Dear Dad,
Now that I'm older and know more about what is going on in life, I'd like to start the holiday season by sharing some memories of Christmas'Past with you.
Mom says that before you went to Vietnam, Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year. She said that you would help decorate the house, and have snowball fights with the kids and that you loved Christmas for the happiness it brought. She told us about her joyful memories of you singing carols with the neighbors who would gather together on Christmas Eve. She remembers the sound of your laughter echoing through the house over little things, such as hanging up the stockings or watching Frosty the Snowman on TV, or a hundred other things that made you laugh back then. I wish I would have known you in those days, Dad, because my memories of Christmas are different than that.
I remember the Christmas when I was in first grade-- you got drunk and took your shotgun outside, telling us kids that you were going to shoot Santa when he came. I stayed up all night that Christmas Eve, waiting to hear the sound of the shotgun blast and wondering how I could ever go to school again because all the kids would know that MY dad was the one who killed Santa. When I came downstairs the next morning and saw presents, I knew that Mom was our "Santa" because you would have really killed anyone else. I never believed in Santa after that Christmas,Dad. I don't think any of us kids did although we never talked about it to each other. But I could see it in their eyes and knew they could see it in mine.
Then when I was about 10, you got drunk at the office Christmas Party and came home mad, fighting with Mom because someone had asked her to dance. She didn't dance with the man, but you were mad anyway, and knocked down our Christmas tree, smashing all the beautiful decorations on the living room rug. I can still see Mom's face in my mind as she cleaned up the mess, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. I wanted to help, but she kissed me and told me to go to bed because "Santa" would be coming soon. My own pillow was wet with tears that night as I tried to understand why you hated Christmas, Dad. I must have fallen asleep because I never did figure it out. But crying myself to sleep became my own private Christmas tradition as the years passed.
Do you remember the Christmas when I was twelve, Dad? Jenny was 8 and little Bobby was about 5 then. Christmas Eve we heard you fighting with Mom about how much money she had spent on toys for us and you were mad because she didn't buy any beer or whiskey for you to 'celebrate' the holidays with. It was a long fight and us kids huddled together crying, and tried to comfort each other as another Christmas nightmare carried us into the wee hours of the morning. We opened all of our presents under the tree that Christmas morning and were happy at those wonderful things that "Santa" had brought. Do you remember what happened to them, Dad? Do you remember telling us to each pick out our favorite gift and then you took the rest of our presents out to the car and left with them in the trunk? When you came home that Christmas Day, all of our presents were gone, the only thing you brought back was the case of Budweiser and the fifth of Canadian Club. Mom went to her room and cried for a long time that day but there was nothing we could do to make her feel any better. Tears were traditional in our house on Christmas each year. At least for everyone except you.
There was one Christmas, I'm not sure how old we all were, but I remember going to Grandma's house that day for dinner with all of our relatives. You didn't want to go, but Mom finally talked you into it. I remember hearing you ask if there was going to be any booze there because if there wasn't then we were staying home. Mom didn't know if there would be so you decided that you would buy some to take as a "gift" to Grandma and Grandpa. You said it was proper to take a bottle of wine when invited somewhere to dinner. Only instead of wine, you took whiskey. Lots of people were there and I can remember the wonderful smells of the turkey and the pies and how beautiful Grandma's Christmas tree was. We played with all of our cousins, showing off our present that each of us had brought and having a delightful time. But we all kept an eye on you, Dad, knowing that the dark clouds would soon be gathering over your head and waiting for the inevitable explosion. We watched you drink and get quieter and quieter, but I thought you wouldn't blow up at Grandma's house in front of everyone. I thought you would wait until we got home or at least until we were in the car. At least that's what I prayed for. But when Uncle Bud said something about Mom's old dress, you went off like a rocket. I had never seen you hit anyone before so I wasn't prepared for you to physically attack him. Grandma's beautiful day turned into our Christmas nightmare and we never went there for Christmas again.
We never knew why you did these things, Dad. Mom would tell us that you were just easily upset and that we should try to be very good so you wouldn't get mad at us. But someone or something always made you mean no matter how good we were or how hard we tried to make you happy. You hated Christmas and made us hate it, too. Things got a little better when you stopped drinking last year, but not much. Mom ended up crying as usual because you still were angry on Christmas and picked a fight about something trivial.
It took 20 years for us to find out that the way you acted was because of the Vietnam War. We never knew about what happened to you over there since you wouldn't talk about it and wouldn't let anyone else talk about it either. We knew that you wouldn't watch any war movies or have anything to do with any veterans organizations, but we never thought anything of it. We sure didn't connect it to the 'explosive' times. Even Mom didn't know that. We may have not ever known that if not for the counselor that she finally took us to . He was a Vietnam veteran and told us about PTSD and about how many families of Vietnam veterans went through the same thing. He told us that you really didn't hate us or
Christmas, but that the holidays brought on attacks because of memories from when you were over there during Christmas. He said the rage was part of the anger inside you and that deep down, you hated your actions just as much as we did. But he also said that you cannot be at peace or have a real "Merry Christmas" until you get help by talking to someone or by finally dealing with that part of your life. Dad, he says that you are in "denial" and that until you accept your Vietnam experiences, good and bad, you will never be that old dad that Mom remembers.....the one who loved Christmas and enjoyed the things that come with the holiday season.
So, Dad, this is my Christmas "Wish List" for this year and all that I want "Santa" to bring. I want you to go for help in dealing with this tragic affliction that keeps the Vietnam war alive inside of you. I want to find that dad who is wonderful and loving. I want to be able to talk to you about Vietnam and the experiences that you had over there, even if the picture isn't pretty. I want to know you so that I can stand by you through the bad times and feelings. They will never go away completely but can be lived with once you get them out and can deal with them.. I want you to finally realize that Mom and all of us kids are not your enemy and that we love you very, very much. I want to let you know that we
forgive you.
Dad, I am very proud of what you stand for and whatever you did over there, because you didn't run away to Canada like many others did. I am old enough now to understand things and want you to know that nothing you did over there will make any of us stop loving you. You must realize that you did what you had to do to survive and that no one can ever fault you for that. You have nothing to feel guilty about.
My present to you this year, Dad, will be a list of all the places that you can go for help. Another will be an envelope containing plane tickets for all of us to go to Washington, DC, so that you may go to the Wall and feel some of the healing that I have heard begins there. Our whole family needs to experience this healing, Dad. Your war isn't private....it rages in all of us. We all need to bond together as a family and I think that this will be a start. Please just do this for me, if for no other reason than to ease your own pain.
And, please know that I mean it when I address that envelope this way:
