To the Editor

Saturday was November 16 and everyone in  this locality knows  it was a wet, cold, rainy day.  It  was a damp,  depressing  day - an  unhappy  type of  day when tempers flare and quarrels start over the most insignificant  little things and people  are prone to forget  the seasons of  Thanksgiving and  Christmas are just around the corner.

To add  to this miserable weather and to make  it appear even  more dreadful were my thoughts of another November 16,  nineteen years ago.  That  was  a cold, crisp day - and the trees were completely bare, for winter comes early in South Georgia.  It was a good day to go squirrel hunting and eat persimmons as you  walked along  the  fences  to pick out  "the tree"  from  the  beautiful cedars that grew there.  On  that November 16, 1949 my first child was born - a son - a junior,  and indeed  it was a day for much happiness as  this was the first grandchild in my family and everyone had so hoped for a boy.

My parents and I, even the attending doctor and  his nurse wrote and rewrote the cable gram to "proud papa" who was far away in the Navy in Greenland.

That  day, when I  held  him in  my arms for the  first time, I made my  son a promise - that I  would do everything I  could to help him to  grow up to be a fine young man - to be able to look his fellow man in the eye - and to add his bit toward helping humanity.

The  years flew by (as time has a way of doing) and  I stood beside him  as he was awarded the Boy Scouts highest rank of Eagle - he was 14 years old and I was oh so proud of him!  More years flew by and  I watched my son, now tall and straight and  proud, accept his  Maury High School  diploma - he was 17 years old then and I was again so proud and happy.

Two months later with tears in my eyes I  signed the papers  that would make my son a man - a United States Marine.  I had  talked and argued as  had his friends - but he insisted that he felt it  was his duty to go - and  in four years, at the age of 21 - he would be more ready for college.

My chances  for ever seeing  a small place called  Thua Thein Province in  the Republic of  South  Vietnam are  indeed small - I  cannot even  find it on  the map - but it was there on August 28, 1968, that my 18-year-old son proved he was a man and gave his life for his country and fellow man.

Saturday, on November 16 as I stood in  the cold dismal rain at his graveside in the Hampton National Cemetery I could not hold him in my arms as I had 19 short years ago - but I  again whispered him a birthday  promise - but this one  was  vastly  different.  The  promise I  made him was that  if ever  in any small way I could help  alleviate the sufferings of others  by ending all  wars I would.  I do not know  how I shall keep this  promise to my  son - but  surely there  must be some  way for civilized men to  resolve their  differences  other than making war and taking life.  Won't someone please, please help  me find that way?

Mrs. W. W. Waters, Sr.
Norfolk

To the Editor:

Sunday December 29th and again I stand in the Hampton National Cemetery at the  grave site of my  18 year old Marine son.  It  was a  deep - penetrating cold  day - though  the  sun  tried  valiantly  to  shine.   Each  time  it  peeped through the clouds it appeared to get even colder.

This  was the  first  Christmas  in 18 years that  I had not  had my  son  alive, laughing, happily paying jokes on  his younger brother and sister, or  teasing his father and me.

As  I knelt  to collect up  the old  flowers  and  arrange  the  new  ones  in the beautiful copper urn, my thoughts were many and varied.

I do  not question  the "why" of my son's death - for  if God  in  His  infinite Goodness and Wisdom could give His only son for our Redemption - surely I cannot  question  His  taking  my  son - and  I do  think  a man's  life  is   not wasted  when  he  dies for a cause  he believes  in.  Rather  I  question  daily a society where fighting and killing and wars are  the accepted norm - and baby boys barely  walking, awaken Christmas  morning to  find  toy  guns,  pistols, tanks and machine guns with which to "play war."  I question  the wisdom of a society  where there  is so much violence  that it becomes a  living,  walking thing with all of  us from cradle to  the  grave; and violence  brings  on  more violence and wars and tears and unhappiness are with us at all times.

I do not  know why  unhappiness  must be such an  integral  part of our  lives here  on  this earth - possibly  because  it can help us to grow in  strength and wisdom  as  no  other  emotion  can  do.  Possibly  it  also  helps  us  to  grow stronger for  as surely as God sends us pain  and suffering,  He sends also the strength to bear up under it.

As this Christmas Season  fades and we are  busy taking down  the Christmas trees and other decorations, many of us are prone to forget the true meaning  of Christmas  and overlook  the  fact that  Christmas is  the time  of year for renewed  Faith  an Hope.  This  is the  season where God made  good on  His promise  to send  us a  Savior  and  He sent  no  less  than  his  only  Son,  to become  a sacrifice so that mankind would indeed  know that Redemption  is available merely for the asking and believing.

Those of us who have  lost loved ones in the far off  fields of Vietnam (and in other wars) are  in a position  to more  fully  understand  the  significance  of God's Sacrifice - and,  therefore, His Love.  It  is for  us that  have  loved and lost  to help find  a way of  life  with - our war - for as  the  Bible tells us  that "there should be was and rumors of wars", I  feel surely  that now is the time for that second phase to begin.

I would ask  that those  people who agree  with me,  join me,  and  encourage others to "Pray for Peace."

Mrs. W. W. Waters, Sr.
Norfolk