Going off to Vietnam in the fall of 1970 was not the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I was young, patriotic, naïve, ready for adventure, confident in my leaders, and ready to strike a blow for democracy. I had new Navy Wings of Gold on my chest, the armor that would protect me from the enemy and bring me home safely. No, that wasn’t hard to do at all.
When I was ordered to go back for a second tour, in late 1971, that was the hardest thing I have ever done.
By then, I had a family and a full appreciation of what war was all about. I knew my leaders were screwing this thing up, and still throwing troops into a fight we could not win. I had seen friends and comrades blown out of the sky.
I did not know if I could bear this burden, but I knew I had to do it.
The chilly, gray morning when I put on my uniform and boarded the transport flight back to Southeast Asia was the darkest day of my life. Luckily, I came back again, but not without losing even more fellow aviators; plus, it was my turn to feel the pain of hot North Vietnamese steel smash into my own body.
Still, I came back with no major parts missing or permanently mangled. Was it worth it? The long arc of history and reflection has led me to the conclusion that, yes, it was.
But it was still the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’ve recently experienced the second-hardest thing I’ve ever done. Now, please don’t laugh. Many of you have done the very same thing I’m about to describe:
Three weeks ago, The Muse and I drove to Boston and dropped Pierce off at college. I have been bereft ever since.
How is this possible? I have been in this kid’s life nearly every day for the past 18 years, and now he’s off on his own. The house feels empty. Our food bills have dropped by 50 percent, maybe more. I’ve got time on my hands. You can actually see the entire floor of his bedroom, now that the clothes have been picked up.
Wasn’t it just a few months ago when he was bouncing on the floor riffing to Elmo on TV? Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago when he was eagerly bounding through the door of his kindergarten classroom at East Quogue Elementary, anxious to see what this school business was all about?
Wasn’t it just a few days ago when I was frantically shuttling him from a robotics competition to a varsity tennis match — and back?
Gone are the mornings of dragging myself out of bed at 5:30 a.m. to make sure his lunch was packed and that he had a good, hot breakfast before racing to make the bell for that ridiculous 7:30 a.m. first class period.
Boy Scouts, robotics, varsity tennis, varsity track, and even driver’s ed are all in the rearview mirror. So, too, are summer days and weekends of washing dishes at the Southampton Bathing Corporation and three years of summer counseling at I-Camp in Water Mill.
Senior year was a blur. There was an avalanche of college applications, federal forms, scholarship applications, recruiter interviews, and road trips. We covered the Eastern Seaboard from Pittsburgh to Boston, but Boston had already won his heart based on many trips to that city over his formative years.
His SAT and ACT scores were very high, his grades were top notch, and, his AP scores fantastic. It was clear he could go pretty much anywhere he wanted to go. He was offered spots at almost every college to which he applied.
Only he was smart enough to pick Northeastern. He wants to be a mechanical engineer, and when Northeastern offered him a fabulous scholarship and admittance to their selective Honors Program, he was hooked.
He was also swayed by their amazing co-op program, where he’ll get two six-month internships at top-tier companies as part of his undergraduate studies. He’s in a hurry to be, as he says, “the next Bill Gates.”
My response to that has always been, “OK, when you get there, just remember; I want a Lamborghini.”
The month before he was to report to freshman year, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep. I ate everything that was bad for me.
And I fretted. Had I done everything I could to make sure he was ready? Had I told him everything he needed to know? Would he be safe?
Among the usual concerns, what was going to happen with the COVID-19 virus on campus? Boston was, after all, still a “hot spot.”
Fortunately for him, Northeastern has put a very rigorous COVID-19 management program in place. As a major research institution, they may be uniquely equipped to handle this challenge. So far, so good: Out of 130,000 tests administered to the college community, only 55 students have tested positive — a rate of 0.3 percent.
We drove to Boston the day before he was scheduled to start. The stay at a local hotel was nightmarish for me, dreading the following day. We were all nervous, squabbling the next morning about where to get breakfast. It was almost as if we didn’t want to like each other, which would make the parting easier.
The university had carefully and efficiently choreographed the move-in. Driving up to Pierce’s modern, 20-story dorm, a crew swept all the bags and boxes we had carefully packed into carts and spirited them to the 10th floor.
Then, it was time. The moment I had most feared. I tried to hide my tears, but I couldn’t. My son hugged me, patted me on the back and said, “Don’t worry, Dad. It’ll be OK.” And then, he turned and walked away — shoulders straight, striding happily and confidently into his future.
It’s been a month, as you read this. I’m sleeping again. We text and Zoom chat, but not as much as I’d like.
Yesterday, I asked him (hopefully) if he was homesick yet. He laughed, “No, Dad. But you can come visit.”
That was the best sign of his happiness I could have asked for.
And you know, of course, that I’m “mostly right.”
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