My Uncle Randy was in Vietnam in the worst of conditions next to getting severely wounded or killed.

 He made it out in one piece, but for years no one in the family asked him about his experiences in combat. I remember growing up with the understanding it would be rude to ask him about Vietnam. I believe everyone assumed that not talking about it was "giving him space," based on the memory of the common silence of WWII vets including my grandfather, who suffered horrific wounds in the South Pacific and spent five years recovering in a VA hospital.

This major disconnect in the family where Uncle Randy and the Vietnam War were concerned was corrected on Veteran's Day in 2003 almost by accident. Someone said something, or asked something. Then the silence was over. Though he never asked for it, I feel he was pleased when the wall, so to speak, came tumbling down and he learned the family knew the war in Vietnam was not just a bad dream that caused him to ever after sleep with a light on, and that we wanted to know what he experienced and how he felt about it.

As I always remember to thank my Uncle Phil, other relatives, friends and complete strangers who have been or are currently serving in the military, I thanked Uncle Randy - at last.  I thanked him for his service, for everything he endured all those years ago in the mud and the muck and the blood of his fellow soldiers and friends; for the time he spent sleeping against a tree, up to his chest in water and leeches, waking to every noise -- and for every moment he looked up at the dark, raining sky to wonder how he got where he was at age 18. I thanked him for everyone and everything he lost. A dedicated comedian and out from under the lonely, black sky of Vietnam, this was his response:

 “Ah, it was nothing. I knew you’d all appreciate it down the road.”