I taught a little girl baton twirling lessons. Her mom got to know me well. Her mom asked me if I might write her brother in Viet Nam a letter. I am 14 yrs old. Sure. I am articulate, and funny, and her brother, W. L. was bored. I had time to spare, and great imagination. more below the beautiful swirl...
I wrote him letters. Many letters. Sent him pics of my Mustang Mach 1, 14 yr olds could get licensed to drive back then, told him stories about his family, and about all things in my small town that he had never lived in.
My Dad, a WWII vet, made sure I wrote W. L.
I got letters from him! Dad was the mail man, couldn't wait until I got home from school so we could all read his letters to me!
My family is all about having W. L. over, and having him drive that wondrous car! Attend a football game, see my big, badass brother in action. And see me twirl that baton in amazing ways! Have some fun!
He wrote that he was two weeks from r & r in Japan, would see us all soon, then the letters stopped.
His sister came to our home to tell us he was killed. Some explosion in his barracks.
His sister remained my close friend until her death. I was her lawyer for her estate protection when she went blind from diabetes. Represented her son, her daughter, and all things estate. The little girl is now grown up and working in the courthouse where I practice law. Today, on my way from my office, I honked at her and she waved, and we just love each other so much.
I still have W.L.'s letters. I am 59 yrs old now.
I have gone to the Wall in DC. For W. L., a man I never laid eyes on, but whom I knew, and whom I loved so very much, as did his and my family.
Instead of forgetting him, with each passing year, he is remembered with more intensity.
W. L., you were, are, and will always be, the bomb, baby, the bomb.
Bless your heart, as always.
Every day, not just Veteran's Day.
Every day. Until I die.