why the colors are there—why a bird has bright tail feathers or why a butterfly has an eye painted on its wing. I don’t simply accept the world and say
WOW!
I need to know why it is wow-ish and wow-some. That’s just the way I am. Anyway, I do likedrawing and writing poems, so I guess I am slightly artsy. Once—it seems like years ago—Mrs. Campbell asked to see some of my poems.
I don’t know how any of that is going to help me in this situation. I’m fit, and I can run and climb and swim quite well, so those skills might help. We’ll see.
It’s only a matter of time before they find us… isn’t it? I can’t bring myself to believe Mrs. Campbell’s theory about the explosions. The Vietcong can’t have attacked Thailand. Our forces are stronger than theirs—we’re always being told that on the news and in the newspapers. The Americans and their allies are going to win the war.
Maybe there were lightning strikes on the base and it’s taking a long time to sort things out. Everything is so laid back in Thailand; everything takes time here. Mom says it’s part of the country’s charm, but Dad gets annoyed when things don’t work and we have to wait forever to get them fixed. That’s where I come in. I often fix things at the house—like the plumbing. There was a blockage somewhere and they couldn’t get a plumber to come. It smelled so bad! A land crab had got stuck in the drain outlet for the bath and died. I found and removed it and saved them hundreds of baht. Even Dad was impressed.
Lots of people are like Dad and get fed up with the way the Thais take their time over everything. That’s why somany military families live on the base at Utapao—it’s like a little piece of America. I’m glad we don’t. I like being part of Thai life. For example, one of the charcoal burner’s daughters at Amnuythip is a really good dancer. We’ve watched her perform in the Lakhon dance-drama at the local wat. Her hands are like charmed snakes, writhing and twisting. She’s very supple. We’d miss out on that kind of thing if we lived on the base. And if we lived at the base I wouldn’t have met Lan Kua. Thinking about him or any of his family being hurt or killed by the Vietcong makes me feel ill.
Life should be
sanuk—
fun—the Thais say. People smile a lot. I have a sudden horrific image in my head of Lek’s children in flames, screaming and running naked, unable to escape the fire that consumes them.
I wonder if the Americans are making things worse for the Thais? Involving them in the war? Encouraging their daughters to be prostitutes—after all, they can earn far more working as bar girls than they could helping their mamas grow rice.
I see the point of the Peace Movement, I certainly do…. But as a USAF employee’s child, I have to toe the line. My fights with Dad are almost always about the war. He shouts at me. I don’t listen. I shout at him. He doesn’t listen. Mom says we are too much alike. I think we are opposites. And if a man and his daughter can’t keep thepeace, why should the North and South Vietnamese? He took my CND badge and threw it in the garbage. I was singing along to Dylan….
Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
I told him that if every soldier refused to fight there’d be no war. But Dad said there are some things we have to fight for, like freedom of speech. But why do we have to fight in a country far from home? So what if part of that country wants the other part to be communists? Dad said it isn’t as simple as that. And he got really mad and went out and slammed the door.
My mind is alive with ideas and questions. I open the journal and my pencil hovers above the paper. What can I write?
DAY 12?
Dear Mom and Dad,
If I don’t survive and you eventually find this journal, please know I love you bothand I’m sorry if I’ve been a trouble to you. I’m sorry, Dad, that I always argue with you. I’m sorry. I
WOW!
I need to know why it is wow-ish and wow-some. That’s just the way I am. Anyway, I do likedrawing and writing poems, so I guess I am slightly artsy. Once—it seems like years ago—Mrs. Campbell asked to see some of my poems.
I don’t know how any of that is going to help me in this situation. I’m fit, and I can run and climb and swim quite well, so those skills might help. We’ll see.
It’s only a matter of time before they find us… isn’t it? I can’t bring myself to believe Mrs. Campbell’s theory about the explosions. The Vietcong can’t have attacked Thailand. Our forces are stronger than theirs—we’re always being told that on the news and in the newspapers. The Americans and their allies are going to win the war.
Maybe there were lightning strikes on the base and it’s taking a long time to sort things out. Everything is so laid back in Thailand; everything takes time here. Mom says it’s part of the country’s charm, but Dad gets annoyed when things don’t work and we have to wait forever to get them fixed. That’s where I come in. I often fix things at the house—like the plumbing. There was a blockage somewhere and they couldn’t get a plumber to come. It smelled so bad! A land crab had got stuck in the drain outlet for the bath and died. I found and removed it and saved them hundreds of baht. Even Dad was impressed.
Lots of people are like Dad and get fed up with the way the Thais take their time over everything. That’s why somany military families live on the base at Utapao—it’s like a little piece of America. I’m glad we don’t. I like being part of Thai life. For example, one of the charcoal burner’s daughters at Amnuythip is a really good dancer. We’ve watched her perform in the Lakhon dance-drama at the local wat. Her hands are like charmed snakes, writhing and twisting. She’s very supple. We’d miss out on that kind of thing if we lived on the base. And if we lived at the base I wouldn’t have met Lan Kua. Thinking about him or any of his family being hurt or killed by the Vietcong makes me feel ill.
Life should be
sanuk—
fun—the Thais say. People smile a lot. I have a sudden horrific image in my head of Lek’s children in flames, screaming and running naked, unable to escape the fire that consumes them.
I wonder if the Americans are making things worse for the Thais? Involving them in the war? Encouraging their daughters to be prostitutes—after all, they can earn far more working as bar girls than they could helping their mamas grow rice.
I see the point of the Peace Movement, I certainly do…. But as a USAF employee’s child, I have to toe the line. My fights with Dad are almost always about the war. He shouts at me. I don’t listen. I shout at him. He doesn’t listen. Mom says we are too much alike. I think we are opposites. And if a man and his daughter can’t keep thepeace, why should the North and South Vietnamese? He took my CND badge and threw it in the garbage. I was singing along to Dylan….
Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
I told him that if every soldier refused to fight there’d be no war. But Dad said there are some things we have to fight for, like freedom of speech. But why do we have to fight in a country far from home? So what if part of that country wants the other part to be communists? Dad said it isn’t as simple as that. And he got really mad and went out and slammed the door.
My mind is alive with ideas and questions. I open the journal and my pencil hovers above the paper. What can I write?
DAY 12?
Dear Mom and Dad,
If I don’t survive and you eventually find this journal, please know I love you bothand I’m sorry if I’ve been a trouble to you. I’m sorry, Dad, that I always argue with you. I’m sorry. I
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