A story that has stuck with me for over twenty years.
(Disclaimer: I do not remember who originally shared this story. I will do my best to get it right. The gist of the story will be here, as well as, the main facts, but the minutia may be creative writing on my part. If you know who experienced and “owns” this true story, please share.)
I was listening to a talk radio program, many years ago, and the guest was a Vietnam veteran who had started a charity, not many years after the end of the war, to help feed and care for the many children left behind by American G.I.’s, and the extensive orphan population in general. His organization of fellow vets had raised enough money to send trucks of food and supplies to the orphanages in Vietnam. He, and several men from the charity, flew over and accompanied the supplies when they arrived, and during its distribution.
The orphanages were usually what you would describe as a compound with gates. The vets would arrive in large trucks and start offloading the supplies and prepare a hot meal. Most of the work is focused on sharing the clothes and securing the medical supplies during their first hour on site. The clothes bring joy, but even through the excitement of new clothes, the children are enticed by the smell of cooking meat and vegetables. They get both, but not nearly as much as rice…which is also being off loaded by the pallet load.
When the cooking was done they had all the little boys (I think it was only boys at this facility.) line up to get the food. There were around 80 boys who ranged in age from 3 to 15. The food table was setup behind one of the trucks, which was a sun and wind block, as well as, a pantry. Using a propane based portable kitchen, they cooked food that looked like a feast to these small rejected boys.
It was a joy for all involved. The young boys were wearing their “new” t-shirts and genuine smiles. Feeling the hope of having your existence acknowledged and shown to have value. As well as, having the burden of hunger pangs removed for a time. The vets being softened with each grateful smile shared in return for the plate of food and a colorful shirt. Each unforgettable memory replaced (at least for a time) by those smiling eyes, each sound they can’t un-hear, pushed down by the happy giggles of children.
This continued for a few minutes when a small three-year-old came to the table to get his plate of food. The man telling the story makes eye contact and they smile at each other. He watches as the little boy excitedly trots towards his older brother sitting a few meters away on a bag of rice. In his excitement he is betrayed by his lack of experience, and trips on a rock, falling to the ground. He hits hard and his plate goes crashing, spilling all his food. He immediately starts to cry, first at the loss of his food, then at fresh blood that started flowing from his knee.
The old vet jumped off the truck and ran to the little guy’s aid. He picked him up off the ground while he squatted down on one knee and pulled the little boys back into his chest. He looked at his wounded knee and wiped off the gravel that was still stuck to his skin, and using his handkerchief, dabbed the blood away. The little boy stopped crying as hard and turned to look into the eyes of the old man. The vet wiped away his tears and gently told him it was okay. He then pulled the little boy into a hug and held him. The little boy took a second to respond with a hug of his own, but when he did it was a tight clench. The old man patted his back, and softly said encouraging words in a language unknown to the boy, but understood completely. Neither of them wanted to break their embrace, and it continued quite a while. After a little while another vet tapped him on the shoulder to hand him a new plate of food, but he was only acknowledged with a nod directing him to place the food on the ground beside them. A few seconds more and the old vet pushes the boy back, wipes the remaining tears away, and hands him his new plate of food. The little boy smiles, taking the plate and walks to his brother’s side to eat.
As the vet stands up, and turns to face the food table, he sees all the vets who were cooking and serving the food standing away from the table, facing him with emotionally charged smiles on their faces. He was confused until he continued to turn around. At which point he saw that all the boys in line for food, had abandoned that line, and formed a new line… a line for hugs.
Mutemandeafcat
P.S. Men who have the courage to fight tyranny, have the courage to fight it in all forms…and will use any weapon they can muster; be they guns or hugs.