As an Intelligence Analyst, I calculated my army non-combat role to be my best option to avoid returning home in a body bag.  Once I'd been assigned to a unit at II Corps Headquarters, I considered myself safer from harm than most GIs. Confronted with the contradictions, vagaries and waste of warfare, both human and matériel, I struggled with my anger and frustration over our collective conduct there, however. In the meantime, considerations of my survival, jeopardized by the tedium of administrative office tasks--reading, writing and filing reports, ad nauseam--and my male hormones, which played havoc with my better judgment, became all-consuming. When assigned after-hours office duty to "baby-sit the General," as my cohorts and I mockingly referred to it, I resorted to "reading" a dictionary in desperation.

          I often visualize a beach outing, within shouting distance of our headquarters compound. An office buddy purchased a duck egg from a passing mama-san, then dropped it onto road pavement. A duckling embryo, of value to that Vietnamese merchant and substantial to many Vietnamese, as I'd come to believe, lay exposed in the midst of it's shattered shell. The crunch of beak and bones, and the texture of intestines and feathers, didn’t appeal to me. Nobody would force me to eat a duck embryo, but if the "locals" favored them, who was I to judge? I'd thought we were in Vietnam to help those people, which to me included respecting their culture, and deliberately throwing food on the ground was a sign of disrespect in my mind. Growing up I didn't purposefully waste food, which had been a precious commodity. In the presence of that act I felt embarrassed and cheapened, like an “ugly American” about which I’d read in school.
 
          The ever-present poverty in Vietnam and our general wasteful behavior, though reminding me of my childhood deprivations, moved me towards action and a desire coalesced driving me towards a higher service, one of assisting others in overcoming their difficulties, whether external or internal.
    
          Coming out of military service, where I'd witnessed my fair share of trauma and developed PTSD, not only in my quest to survive Vietnam, but in observing the struggles of my fellow GIs and that of the Vietnamese people, my plan of action led me to study sociology, psychology and social work.
 
          I migrated to California in pursuit of my master's degree, as well as, my steadfast determination to follow my dreams and avoid repeating for myself one of Mom's regrets. My journey veered towards Marriage, Family and Child Counseling. Licensed in California for twenty-five years before retirement, I worked in the fields of alcohol/drug recovery and the assessment and treatment of major psychiatric disorders. Over time, I recognized that my work of helping others inadvertently contributed to my journey of trauma healing, too.