By Dave Holly
Wow!! Now eight years old now. The memory of heavy rock, long hair, free love and mind altering drugs were the norm in America. Of course, not me. My average day was school, playing football and not doing my homework. My poor mother was at her wits end with us boys. Without my father around, he was still in Vietnam, we ran wild.
In September 1968, I learned another one of life's lessons. Don't be a show off!! My friend Robert brought something to school that day and gave it to me. Man, this was special. It was a war trophy brought back by his father from the Korean war.
Robert, a big kid with a short crew cut almost bald head was just of one wild rat pack group I ran with. All of us were wild and got into trouble every single day of the week doing stupid things like fighting during recess outside mostly to impress the girls and to act tough. It was a pecking order, who was the toughest and who was the boss.
The trophy that Robert gave me was a grenade. Yes, the real potato!! Just pull the pin and throw it. Bang! We were all on our recess break on the play ground and all the rat pack gang gathered around me looking at the bomb. One of my friends spoke up and said, " I saw the show Combat, just pull the pin and throw it. You have 10 seconds once the pin is pulled." Then the peer pressure started. Chicken was called out, I dare you etc... Without thinking, I walked over to the big trash dumpster pulled the pin and threw it in. A huge explosion occurred sending the huge dumpster 10 feet in the air with leftover school lunches spilled all over the play ground. In shock we all ran!
It wasn't long before one of my so called friends ratted me out. I can remember the teachers and the principle, they were in shock and quickly ordered a full count of the students. My mind rushed and prayed nobody was hurt or killed. Pure luck nobody was injured. Rumors spread fast that I was the crazy one around the school. I was expelled permanently pending psychological evaluation.
My mother's first brother, uncle Ted, just returning and only 2 days back from Vietnam came and got me and took me to live with him and my aunt Georgia up in Washington, D.C. My uncle was a Lt Col in the army. He was a harden veteran of the Korean war and two combat tours in Vietnam. He suffered what we call now Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS). Because of his experiences he drank everyday until he was falling down drunk and used to yell and hit me. Even with all of this I loved and respected him,and in many ways felt sorry for him. He was a great person and fun to be around when he wasn't drunk.
The first day driving in Washington, D.C., there was a huge anti-war demonstration going on with an easy 100,000 people mostly long haired hip flower children. Most were stoned out of their heads. In the distance but couldn't see, I heard a rock song playing. Later, some 8 years later, I heard the same song playing on the radio. It was Jimmy Hendrix. Wow! I remember the song with the excellent rock playing but didn't know or could see him or the band. My uncle was yelling out the car at the people calling them every name in the book. By then, he had already drank a 12 pack from Dover, Delaware, where we started our drive.
Yes, we moved back east, while my dad was still in Vietnam. My mother's parents lived there. So, for a while I was closed to my grand parents. I was labeled by the so-called expert a disturbed kid and was dangerous. I was then sent to a private military school, one of the last still open. All the others were shut down for abuse. Talk about beating and abuse, it was an everyday exercise. I got used to it. I was in pure hell!
One day after being there for two months I was called out upfront. I had a visitor. It was my father. He was so thin and aged so much with now gray hair. He looked bad. On his breath was the smell of 90 proof gin. He was nice to me but he told me he couldn't get me out until a year and another evaluation.
So, 1968, my father came home from a war, he survived! My hell continued for another not one year but two before they released me to my parents. All this for showing off one day at school. Lesson two for me in life 1968.
Wow!! Now eight years old now. The memory of heavy rock, long hair, free love and mind altering drugs were the norm in America. Of course, not me. My average day was school, playing football and not doing my homework. My poor mother was at her wits end with us boys. Without my father around, he was still in Vietnam, we ran wild.
In September 1968, I learned another one of life's lessons. Don't be a show off!! My friend Robert brought something to school that day and gave it to me. Man, this was special. It was a war trophy brought back by his father from the Korean war.
Robert, a big kid with a short crew cut almost bald head was just of one wild rat pack group I ran with. All of us were wild and got into trouble every single day of the week doing stupid things like fighting during recess outside mostly to impress the girls and to act tough. It was a pecking order, who was the toughest and who was the boss.
The trophy that Robert gave me was a grenade. Yes, the real potato!! Just pull the pin and throw it. Bang! We were all on our recess break on the play ground and all the rat pack gang gathered around me looking at the bomb. One of my friends spoke up and said, " I saw the show Combat, just pull the pin and throw it. You have 10 seconds once the pin is pulled." Then the peer pressure started. Chicken was called out, I dare you etc... Without thinking, I walked over to the big trash dumpster pulled the pin and threw it in. A huge explosion occurred sending the huge dumpster 10 feet in the air with leftover school lunches spilled all over the play ground. In shock we all ran!
It wasn't long before one of my so called friends ratted me out. I can remember the teachers and the principle, they were in shock and quickly ordered a full count of the students. My mind rushed and prayed nobody was hurt or killed. Pure luck nobody was injured. Rumors spread fast that I was the crazy one around the school. I was expelled permanently pending psychological evaluation.
My mother's first brother, uncle Ted, just returning and only 2 days back from Vietnam came and got me and took me to live with him and my aunt Georgia up in Washington, D.C. My uncle was a Lt Col in the army. He was a harden veteran of the Korean war and two combat tours in Vietnam. He suffered what we call now Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS). Because of his experiences he drank everyday until he was falling down drunk and used to yell and hit me. Even with all of this I loved and respected him,and in many ways felt sorry for him. He was a great person and fun to be around when he wasn't drunk.
The first day driving in Washington, D.C., there was a huge anti-war demonstration going on with an easy 100,000 people mostly long haired hip flower children. Most were stoned out of their heads. In the distance but couldn't see, I heard a rock song playing. Later, some 8 years later, I heard the same song playing on the radio. It was Jimmy Hendrix. Wow! I remember the song with the excellent rock playing but didn't know or could see him or the band. My uncle was yelling out the car at the people calling them every name in the book. By then, he had already drank a 12 pack from Dover, Delaware, where we started our drive.
Yes, we moved back east, while my dad was still in Vietnam. My mother's parents lived there. So, for a while I was closed to my grand parents. I was labeled by the so-called expert a disturbed kid and was dangerous. I was then sent to a private military school, one of the last still open. All the others were shut down for abuse. Talk about beating and abuse, it was an everyday exercise. I got used to it. I was in pure hell!
One day after being there for two months I was called out upfront. I had a visitor. It was my father. He was so thin and aged so much with now gray hair. He looked bad. On his breath was the smell of 90 proof gin. He was nice to me but he told me he couldn't get me out until a year and another evaluation.
So, 1968, my father came home from a war, he survived! My hell continued for another not one year but two before they released me to my parents. All this for showing off one day at school. Lesson two for me in life 1968.
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