21 by Isabel Night
It started six months ago. Out of the blue, I got a call from my dad’s old Army Staff Sergeant. He was inviting the surviving men of his battalion to join him on a ‘Healing Tour’ of Vietnam. At that moment, I remember clutching the phone in silence. My mind was buzzing.
Vietnam. The unspoken elephant in the room. Growing up, Dad never told me about his time in Vietnam. All the stories I heard from him were about his time at Fort Bragg. If I tried to push the issue, Dad’s face would turn red, and he’d start screaming obscenities at me in Vietnamese. It scared me so badly that I’d escape to my room, locking the bedroom door for hours on end.
When I became a teenager, it dawned on me that spending time in North Carolina didn’t contribute to this behavior. It was then that I also noticed that Dad was sleeping with all the lights on every night. If I tried to turn them off, he’d jump up from bed and start screaming withdraw orders during a clearly non-existent cave-in.
Seeing Dad’s reaction when the subject was brought up… we never talked about it. Nobody said anything; it couldn’t be helped. Besides, what could I do?
Then came the call.
It’d been forty years since Dad left the Army… got married, and tried to move on with his life. I’m his only child.
…back to the story. Phone still in hand, I listened to his former Staff Sergeant’s plans about the trip. Skeptical, I even debated telling Dad. Maybe… just maybe, he’d stop cussing? Wait. No. Stop. C’mon! Let’s be honest here. If he, no, we did go on this trip, it wouldn’t be a cure-all. It wouldn’t undo all the years Dad screamed at me in another language. It wouldn’t undo all the nights where I struggled to sleep because of him shouting, “Fall Back!”
The best I could hope for… and it would be a long shot… was that it would help calm his temper? Maybe even help him confront what he saw and experienced during his time in the military? Sounds like a big plate to fill. Yes. But… what did we have to lose?
I’m serious about that question. Because Dad never talked about what he experienced… That’s the funny thing. I always grew up believing that this was a ‘family problem.’ Our problem. Dad’s problem. How could anyone else understand our troubles? Heck. For all I knew, this trip could be a disaster waiting to happen.
Would it? That led to deeper questions. Was it better to keep the pain buried? Or release it in a supportive way…? If that’s even possible?
I mean it. With all the times Dad yelled at me for asking questions about Vietnam,instinct naturally advised me to decline and hang up politely. Yet, I didn’t. He’d find out eventually. And knowing how he reacts… Moreover, now wasn’t a good time. Not in the mood to hear cussing from my dad—
“Who are you talking to?”
Startled, I almost dropped the phone onto the table. “Your Staff Sergeant.”
“Pfft!” Dad snorted, raising his eyebrows. “Sergeant Sterling couldn’t use a phone. Much less a pistol! He’s a bureaucrat!”
“I guess.”
“So why’d he call?”
“He says he’s planning to reunite with his old Battalion Members. He wants to return to Vietnam.”
“Why?!” Dad frowned. “It’s been forty years. We served our time.”
“He claims he’s put together something called a ‘Healing Tour.’”
Wrong thing to say. Dad started screaming. I let him. Letting out a heavy sigh, I picked the receiver back up and told Sergeant Sterling, “I don’t think we’ll be going.”
“Oh, Joe’s cussing in Vietnamese again.” Dad’s Staff Sergeant chuckled. “I get it. Tell your father, once he calms down, that we’re running a Bob Hope Marathon at the hotel on the first night. He’ll bite.”
I did. The ranting did stop; I got the weirdest look from him. It looked like a cross between a frowning frog and a sourpuss cat. Several minutes of silence. Then… a lopsided grin. It took me another couple of minutes to be sure, but… uh oh! I know that look. We’re going through with this. God help us all!
Now, here we are. The plane starts its descent toward Ho Chi Minh City. I’m all business. Tense. Nervous. I hope I did the right thing— Odd. Dad’s getting an ugly look from the flight attendant. Obviously, he’s being stubborn. Either that, or he’s tired from the long trip and doesn’t care anymore. Yeah. That’s it?
Okay. Remember what you helped him pack, just in case we have to go through customs. Clothes. Toiletries. Voluminous CD Wallet. Generally speaking, we help each other pack for any trip. Because if we don’t follow every single carry-on luggage rule, Dad can get confrontational with the flight attendants and airport employees.
To be honest, I have no idea why on earth he would pack a large booklet of CDs. I knew they were in his suitcase, but I didn’t read all the labels. Dad’s not the type of person to listen to music on a portable CD player. I’ve never even seen him wear headphones. Never. At all. I would know; we’ve been flying domestically for years. Though… we haven’t left the United States since last Christmas’ British Virgin Islands trip.
Pulling his suitcase out from under the seat, he unzips it and pulls out one of his Audio CDs. Interesting. Is… is that the first CD inside his wallet? Must be. Dad has a habit of sorting the most important, relevant stuff on the first page of everything. CDs must also be included. Written on the label in black, Sharpie marker: Bob Hope’s 1968 USO Show.
Oh, I see. Yep, this CD reassures me. Dad. Prepped, prepared, and thinking ahead. Now I understand! I’m ready; he’s ready! We’re going to combat the silent enemy, starting with laughter, the best medicine.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Isabel Night 2026
Image Source: Anh Tuan To from Unsplash.com