My late husband’s car bore a set of vanity license plates that few could decipher. Two words spelled: “M-Y T-H-O.” (My Tho). He had to pronounce it for me: “Me Thoe.” I stopped calling them vanity plates when he told me it was a small place where he had been stationed for a while when he served in Vietnam.
It was a leap for him. He hadn’t talked much about his time in Vietnam and I never pressed him. When he got the license plates, he told me about his experience coming home from the war. It was 1969 and he was required to travel in uniform. When he landed back in the States it was very noticeable that no one greeted him. When he looked at people, they would avert their eyes. The only eye contact was from those who returned his glances with hostile stares. The message was clear. He was very unwelcome.
After he
got out of the army, he disposed of his uniform and tossed his ribbons and
medals, wanting nothing to do with the service. I believe he felt betrayed. He
was exposed to nightly mortar attacks, the occasional sniper, his position was overrun in the TET
Offensive, he was exposed to Agent Orange, and no thanks came from his fellow
citizens.
It was
about 40 years after his return when he began to be more open about his
service. It took fellow Vietnam veterans to greet him as they recognized what
was stamped on the car tags. Then he donned a 9th Infantry Vietnam
Veteran ballcap and began to hear “Thank you for your service." He
gradually reacquired the ribbons and medals he had earned and began to write
about his experiences in the Army and Vietnam. I believe more than anything, he
wanted his son to know and to feel the pride he had felt in uniform.
Among the
military records I requested and received was the notice he had been awarded
the Army Commendation Medal, but no reason was given for it. I never knew he
had received it until after his death.
By the
time he died, he was 100% disabled due to Agent Orange exposure. I watched him
slowly waste away. I buried him in Leavenworth National Cemetery with military
honors. It was the last “Thank you” for the honorable service he gave his
country.
I lost
track of the My Tho plates. They were probably disposed of at some point when
we downsized to one car. Now I wish I had them. I would display them with the
pride he regained, and the pride I had always had in him.
