When they come home and march down Main street dressed in their colors spit on them when they pass by and make them feel like they are home. You can not thank them because their pride died on hill 886 next to Stacy Rogers husband John. You can not reason with them because their morality was standing next to the Peters’ son Mark when an incoming mortar round ripped through him at Khe Sanh. You can not comfort them because their humanity took small arms and died in the mud with Paul Kirst’s brother Bobby in the Ia Drnag Valley. They were willing to give their lives for their country, they didn’t know what that meant when they left and now your spit is the least of their concerns.