Last time, Grandson, I started telling you about my first day in boot camp. This time, I’ll tell you about the time I was forced to take dive training. I couldn’t swim.
Grandson, before they sent me to Vietnam, they sent me to bootcamp.
Dear Grandson, I joined the Navy in 1966, a time when the Vietnam War was developing. It’s hard to explain, but it became impossible to not go.
Grandson, it’s time I tell you about my first car. It wasn’t systematic, hydromatic, but it certainly went. Sort of.
Dear Grandson. When I was in school, my country was in Vietnam. It became impossible to not be swept up in it.
In his latest “Dear Grandson”, Stan Gerding reflects on what how being a kid playing with friends has changed, and the hardships his parents faced.
As the situation with guns in schools spirals out of control, I thought I’d try and explain today for my grandson’s tomorrow.
Over the span of my lifetime, I’ve realised it is fleeting. I don’t want my grandson to not know who I was. Consider this the first chapter.