Marshall Ramsey

It was the battle of the seasons and leaves lay on the ground like fallen soldiers.

He sat on the rock overlooking the valley.  Fall’s cool breath had turned the trees into a sea of reds, oranges and yellows.  He could almost hear Bob Ross saying, “Happy little trees.” A wisp of smoke rose from a burning leaf pile in the town of Plymouth.  It was his favorite time of the year. The thuggish brutality of summer’s heat had left.  Pleasant was a word that he’d use to describe the day.

He opened up his backpack and got out a sandwich.  A squirrel emerged from the brush behind him and sat, staring at him with a look of want.  The man on the rock pulled out a hand full of peanuts out of a Ziploc and tossed them to the squirrel. The squirrel ran and then returned, grabbing his newfound treasure and disappearing into a near by bush.

It was Thanksgiving Day and he was just glad to share it with someone.

His wife had decided she was tired of him and left earlier in the year.  She and his children were now 600 miles away and it wasn’t his weekend.  The divorce wasn’t final. And he didn’t want it to be. He took another bite of sandwich and chewed it slowly. He had already swallowed his pride.

The squirrel reappeared.  “You’re getting greedy, you little fuzzy-tailed rat,” the man said as he threw him some more peanuts. “But I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving.”

The lonely man sat there looking down at the peaceful valley below with very little to be thankful for.  A weaker man would have jumped.  But he had already hit rock bottom. There was no sense of hitting it again.

The past year had been a year of self-reflection.  Having your pride carved like a turkey will do that to you. He closed his eyes and imagined last year’s Thanksgiving meal. He could see the faces and he hear their voices.  A distant crow’s caw woke him out of his daydream.

He did two things the day she left: Threw all the alcohol out and made a list of all of his faults she had listed.  He rewrote them over and over, ranking them from the easiest to the hardest to fix.  Like Dave Ramsey’s debt snowball, he created a fault snowball.  And got to work changing his life.

On that Thanksgiving morning he was a different man. A different man who was truly thankful. The town’s people had noticed it.  So had the family.  The squirrel came back for thirds. “Why not, it’s Thanksgiving,” the man threw yet another handful of nuts to the greedy rodent.

“There you are.”

The man swung around.

“I knew you’d be up here.  Boys, here he is!”

It was his wife.  And his kids. Under her arm was a blanket. His oldest son carried a basket full of food.  “Happy Thanksgiving!” the boys sang.

The man looked up and said, “Am I dreaming?”

“No, I’m waking up,” his wife said. “I’m sorry.  I see how hard you’ve worked to win me back.  But I also realized I was at fault, too.  The boys need you. I need you.”

And on Plymouth rock, looking over the town, one family and one squirrel had the best Thanksgiving ever.

It was a crisp fall day on the Washington Mall.  An older gentleman walked with purpose toward the black, marble wall. On that wall were 58,272 names. Names that had left their lives back in Vietnam.  Leaves crunched under his feet as a cold wind chilled his heart.

Captain Daniel Gober had served for two years in Vietnam. He remembered the day he came back home — or let’s just say he had tried to forget it.  Protestors had spit on him and yelled, “Baby killer.”  Flames in his soul still burned at the thought.

“Father forgive them for they know not of what they do.”  How many times had he recited that to calm down?  Too many.

The Vietnam Memorial was controversial when it opened in 1982. Designed by Maya Ying Lin, a 21-year-old Harvard University architecture student from Athens, Ohio, it was the winning design from 1,421 entries.  It consisted of two simple walls that descend until you get to the middle.  Many of his veteran brothers had protested the design when it was first revealed. But over time, it became known as the most moving monument on the Mall. The 58,272 names powerfully illustrate the incredible loss this country suffered. The memorial quickly became a shrine.

Daniel Gober headed toward the name he was looking for. The one name he truly cared about. The name of Sergeant David Gober.  His little brother.

Danny and David were inseparable as children. One-year apart, everything Daniel did, David did too.  When Daniel went off to West Point, David soon joined the Army.  Both boys turned out to be natural leaders.  David quickly rose to Sergeant and was known for his calm leadership under fire.  Both were shipped to Vietnam to their mother’s horror.

Daniel still remembered that night they ran into each other in Saigon.  The laughter. The stories. The beer. It was the last time he saw his brother alive.

He came home for the funeral that fall.  Protesters spitting on him in the airport scratched at an already open wound.  He felt the flames burn again in his soul: “Father forgive them for they know not of what they do.”

Things went downhill quickly after that. His mother had a mental breakdown and was institutionalized. His father started drinking.  Daniel buried them both within a year. People talk about the cost of the Vietnam War: His family photo album was  a documentary of it. It had nearly chopped down his family tree.

Daniel came up to the spot where his brother’s name was. He put his palm on the cold marble and began to talk  to his brother like he did every Veteran’s Day.

“You were the best little brother a man could ask for. Damn the war. Damn the mine that killed you.  I know you’re up there with Mom & Dad  — so please tell them hello for me. Man, I look forward to the day soon that I will able to join you.  Because  the worst part of you dying is that I miss you so much.  Oh yeah, you wouldn’t believe how the country now reacts now to the military coming home.  They thank them in airports. They are praised in cartoons and on the radio.  But there are still serious problems.  Too many of us struggle to get back into society.  I pray that is remedied some day.” The old Captain paused for a second, looked at the name and finished by saying, “Well, I need to go.  God bless you David. I miss you. And I love you so much.”

Tears ran down the older man’s face as he knelt down to rest. After 4o years, the pain of losing his brother still crippled him.

A young soldier came up behind him, put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Sir, are you OK?”  Daniel turned around to look at the Sergeant and said, “Yes. Can you help me up?”

“No problem, sir.”

The Sergeant reached out his hand and pulled the old Captain up. He then hugged him.

And on that cold Veterans Day, Captain Daniel Gober was brought to his feet by Sergeant David Gober II.  Both men looked at the beloved name on the wall one more time and walked back to their car.

Fear and Hope walked down the leave-covered path.  Both waved their arms wildly as they carried on a conversation for the ages.  Leaves fell to at their feet as they walked into the darkness.

“I’m winning!” Fear proclaimed.

Hope slowed down and thought about the last few years.  She had to admit that Fear had a point.

“People are starting to snap.  Protests are erupting, families are in despair and leadership is pretty much nonexistent,” Fear smugly continued. “Business has never been better. People are giving up.  Institutions and heroes are failing. And to quote James Brown, ‘I feel good!’ about it all.”

Hope continued to walk silently, allowing Fear’s boasts to sink in.  Hope and Fear were like stocks and bonds. Traditionally, when one was up, the other was down. Judging by the evening news, it would be fair to say that Hope was down right now.

More leaves fell off the tree and crunched under their feet. Winter was approaching rapidly and the last of the foliage was on the ground.  These were cold, dark times.

They came to a clearing overlooking a small reservoir.  Both sat down on the hillside and Fear pointed to the sky. “Look at the darkness.  Look at the inky black water beneath it.  That’s where the world is right now.  People have given up on you, Hope.”

Hope just sat quietly.  Then she stood up, brushed off her bottom and started to silently mutter a quiet prayer. She raised her hands toward the stars and pointed to the same dark sky in front of them.  A chorus of birds chirped in the distance as if to announce something grand in the works.  Hope continued to stand silently and overlook the water.

The first pink rays of dawn erupted on the horizon. Pink and purple turned to red and then orange.  The blackness of night recoiled in horror almost like the Wicked Witch doused by Dorothy’s bucket.  Light tickled across the water to their feet. Hope stood up straighter as the day pushed back the night.  It was the promise of a new day.

Fear looked at her and knew that he had been temporarily beat back.

Hope began to speak, “You may be winning, but I’m still here.  And if people have hope, even in the smallest amount, you may win the battle but you will NEVER win the war. Hope is a gift given to humans.  And I intend to be there for them.”

“Let’s go have breakfast,” Fear abruptly changed the subject. “I’ll buy.”

“You’re on,” said Hope. As they walked back toward town, she knew that Fear would get the best of her again. But for right now, she knew that she had the upper hand.