Our job as donut dollies was to bring a reminder of home and some lightheartedness, I suppose, to soldiers, but I wasn’t very good at it. One of our jobs was to design group games and most of them were fun, the proof being that many had to be repaired that night when a group’s exuberance damaged the game boards. Each of us was expected to create a game, but the only game I created was absolutely awful. No one every played it, and I’m still embarrassed by its awfulness. I think it had something to do with Peanuts characters, but I’m not sure.

We were usually sent out two at a time, to present our programs and visit with the men, but on one occasion my partner for the day was sick and I had to go alone. I had only been in Country a few weeks, so I wasn’t yet hard core, and off I went. I was greeted by a man who led me around the back of a wooden structure, up some stairs, and out on what was, of all things, a stage! There I stood, holding my big prop bag with a game board and short-timer calendars, looking out at what appeared to be an audience of thousands. I never did find out how our wires got crossed, but they were expecting a USO show! Had I been of a different personality type, I may have been a little more entertaining in my embarrassment, but as it is, I have no idea what I said or did. Somehow I inched my way off the stage at about the same rate as most of the men were leaving their seats in disgust, or, at best, disappointment.

I tell that story because it wasn’t all death and despair, although there was certainly plenty of that, but there was laughter, too. Friendships were quickly formed that bonded people for life, and there were changes in our personalities that were sometimes good, sometimes not so good. Some of those changes made us better and some became lifelong challenges to overcome.

During one of our usual visits to a fire support base I happened upon a platoon that was headed out on patrol, and the chaplain was about to administer Holy Communion. I was allowed to partake with them, and I have never forgotten the experience because, to me, it was so extraordinary. So many times I wondered who came back from that patrol, and I often prayed that they all did.

Coming home was interesting because no one really wanted to hear about a tour in Vietnam and many had no one to talk to who had been there, assuming they even wanted to talk about it. Although my life does not pivot around the twelve months I spent in Vietnam, I definitely came away from that experience different. No, I did not experience combat first hand, other than being shot at while we were in helicopters, or hunkering in bunkers during sapper or mortar attacks, but I got a taste of it. I suppose it is one of those defining experiences when one’s perceptions change, sometimes almost imperceptibly, and I don’t think living with war is ever erased from one’s memories. I still run outside when I hear the whop-whop of a Huey helicopter, and when I see people wearing Vietnam Vet hats I usually ask them where they were in Country, and when. I’m not just being polite. I really want to know.