Mine is not a story of how I fought in a war. I feel the heaviness of burden shame wanting to tell you how I stood on line next to my fellow troop, the one I had bonded with, the one who saved my life or perhaps whose life I could be proud to have helped move beyond the battle field. Yet my story doesn't put a rifle in my hand, or dirt on the soles of my boot. My war wounds are real, deep, and everlasting.
I too fought the war, from a yellow and black four wheeled 1968 Plymouth ...