Dear Glory,
There’s this boy, Ted, who comes down to the USO club to pass the time until he figures out what to do with himself. He lost an eye in Salerno, and wears a patch just like a pirate. His family owned a farm but sold it in the ’30s, and now his father manages our local hardware store. I’m sure Ted will work there once his mind recovers, but for now he’s content to count cans of sweet corn and roll bandages with us housewives.
At first we avoided all war talk around him, figuring it was impolite, but then it became clear he wanted to discuss his experiences. I can’t say it’s enjoyable to speak with this young man, but it is an education.
One particular comment he made sticks with me, and I want to share it with you. Mrs. Hansen’s youngest, Vaughn, asked Ted how many Germans he killed. Ted’s remaining eye watered up, and Mrs. Hansen moved to console him, saying that fascism must be stopped, and he had every right to kill the enemy—it was his duty as a U.S. soldier.
I’ll never forget what he said to her: “It might be my duty to my government, my brothers and my God, but it still don’t make it right.”
Now you may think I’m being purposefully obtuse, but you know I like telling stories, and it might be worth your while to pay attention to that boy’s sentiments. What he’d done offended his personal morality, the one deep within his heart. When you feel weak in spirit, think about the agreements you made with yourself about how to live an honorable life. We all have them, but unfortunately the contracts are often written in invisible ink when they should be signed in blood.
Okeydokey. Enough said about your situation. I will return to it, though, so I’m giving you fair warning. (Toby says when I’ve got a discussion I feel is unsettled, I bury it like a squirrel does a nut in autumn. It will certainly see the light of day again.)
Now go kiss those sweet babies for me. And tell Robbie to send another drawing—I need something sweetheart-y for Valentine’s Day!
Love, your bossy friend,
Rita