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Hope Gets a New Bracelet- A Memorial Day Tribute

By
Real Estate Agent with Chuck Willman 9334967-SA00

Flags Wave on Cedar Hills Utah

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There is a common bond held by those of us who grew up on military bases during the time of the Vietnam War. Such as:

1) Watching a squadron being deployed. The absence of these distant soldiers was palpable. I recall looking out behind the backstop during my baseball games. Where there was once moms and dads- it was just moms now… sitting in the bleachers and rooting for us. Almost no masculine voices. The base felt like a town of women and children.

2) Looking at the class room and taking mental inventory of the war status of each student's father. I sat in the last row (alphabetical order) and would look at the back of my classmates' heads. The mental checklist was: father deployed, father missing in action, father recently returned, father prisoner of war.

3) We all wore bracelets. These were POW/MIA bracelets. On them you'd have the name and rank of a soldier, their branch of service and the date of their capture or status change. My bracelet's name had been randomly assigned to me. I preferred it this way. Last thing I wanted was a bracelet with my dad's name on it.

On the base where we lived there was a housing area. The speed limit was 15 mph and the Air Police could ticket you for going 18, if they so choose. This meant we could see traffic in plenty of time to move our sports out of the street and onto the side walk until traffic passed.

The only car you didn't want to see was the base commander's. It was a long blue vehicle- with a metal flag at the top of the antenna. On the flag was a single white star that appeared to have been spray-painted against the blue background using a stencil. This meant the passenger was a One Star General.

The reason you didn't want to see this vehicle was that it never brought good news. You didn't want the commander on your porch, reading an official document.

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All this was background, of course, to the kid stuff that was going on. My brother and I were prepping for the world championship of two-man football. You never heard of it but it was real. We were taking on John Nicole and Mustache Steve. John’s actual last name was something approximating Nicole- but we chose to feminize it because it annoyed him. And Steve? He had dealt us all an indignity by proclaiming, “when I grow up- I’m gonna grow a mustache- and it’s going to better than all y’alls!” Yeah. Steve. As you can tell- we had reason to not like him.

In preparation for the game, which was held in our back yard, my brother had convinced me that it would be best if we mowed not only our yard but also that of our neighbor’s. This meant we’d have a field twice as long and… more importantly… the grass height would be the same across the entire field.

After we had mowed the neighbor’s yard- the mom came over and told our mom, “Your boys are so sweet. They know my husband’s at war and did me a gigantic favor.” My mom replied, “Don’t you worry- they’ll mow your yard from now on. It won’t be a problem.”

Although it was an added chore, I didn’t mind much. First- it meant we were guaranteed a uniform playing surface it also meant I might find an “in”. You see, I had a crush on Hope- the neighbor girl. And mowing her yard meant I might actually have the excuse to talk to her. I had not been courageous in that regard.

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The day of the Two Man Championship arrived and we couldn’t be more disappointed. It had rained for two days and our field was a muddy mess. Having won the coin toss, John and Mustache Steve elected to receive. We kicked to them and Steve ran past me like a lightning bolt. I had slipped in the mud and lost all respect for myself.

My brother called time-out and ran into the house; he motioned me to follow. While inside he directed me to a box; it contained hand-me-downs from our Aunt. We put on three piece suits. Fancy pants, a vest and a suit coat. He slapped my shoulders and said while smiling deviously, “shoulder pads!”

We ran back to the field and both John and Steve objected. “You can’t change clothes!” they complained. We told them they were welcome to change but they declined.

The entire momentum shifted and we quickly scored. Then we scored again. Emboldened by our padding we ran recklessly. It may have been the rain but I’m thinking they might have even cried a little.

Then my mom came out and screamed, “What are you doing?! Are those your cousins’ suits?!”

I was sure we were dead meat. But my brother calmly yelled back, “Mom- when will we ever need to wear a suit? Besides- we’ve almost grown out of these.”

Mom threw up her arms and said, “Yeah. You’re right.”

If there were a coolest-mom-in-the-world award. I’m sure she won it that day.

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Three weeks later Hope’s father returned from war. It was almost Christmas but that wasn’t the reason. His mom had passed away and the Air Force found it suitable to send him home for the funeral.

On the day of his return, he knocked on our door and thanked my brother and I for mowing their lawn. He also added that we were probably glad that it was winter now and our duties were probably over. We nodded in agreement- but then I felt dumb. He had just lost his mom and I’m agreeing that mowing was a chore. And in all that, it was worse- I’d miss the mowing because I was still no closer to talking to Hope. Too many emotions filled me. I felt selfish, and sad, and uncourageous, and love-struck. “So this is why people get mopey?” I thought.

After the funeral it was expected that Hope’s father would be home for Christmas. No deal. They needed him back so he was on the next flight out, just a few days shy of Christmas.

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Football was over and my brother and I were onto basketball. We prepped for the next world championship against, you guessed it- John and Steve. That’s when we saw the blue car.

The base commander’s vehicle was slowly moving toward us. I had rebounded the ball and my brother and I watched the machinery approach at a snail’s pace.

Instantly, sweat filled my flat-top and my brother, normally stoic, appeared to lose the color from his face.

The car pulled up to our driveway and then lurched forward until it reached the neighbors’ home.

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The commander walked stoically to Hope’s porch, accompanied by his driver.

He pulled out a letter and began to read from it.

Hope ran screaming into the driveway and headed in my direction.

I hugged the basketball.

Hands on her head, her face contorted to a silent scream, she looked my way and then ran inside.

Her mom had collapsed at the doorway and her little brother, who was around five at the time, tugged on the shoulder of her dress and said, “Get up momma. Get up.”

And then it was over.

The door was closed and the car drove off slowly.

And I still stood there.

Hugging the basketball.

More clueless than I’d ever been in my life.

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I wondered “what could I do in a time like this?

Why couldn’t I have been the reassuring voice to Hope?

The only time I had ever done a good thing, I reasoned, was when I’d mowed their lawn.

To do so now would be pointless. The grass was brown and dormant.

Even so- I gassed up the mower and began the process.

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I mowed from the furthest part of the back yard.

East to West. Then West to East.

Back and forth while trying to form the most regimented lines possible.

I used the grass catcher- which was of no use. I was mowing the air above the stubble.

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As I mowed closer and closer to their home I could sense out of my periphery that she was watching.

She must have been sitting on a stool so that she sat high enough to see me.

The window blinds were up and Hope sat motionless.

She was watching me mow east to west, then west to east. Back and forth again and again. Accomplishing nothing. But doing something. Anything.

I knew that Hope was getting a new bracelet.

And all I knew to do was mow.

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Many years later there was a memorial built for those who had been captured or lost to war.

I had always heard that it would be an emotional thing for anyone who ventured to see it.

For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to visit for many years.

What had become of Hope’s father? It was a mystery to me.

I only knew that he had been shot down just before Christmas. Other members of his flight crew- people whose children I knew, had been taken prisoner.

He was designated missing in action.

That designation would stick for many years.

Eventually it would be changed to killed-in-action.

By the time Hope would have been graduating college her father's remains were returned to the United States for a proper burial.

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I don’t know what it is to sacrifice for my country.

But I have witnessed too many friends' fathers experience it.

I don’t want to get into a discussion of war and the many ways it has and does exact a toll on us.

I do, though, want to thank those who’ve been willing to give their all for their country.

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So, as we approach another memorial day I think again of the men and women on the wall.

Or in the cemeteries.

Or in the hospitals.

I also think of the loved ones they’ve left behind.

 

I think of Hope.

Comments (9)

Chuck Willman
Chuck Willman - Alpine, UT
NewHouseUtah.com

I want to make one note on this story. It is true as remembered by me except in one regard. I made one name change because I feel that the person I referenced has the right to privacy as well as the right to tell her story from her perspective. Though it's based on actual events, it's not much different than the story of anyone who has lost a loved one to war.

May 19, 2015 11:26 AM
James Dray
Fathom Realty - Bentonville, AR

Good morning Chuck what a moving story you told us.  I was so engrossed and awestruck by the story.  We really don't know what the military does to keep us safe from harm.  Stories like this brings it all home.  I can't thank you enough for opening up to us and telling this story.  

May 19, 2015 09:02 PM
Chuck Willman
Chuck Willman - Alpine, UT
NewHouseUtah.com

James Dray This may be the longest post I've ever made here. It's also one of those events that still occupies my memories of a time that was complex for so many people. I'm very glad you took the time to read it- it's certainly not one for the blog skimmer.

May 19, 2015 09:52 PM
Evelyn Johnston
Friends & Neighbors Real Estate - Elkhart, IN
The People You Know, Like and Trust!

Chuck, you saw so much more than many of us kids who did not live on base or near one, yet we too have respect and reverence for our Soldiers who served and paid the ultimate price as well as those who are still serving.  A beautiful tribute to the pain of your youth.

May 20, 2015 01:25 PM
Chuck Willman
Chuck Willman - Alpine, UT
NewHouseUtah.com

Evelyn Johnston I don't think, at the time, that I realized that this wasn't normal. This was our waking reality. Upon reflection, or from a distance, it has been the cause of continual grief. I know why people tell soldiers "thank you for your service." 

May 20, 2015 01:40 PM
Karen Cooper
Karen Cooper | Sr Mortgage Loan Originator ! NMLS # 223305 | First Federal Bank of Florida, Ocala, FL - The Villages, FL
Helping Homeowners w/Home Loans in 27 US States

Chuck -  Thanks for a look at the real life many of us don'treally know. And for the essence of Memorial Day in your story.

May 22, 2015 12:14 PM
Joan Cox
House to Home, Inc. - Denver Real Estate - 720-231-6373 - Denver, CO
Denver Real Estate - Selling One Home at a Time

Chuck, thanks for sharing your story and cannot imagine.   We do need to take time to honor those that gave their lives.

May 23, 2015 10:28 AM
Chuck Willman
Chuck Willman - Alpine, UT
NewHouseUtah.com

Karen Pierce I suppose all the veterans and their relatives have stories such as these... but... not many like to tell them as they can be a bit much to process at times.

May 28, 2015 12:26 PM
Chuck Willman
Chuck Willman - Alpine, UT
NewHouseUtah.com

Joan Cox My sister is retiring from the service. She came to visit me on memorial day. It was so good to talk about our experiences growing up as well as hers as a longtime pilot in the Air Force.

May 28, 2015 12:28 PM