell of a war

Some say: "You knew the score."

But have they ever been to a war?

Reach out, veterans young and old

We are here to help, we all exist from shore to shore

Together we can stop a war

Let our new war cry be: "A war?  Oh never more!"

They need to listen to us who have gone before

The poor make war on the poor

Just exactly who makes war?

Generals, Congress, Rich men, of course

Just exactly who fights the actual war?

It ends up becoming the poor against the poor

Is this a poem of 'let's hate the rich?'

No, but you don't have to be anyone's bitch

Harsh words you might say

Well away from killing, plundering and hate you must stay

What have the poor of another country done to you?

Try to see their point of view

Would we like to be preyed upon right here?

For some soldiers to ruin what we might hold dear?

As young soldiers we think war is a grand duty

But all we do is add to someone's rich booty

War and death isn't what you do as a lark

War isn't exactly a walk in the park

But as young people we never listen to the older one

We just think, it's different, so we pick up that gun

Maybe we don't get every gory detail

Explaining war in words is where all words seem to fail

How do you put into words what war is about?

How does a soldier adequately explain what war is about?

I wish you would listen, young man, young woman

Because war is not the noble cause for freedom like you heard

But war's horrors cannot be placed into any word

Books available on:
Kindle
Barnes&Noble.com
Amazon.com

A Boy a War and a Dream

Available on: Amazon.com

Barnes&Noble.com

Kindle

All wars will once be forgotten

Even though that fact seems rotten

War, like tides, ebb and flow

They are hot when they are hot, and not when they are not

We rush to them with anxious feet

We roll out the bugles, the drum strikes a beat

They come, they go, they eventually run cold, as you know

I was a boy, like so many these days

Anxious to grow up, to become a man, a soldier was my way

A young soldier in search of myself

We can hate wars, as we well should, but this boy grew up

I grew to know all people are real, they hate,they love, and eventually heal

As new soldiers are finding out

War cries start with a shout

But they too will come to know, wars on a land they come and they go

On a land is one thing, the bombed acreage and sites heal

But to many a soldier, wars, well your youth, your sanity they can also steal

I cannot tell you about horrors of any war

Most don't believe me, they have to sail to that shore

You cannot prepare for any battles or fights

But I assure you, wars are all a terrible sight

So wars start with a cry and a shout

They start with a bugle charge and a drum roll

But believe me when I tell you, on you, young soldier, the rest of your life a war takes its toll

A Young Soldier's Journey to Find Himself

I was very conscious of how out-of-place I felt in school anymore. I never really liked high school much anyway, I never really fit in with the jocks. You know, those guys who eat, drink and sleep sports and take it all too seriously. I knew, even then, that beyond high school, those guys, who had once been big men on campus, would just become ordinary people as soon as they graduated. I was never very athletically inclined. I had tried out for the football team once, played one game and immediately decided it was not for me.

 A lot of the kids in high school were headed either for farming or college. Those kids had a purpose for staying in school and graduating.

My parents were poor, we didn't own a farm, just a house and ten acres with woods. I knew my parents couldn't afford college and frankly, the idea of four more years in a learning institution just didn't hold any appeal for me. Too boring.

I was much more interested in cars than sports and books in those days. But in Indiana, sports and farming was everything, especially in high school so that pretty much left me out of the ‘cool’ loop. I had great grades in school until I reached high school and decided what I'd rather be doing in life, which wasn't hitting the books.

Besides, I thought the guys who liked cars were much cooler anyway. I could relate to cars. Cars were something tangible, steel and chrome you could touch and work on. I was able to see and feel the satisfaction of a job well done when I worked on a car that had stopped running. Maybe there were no trophies involved, or a sweater with a letter on it, but there was a feeling of deep accomplishment from fixing and customizing a beautiful car.

In the 1960's cars were everything.

Everybody wanted to be seen in a hot car, even farm boys, jocks and yes, girls too.

The part time job I had recently landed as a bag boy at the local Kroger’s grocery store gave me a small taste of the adult world. In summer, weekends and holidays off, while those other kids were hanging out at drive-ins trying to pick up girls, I was helping little old ladies with groceries to their cars. But even that bit of responsibility was not enough for a boy in a hurry to grow up, the small responsibility of that job only made me hungry to experience more of what the world had to offer.

I felt like most of the crap they were teaching in school was junk I’d likely never be using in real life anyway. I fancied myself as older than my high school peers. Maybe not in years, but in my mindset. Just about everything they thought was important, I viewed as being useless.

I already felt that what was important in high school, would matter very little in the real world. 

Growing up, I had jobs as young as age 12. I picked berries one summer to earn money, later on I delivered newspapers every day after school and on weekends. I was used to hard work, the kind of physical labor you do with your hands, not always your head. 

 I think seeing my parents work so hard all the time, I grew to appreciate the value of it all and the value of money. Oh, I was smart enough, but school just couldn't hold my interest long enough for me to care about it much.

Available on:

Amazon.com

Kindle

Barnes&Noble.com

A young soldier's journey

Walking home from school that day, my throat was dry, a sensation of strength washed over me.  I had really wanted to hurt that guy, to see blood.  Right now I figured my blood pressure was like 160 at least.  I was grateful for the eight miles between the school and my house.  I needed this long walk to help silence the blood pounding in my ears.  I knew my parents might be upset when they heard what I'd done but this showdown had been a long time coming.  Right now I didn't care about the possible consequences.  Besides, I felt like that guy had been just looking for a fight and he nearly got one from me.  

  Maybe my vision was clouded as I walked home from high school for the last time on that warm day in 1965, the year I turned 16 and knew I didn't have to take that mistreatment anymore.  Hell, it wasn’t like it was my first trip to the Principal’s office, I had gotten used to that, but on this day, I was determined it would be my last trip there.

I was sent to his office, this time, from shop class.  I had rigged a piece of lumber in the lathe so it would fling out at the shop teacher when he turned it on.  While that action had gotten a rousing laugh out of the class, the shop teacher was far from amused so it earned me a trip to the principal’s office, nothing new for me.  But this time it was different from the three days of detention I usually got. This time he told me he ‘would have to paddle me’ because it was such a ‘serious offense,’ and someone could have been hurt badly or even killed by the flying wood.  He then took a significantly sized paddle from behind his desk and came at me with it, a look of almost delight in his eyes, as if hitting students made his day.  I decided I wasn't going to make it easy for him either.   I had already decided that he wasn't going to lay a hand on me. 

As he approached me, I bit my lip, felt my hands clench and unclench as I moved slowly and deliberately towards him.  As soon as he entered my personal space, I planted my feet further apart to let him know I was standing my ground.  I defiantly said: “If you touch me with that damn paddle, I’ll break it over your f%*@king head.” 

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, as his eyes widened he seemed to be doing a double take about the whole situation.  He was probably stunned by my language.  Back then, small town Indiana nice kids weren’t supposed to talk like that.   But I had always been a rebel in those days anyway, and I admit I had a definite problem with authority figures. 

Whatever the reason for his abrupt stop I will never fully know, but after lowering the paddle he looked at me through squinted eyes.  Finding his voice again, he asked: “What did you just say?”

 Infusing as much anger into my voice as I could, I answered: “You heard what I said."  Once I repeated myself he then pointed out I would have to be suspended for three days at the very least.  I lowered my head and mumbled something about how it was going to be the longest three days he would ever see.   With that having been said, I slammed out of his office, walked through the big glass doors, away from the building, never once looking back. 

That son of a bi&@h sure didn’t need to tell me twice.  I knew I was never going back to that school.   I really hated school anymore anyway.  For a long time now school seemed to hold little meaning for me.  I had grown restless and failed to see any reason for continuing high school.  

On any other day but today I would not have liked the eight mile walk home because it usually seemed so long.  But today I was grateful for the distance between the school and my house because it gave me a chance to think as I walked.  While walking the eight mile journey home, I mulled over in my head what I was going to say to my parents about my plans to never go back to high school.  I had been thinking of joining the Army for some time and I could think of no better time than now but I would need my parents to sign papers for me because I was only 16.  I would just need to convince them it was the right decision.  

Steve/Author

As a young soldier in Vietnam

Being a 'boy' who wants to grow up and see it all

Growing up as a boy in Indiana was a quiet sort of life I suppose, maybe too quiet for me.  At 17 I felt like life was moving at a snail's pace, I felt like I didn't fit into the small wedge we called high school and I felt like there had to be more to the world than Indiana.
My generation was no different than the previous ones nor was it different than the present one is today.  We hear younger ones say they can show us Baby Boomers 'how to do it right' and funny thing, we were going to do the same thing.  We were going to Vietnam to show how to fight a war. Yeah, yeah, not the first time any generation has said that. I'm sure military people today say the same thing.  But it's the same cluster fuck now that it has been in armies, navies, etc. for centuries.  Did we 'show em?'  Naw, more like Vietnam kicked our butts.  Not that we lost the war, the government 'gave up on it' but every country gives America the fight of their lives.  We just never realize it until we are in the thick of it, or until we return home and look back.  After all, 'hind sight is 20/20' certainly rings true when it comes to a war situation.