For my father

I enter the War remnant museum in HCMC. I'm one of 3 Americans in this tour group,a dn I'm surrounded by a young vietnamese school group, running through the "tiger cages","the impossibly small cells used to contain prisoners in the war. They are laughing, delighted. The museum feels to me like a morbid theme park.

I, on the other hand, am somber. This is how I expected to feel my whole trip, racked with guilt that I even chose to come to a place that caused harm or trauma to my dad. I hadn't felt this way until today. I was surprised to see that Vietnam is a modern country, practically immaculate and full of all the comforts of home. It doesn't fell like a war-torn place, and the people seem to have less anti-american sentiment than I've encountered anywhere.

Three steps into the museum, and the first remnant I see is an actual American helicopter with a machine gun propped out the window, at what I imagine was the most effective and efficient angle for destruction.

In that instant, I am powerless. The world disappears, the giggles of the delighted children fade away. I't's just me and this gun. I just sit down, and begin to cry. I'm the only one.

I see my dad behind it, 19 years old, handsome, drunk. Wondering how he found himself here, the only place in the world he had seen besides the Lower East Side of New York, wondering how he managed to join the army to get out of the 'hood, only to find himself behind a giant machine gun.

One of the few things my dad told me about the war was how he wound up behind that gun.

"PHILLIPS. What do you want to do here?"

"What job is least likely to get me killed?"

"Gunner."

And so it was.

Dad, ever the clever, direct, no-bullshit negotiator, street smart and shrewd, even at that tender age.

I regain my composure and awalk around the museum. There's the obvious anti-american propaganda, and touts of self-congratulatory "American Killer War Heroes"

And all I can think is how happy I am that dad made it out of Vietnam, how shocked I am that he emerged from it as sanely as he did (which for many years, was not that sane at all) and how proud I am for what he, albeit regrettably and unintentionally dd for our country.

And for us, my little family.

My dad might have almost given his life for a war no one thought was a good idea. When he came home, he worked at the same job that made him miserable just to take care of us.

Thanks, dad, for being cool enough and selfless enough to let me come here. I spent a good portion of the first 20 years of my life fighting with you. I'm going to spend at least the next 20 telling you how much I love and appreciate all you've ever done for me.


Even though putting the EZ-pass from my car in the trunk when I leave it at your place drives me insane.


Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you to pieces.