I've written about this topic before, but recent events in my life have inspired me to broach the subject once again. For me, it's a story that needs to be told repeatedly until the truth is no longer fantasy. It's that important.

Rewind: It's 1967 and I'm beginning my senior year at Glenbrook South High School in Glenview, Ill. While we're naively focused on our senior year, my classmates and I are also aware things are drastically heating up in Southeast Asia as hundreds of Americans are dying weekly in the bloody war to stop the spread of communism in South Vietnam and, hopefully, prevent it from extending into neighboring countries and beyond.

With tens of thousands of young U.S. soldiers killed or severely wounded since the Marines first hit the South Vietnam beach in 1965, loyal, patriotic Americans are beginning to question the justification of our mission to halt communism in a land so far away from our own soil.

And no matter how hard our men fight, there seems no end to the supply of NVA (North Vietnamese Army) and Viet Cong (farmers by day, soldiers by night) volunteers who are more than willing to give their lives for the cause. We're talking millions. Regardless of how many of them we kill, they just keep coming ... and coming ... and coming.



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