I think it was 1968 when a family three houses down the road from my parents lost a son in Viet Nam. He had jumped on a grenade saving other members of his platoon, but was killed instantly. He got a posthumous promotion from E-4 to Sergeant. My Mom was talking to our next-door neighbor lady about it, and they suggested to me and my best buddy that we should walk over and offer our condolences. I had never paid such a condolence call, and didn't know what to say, but we nervously went.
It was a warm day and the grieving family was in the living room. When we came onto the porch and walked to the screen door, they quietly invited us inside. We went over to his parents and told them how sorry we felt. His Dad rubbed our heads and tears welled up in his eyes, and he left the room unable to speak. His Mom hugged us, and I'll never forget the pained look in her eyes. Even years later, you could still see that pain because she lost her son. I just can't understand how anyone could spit on someone because they served in Viet Nam.
