A Letter from "Mom and Dad"...

My child,

When I get old, I hope you understand 'n have patience with me In case I break the plate, or spill soup on the table because I’m losing my eyesight, I hope you don’t yell at me. Older people are sensitive, always having self pity when you yell. When my hearing gets worse 'n I can’t hear what you’re saying, I hope you don’t call me ‘Deaf!’ Please repeat what you said or write it down.

I’m sorry, my child. I’m getting older. When my knees get weaker, I hope you have the patience to help me get up. Like how I used to help you while you were little, learning how to walk. Please bear with me, when I keep repeating myself like a broken record, I hope you just keep listening to me.

Please don’t make fun of me, or get sick of listening to me. Do you remember when you were little 'n you wanted a ballon? You repeated yourself over 'n over until you get what you wanted. Please also pardon my smell. I smell like an old person. Please don’t force me to shower. My body is weak. Old people get sick easily when they’re cold. I hope I don’t gross you out. Do you remember when you were little? I used to chase you around because you didn’t want to shower. I hope you can be patient with me when I’m always cranky. It’s all part of getting old. You’ll understand when you’re older. 'n if you have spare time, I hope we can talk even for a few minutes. I’m always all by myself all the time, 'n have no one to talk to. I know you’re busy with work. Even if you’re not interested in my stories, please have time for me. Do you remember when you were little? I used to listen to your stories about your teddy bear.

When the time comes, 'n I get ill 'n bedridden, I hope you have the patience to take care of me. I’m sorry if I accidentally wet the bed or make a mess. I hope you have the patience to take care of me during the last few moments of my life. I’m not going to last much longer, anyway.

When the time of my death comes, I hope you hold my hand 'n give me strength to face death. 'n don’t worry.. When I finally meet our creator, I will whisper in his ear to bless you. Because you loved your Mom 'n Dad.

SOLDIER TALK

By Chantal Starrett


We grew up with it,
it was normal for us,
even something we smiled at every once in a while.
You know what I mean, Soldier Talk.
It happens often when walking out of a gas station or grocery store.
One man is putting away his items and shifts the Ranger hat on his head.
My father sees this and walks up."When did you serve?"And so the talk begins.
I sit in the car and watch them.
Each one spinning tales of where they went, what they saw, what they learned.
I watch them laugh at things that most men would shake remembering.
I watch them stand a little bit taller, raise their head a slight bit higher.
They feel whole again, as if they aren't alone in their own pasts.
They feel a part of something bigger than themselves, something to be proud of.
They bare the right to identify themselves with a band of heroes that distinguishes them among many.
It isn't only talking though.
They honk their horns when they see each other’s bumperstickers,
the dog tags hanging from the mirror, the badge covered cap,
they nod at one another in the VA. It is all Soldier Talk.
But what do I have? I have no band of legends to be associated with,
no badge of honor to adorn my wall, no dog tags from a mirror,
no badge covered cap, no memberships to the VA,
no one honks their horn when I drive past for I have no service sticker.
Who do I nod to when I walk past?
What strong service of courageous beings am I a part of?
What makes me stand taller and hold my head higher?
What makes me proud of whom I have been?
I sigh and sit back in the seat as I wait for him to finish.
"Well, thank you for serving."And then it ends.
The other soldier smiles and nods to me before getting in his car.
And all I can do is nod back, for I have no Soldier Talk.