I missed an opportunity yesterday. While sitting at the VA dental office waiting with my husband, a young man walked in. The very first thing I noticed about him was that he was missing an arm and a leg. But that wasn’t the most poignant thing I took away from the meeting.
He wore baggy shorts, a sloppy t-shirt, and grey running shoes. His hair was shaggy and he only had one prosthetic. His arm was missing just above the elbow but he used it when he gestured. I noticed immediately that the end was not shaped as I thought it would be. I could see the unevenness of the bone and muscles as he stood checking in at the window.
The second thing I really noticed about him was his voice. I like voices. My husband has a faint Irish accent that I love to listen to. This young man had a big voice that was soft. It was far deeper than I would have suspected and as he turned he had the brightest smile on his face. He exuded cheerfulness. I smiled because I couldn’t help it. He was adorable.
His wait was longer than the rest of the people, mostly men who’d not seen these last conflicts whose only visible maladies were old age and hard living. He stood a few times, not awkwardly but not gracefully. It took him a little extra to get up. But he did, and he did it once for joke about a man’s name. Miller. He stood up and said “I wonder if he yells ‘It’s Miller time’ when he gets to a party.” We laughed, and he laughed and sat back down.
When a man’s name was called who’d been there far less time than he, I looked over and told the young man they were messing with him now and winked. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. They eventually called his name and he went into the back offices. A short time later my husband came out turning my focus back to him. Trips to the VA are always stressful for him. He doesn’t like strangers close to him or being away from the house.
This morning though, my thoughts turned to that young man. I regret not speaking to him candidly. Asking him, not how he was injured, but what he’s doing to keep that smile on his face. He was so happy and adorable I wanted to hug him like I’m sure his mom hugged him when he was able to stand again. I missed a chance I probably won’t get again, but if I do, I’ll seize it. I will speak up at the risk of being that strange woman who talks to every veteran she sees. I will hand out my email address and I will not pass up the chance again to talk to someone who is amazing.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
History Repeats
I woke this morning to news of a shooting in Colorado and though my heart went out to the families and victims of this horrible incident my mind begged immediately that the shooter not be a veteran. It sounds awful and self-serving, but with the continuing media coverage of veterans suffering from PTSD, my concern is beginning to grow.
My concern is over the growing fear of veterans and the calls for monitoring of those suffering from PTSD. Public fear can grow into something awful, something unfair and cruel. Think it can’t?
In 1942, 110,000 Japanese Americans were gathered up and sent to “War Relocation Camps”. President Roosevelt himself issued Executive Order 9066 on February 19, which allowed the local military to designate certain areas as exclusion zones. This power was used to remove anyone of Japanese decent from their homes along the entire west coast. The United States census assisted these efforts by providing confidential information on Japanese Americans.
Many of these people had been born in this country, they were not immigrants, they were not illegal, and they were not criminals. Fear mongering led the charge. Fear after Pearl Harbor, fear of the unknown. And I’m watching this fear rear it’s ugly head again. Immediately after any gun violence the media looks for the assailant to be a combat veteran. PTSD is not whispered, it is screamed as if it is not an awful debilitating disorder, but a horrible monster running wild in the streets. The possibility of PTSD suffering veterans “snapping” is mentioned ad nauseam.
How long? How long before the government is swayed by the public’s fear and we’re gathered up and placed, for our own safety, into “Veteran Relocation Camps”? We’re already on a list, we’re already being monitored. I can no longer sit here and keep telling myself it won’t happen to me because it happened before. History repeats when we don’t learn.
My concern is over the growing fear of veterans and the calls for monitoring of those suffering from PTSD. Public fear can grow into something awful, something unfair and cruel. Think it can’t?
In 1942, 110,000 Japanese Americans were gathered up and sent to “War Relocation Camps”. President Roosevelt himself issued Executive Order 9066 on February 19, which allowed the local military to designate certain areas as exclusion zones. This power was used to remove anyone of Japanese decent from their homes along the entire west coast. The United States census assisted these efforts by providing confidential information on Japanese Americans.
Many of these people had been born in this country, they were not immigrants, they were not illegal, and they were not criminals. Fear mongering led the charge. Fear after Pearl Harbor, fear of the unknown. And I’m watching this fear rear it’s ugly head again. Immediately after any gun violence the media looks for the assailant to be a combat veteran. PTSD is not whispered, it is screamed as if it is not an awful debilitating disorder, but a horrible monster running wild in the streets. The possibility of PTSD suffering veterans “snapping” is mentioned ad nauseam.
How long? How long before the government is swayed by the public’s fear and we’re gathered up and placed, for our own safety, into “Veteran Relocation Camps”? We’re already on a list, we’re already being monitored. I can no longer sit here and keep telling myself it won’t happen to me because it happened before. History repeats when we don’t learn.
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