There's only one place in the world that brings tears to my eyes just by being there.
For most of us in the Class of '67, there was nothing that shaped our lives as much as the Vietnam War.
Two of us died there.
I never knew Mike Sullivan, but I knew Jon Rumble to say hello to. We both lived in Mosby Woods, and we ran into each other from time to time.
A couple of years ago, when I was writing on an earlier blog, I did a Google search to see what I could learn about Jon's death. I saw a tribute site in which a friend of his from the war had posted something; his e-mail address was included and I wrote to him.
Don Dark told me that by the end of 1968, he and Jon had both realized the futility of the war, and all they were concerned with was protecting each other's back. Don still regrets that on a day he was called away to do something else, his best friend died.
Forty years later, he still remembers and he still grieves.
Most of the rest of us in the Class of '67 grew up and grew older. We lived through Watergate and disco, Reagan and the Challenger, Clinton, Bush and 911. We lost our hair and got fat, our kids grew up and had kids of their own.
Not Jon Rumble and Mike Sullivan. Their hopes and dreams died with them.
The rest of us will age and go on Social Security. We'll one day look back at long lives with either satisfaction or regret, but they won't.
Jon and Sully will remain forever young.