What Month is This?

Never forget who gave you the right to speak your mind

His name was Phil Nelson. And there are thousands like him.

Phil Nelson was an eighteen-year-old easy-going surfer kid who’d just graduated from Santa Barbara High School.

Then he was drafted to Vietnam, given a gun, and ordered to kill people.

Before Phil finished his tour of duty, a fellow soldier walking in front of him stepped on a mine. The first soldier was killed, and Phil was wounded from the crotch up across his chest. Shrapnel remained in his body the rest of his life. He had already been wounded twice before but not enough to warrant a discharge. This time, it was enough to send him home.

When his parents were first notified, they expected the worst, but Phil survived, physically. He landed at Santa Barbara airport, disembarked with crutches, and limped his way into his mother’s crying arms.

I came into Phil’s life by way of his sister, who I was dating and who later became my wife of 51 years. The first time I encountered Phil, he gave me the usual big brother ribbing.

Jaw-Dropping Vietnam Memories

Looking back, when I learned about Phil’s tour in Vietnam, I didn’t give it much thought. I was interested in his sister after all, and Vietnam was over. My draft number had been high enough, so I wasn’t called up before the war ended. I was very grateful, and frankly, I’m not sure what I would have done if my number had come up. But there’s a part of me that has harbored guilt all these years. So many of my lifelong friends, including Phil, had been drafted into the maelstrom called Vietnam and I avoided it. To make the point, Phil had given his father a cigarette lighter with the engraving, “When I die, I know I’m going to heaven because I’ve spent my time in hell.”

I was told how Phil would wake up in the middle of the night screaming; he always slept with a gun under his pillow.

Over the years Phil and his wife, along with his sister and me, had grown to become the best of friends to the point where we considered each other brothers.

I never fully understood what Phil went through until one evening, many years later after a few drinks while sitting in a hot tub, I asked him about his experiences in Vietnam. He hesitated and then relayed stories that made my jaw drop. Starting with one of his first days there when his team was ordered to retake a bridge. He recalled the whizzing of bullets past his ears. To another experience that still sticks with me today: the night he and his fellow soldiers were pinned down in an open field.

In the morning, he was the only one alive.

After his passing, while cleaning up his personal belongings, we came across a box filled with medals, including the three Purple Hearts his wounds had earned him. Another medal was the Army Commendation Medal. Phil had jumped out of fox hole to draw fire away from his military brothers.

He was about the funniest, easiest going, quick-witted guy ever to live. I was never able to envision him in a field of battle.

Phil Nelson. An 18 year-old kid in the jungles of Vietnam

“Uncomfortable” Truths

The reason I recount the above story is this:

How many of you know that June is PTSD Awareness Month?

How many of you know it’s “Pride” Month?

I think I can guess the answer.

Each June, the gay community makes it very clear what month it is. Roads are painted in rainbows and rainbow flags fly wherever they can be hung. To illustrate their resolve, the University of Utah Young Americas Foundation chapter faced – as usual when it comes to common-sense views – incredible opposition to hosting Michael Knowles, who was set to present his talk: Men Are Not Women, And Other Uncomfortable Truths for the YAF’s Logan Family Lecture Series.

Lucy Atwood, Utah YAF Chairwoman – as the norm of the “tolerant” left – was hounded and harassed in her car by screaming brats yelling profanities and tearing down flyers promoting the event.

Remember Phil if you’re a spoiled brat and you support terrorists over the real heroes who have your back despite you being stupid.

It's that kind of over-the-top, selfish, self-centered, and fanatical, behavior that turns a major portion of the country against the gay movement. It isn’t that they’re gay or shouldn’t have their day or their say. It’s the exorbitant one-sided demands.

If it wasn’t for men and women like Phil, the freedom to express oneself and reap the benefits of free speech would not exist. It isn’t the Pride flag that allows them to force their lifestyle on everyone, it’s our proud flag: the flag of the U.S.A., the flag of freedom and democracy.

The PTSD Awareness Month of June takes a back seat, but it should be driving the Humvee. We’ve drifted… no, swung… a wide arc away from true equity and diversity. Equal time given to everyone, regardless of how important you think you are.

Thousands upon thousands have died to protect all people, regardless of their gender identity, religion, or political beliefs. Real equality means the scales are balanced.

Equal time for all.

Leaving Childhood Behind

Soldiers such as Phil, who barely started shaving before being taught how to kill, never planned, or wanted to kill other human beings but did as they were ordered. None of us from that era ever imagined as our voices were changing that in a few years over 55,000 of us would be dead after fighting an unwinnable war thousands of miles from home.

Those who survived never thought at age 16 that in a couple years they could lose their limbs, their sight, or even their ability to ever walk again. And none of them ever imagined they would have to live out the rest of their lives with the memories of a horror so severe it would haunt their dreams until the day they die. And then there are those who were unable to cope and took their own lives; too many still do.

We are all blessed with the privilege to celebrate any number of things we deem important in our lives. But we should never forget that the ability to do so came with a colossal price.

Let’s celebrate PTSD Awareness Month, no, not celebrate, be aware and remember those who put their lives on the line for you and continue to struggle with the aftermath every single day.

I found a letter that Phil sent home just before his return that summarized his experiences in the jungle and the changes he went through. It was intense. I gleaned portions of it and wrote a song and used the last line as the chorus. It said, “Turn on the lights; this kid is coming home.”

Remember this when you demand your way. Remember this if you’re a spoiled brat and you support terrorists over the real heroes who have your back despite you being stupid. And if you deny this being your country, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Remember all those who suffered on your behalf and continue to mentally struggle so that you can whine about how terrible it is that you’re not getting your way.Henry’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.