by Gloria Sargent
I remember the Christmas phone call with my Dad while he was in Nam. My Mom had to say “over” when we were finished speaking. We sang a Christmas song for Dad, and chatted a bit. It was a very big deal in an era when letters were cherished communication, and phone calls were exceptionally rare.
When Dad came home, our dog attacked him. He sprayed him with the water hose to calm him down. Dad burned all his clothes, they had been ruined with the water over there.