By Dave Holly
It was the summer of 1966, I was 6 years and time felt like it stood still. The hot July days in Oklahoma lasted forever. Life was an adventure everyday with always something to do. I ran free bare footed, no shirt, short blond hair and not a care in the world. My older brother Steve was only 11 months older than me. We lived in a nice three bedroom, doubled car garage house in a upper middle class neighborhood. It was a time in America where it was safe to leave your doors unlocked. Crime was almost unheard of during that time. All the other kids on the block were of the same age. Yes, we were part of the baby boom. Our school was right down the street where we walked to during the month of late August to late May when school was in attendant.
My father was an USAF pilot and was always gone it seemed while I was growing up. My mother pretty much raised us kids. Oh yes, I didn't forget, but I had a younger brother also, his name was Scott. He was only two years old in 1966.
While growing up, I never went without, always plenty to eat, nice house and plenty of friends. I personally at that age didn't know there were many in the world without good food and shelter. This was the case of my wife from Malaysia who I will meet some 30 years in the future. My brother Steve and I ran free to explore the woods, climbing trees, riding our bikes to eternity and back. It seemed, and depended who we were with that day determined where we eat lunch. All the moms had open doors and plenty to eat. It was a time in America where the women stayed at home and didn't have to work. The man went off to work and made the money. Oh boy! The American dream. It was!
One late afternoon with the brilliant orange sun about to set, my father seemed upset about something. My mother was in the kitchen crying to herself. I followed my dad out to the garage. We had a storage area above with a long rope that, when pulled, bring down a wooden ladder. Steve and little Scott came out and all three of us wondered and watched our father heading up for the ladder. Later, I found out that my dad was ordered to a place called Vietnam. Man, wheres that and why is he going away. At that age I didn't understand.
My dad looked from above and told Steve to watch Scott. My younger brother was a climber, he learned to climb before he learned to walk. I went in to watch my favorite evening show on our 13 inch black and white TV. Suddenly Steve was yelling for my dad who was trying to get his gear out from the storage. Scott climbed all to way up to the top of the steps and fell down on the concrete garage floor. He was not moving as my dad quickly tumbled down the ladder to get to him. He picked him up and with my mother rushed him to the hospital. During that time technology and modern medicine was unheard of at military hospitals. They arrived home in the wee hours of the morning and put Scott to bed with a nice bang on the left side of his head. The extent of Scott's injury would not be known until another 10 years.
It was about 0430am still awake in my bed, I just laid there unable to sleep. I heard the car started and I quickly went to the window and saw my mother and father driving off. I would not see my father for another 3 years.
As time went on the reality and understanding of the Vietnam war became very clear. All my friends on the street during that time, most of their fathers were off, also fighting this awful war. The end of the summer of 1966 ended with sad ordeal for my friend, Joe. A taxi came and delivered message that his father was killed in action. Thats the way they did back then a damn taxi.
Joe's father wasn't the only one, three other of my friends lost their father before we started school in late August 1966. We all grew up that summer with the harsh understanding that life had other cards in the deck except worry free, not a care in the world's good life. I thought to myself at six years of age that life may be a real challenge in the years to come. That life is going to be a journey of good experiences and possibly some bad. Life's first real lesson, the summer of 1966.
It was the summer of 1966, I was 6 years and time felt like it stood still. The hot July days in Oklahoma lasted forever. Life was an adventure everyday with always something to do. I ran free bare footed, no shirt, short blond hair and not a care in the world. My older brother Steve was only 11 months older than me. We lived in a nice three bedroom, doubled car garage house in a upper middle class neighborhood. It was a time in America where it was safe to leave your doors unlocked. Crime was almost unheard of during that time. All the other kids on the block were of the same age. Yes, we were part of the baby boom. Our school was right down the street where we walked to during the month of late August to late May when school was in attendant.
My father was an USAF pilot and was always gone it seemed while I was growing up. My mother pretty much raised us kids. Oh yes, I didn't forget, but I had a younger brother also, his name was Scott. He was only two years old in 1966.
While growing up, I never went without, always plenty to eat, nice house and plenty of friends. I personally at that age didn't know there were many in the world without good food and shelter. This was the case of my wife from Malaysia who I will meet some 30 years in the future. My brother Steve and I ran free to explore the woods, climbing trees, riding our bikes to eternity and back. It seemed, and depended who we were with that day determined where we eat lunch. All the moms had open doors and plenty to eat. It was a time in America where the women stayed at home and didn't have to work. The man went off to work and made the money. Oh boy! The American dream. It was!
One late afternoon with the brilliant orange sun about to set, my father seemed upset about something. My mother was in the kitchen crying to herself. I followed my dad out to the garage. We had a storage area above with a long rope that, when pulled, bring down a wooden ladder. Steve and little Scott came out and all three of us wondered and watched our father heading up for the ladder. Later, I found out that my dad was ordered to a place called Vietnam. Man, wheres that and why is he going away. At that age I didn't understand.
My dad looked from above and told Steve to watch Scott. My younger brother was a climber, he learned to climb before he learned to walk. I went in to watch my favorite evening show on our 13 inch black and white TV. Suddenly Steve was yelling for my dad who was trying to get his gear out from the storage. Scott climbed all to way up to the top of the steps and fell down on the concrete garage floor. He was not moving as my dad quickly tumbled down the ladder to get to him. He picked him up and with my mother rushed him to the hospital. During that time technology and modern medicine was unheard of at military hospitals. They arrived home in the wee hours of the morning and put Scott to bed with a nice bang on the left side of his head. The extent of Scott's injury would not be known until another 10 years.
It was about 0430am still awake in my bed, I just laid there unable to sleep. I heard the car started and I quickly went to the window and saw my mother and father driving off. I would not see my father for another 3 years.
As time went on the reality and understanding of the Vietnam war became very clear. All my friends on the street during that time, most of their fathers were off, also fighting this awful war. The end of the summer of 1966 ended with sad ordeal for my friend, Joe. A taxi came and delivered message that his father was killed in action. Thats the way they did back then a damn taxi.
Joe's father wasn't the only one, three other of my friends lost their father before we started school in late August 1966. We all grew up that summer with the harsh understanding that life had other cards in the deck except worry free, not a care in the world's good life. I thought to myself at six years of age that life may be a real challenge in the years to come. That life is going to be a journey of good experiences and possibly some bad. Life's first real lesson, the summer of 1966.
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