Author:  David Lee Thompson

Book: "River of Memories: An Appalachian Boyhood”

Interviewer: W. H. McDonald – President of the MWSA

W. H. "Bill" McDonald: Vietnam veteran and author David Lee Thompson grew up at a place called Bowen Creek, West Virginia. After serving in the Army he graduated from Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, with an M.A. in education. Now retired from teaching, he lives in Salt Rock, West Virginia, with his wife, Janet. They have two sons and two grandsons.

Q: First of all, tell us a little about your book and why you decided to write and share it with all of us.

River of Memories is a memoir about growing up at a place called Bowen Creek, West Virginia, in the 1940s-'50s. Although it is primarily about my Appalachian boyhood, the last chapter deals with my tour of duty in Vietnam (1965-66), with the 1st Infantry Division (The Big Red One). In 1999, I retired from teaching. My wife, Janet, still had another year to go. That fall, I was home alone with nothing to do other than be the perfect househusband, so I made a stab at trying my hand at writing, something I had always wanted to do. I wrote nine stories about life on Bowen Creek with my parents, two brothers, and three sisters. I titled it, Cry Like a Baby, since my father was always mimicking the sound of a crying baby to entertain or annoy anyone who'd listen. I had it comb bound at Office Depot and presented each of my siblings and two sons with a copy for Christmas. Shortly thereafter, I began receiving phone calls, letters, and email from my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and from friends of all. Everyone was complimentary and wanted their own personal copy – signed. Although I was elated with everyone's reaction, I still wasn't satisfied with what I'd done. The autumn of 1999 hadn't been enough time to have my say. In January 2001, there was an advertisement in the newspaper about a life-writing class being taught at the Huntington Museum of Art. Janet said, "Here's your chance to write more." Consequently, I enrolled in the January class and the one in the fall of 2001 as well. As a result, I added four new chapters, a lengthy introduction, and an epilogue, turning it into a full-length memoir that I was ready to share with the world.

Q: How long did writing your book take, and what was the process you used to write? What I mean by this is: did you write for days on end until it was done, or did you work on it over time – when the mood hit you?

From 1999 until its publication in 2002, I worked on River of Memories a little more than three years. However, my devotion was somewhat sporadic. I would work on it days, weeks, and months at a time. Then, I would put it away for perhaps days, weeks, or months. Sometimes I would write till two in the morning and mull it over in my mind after going to bed. It had a great affect on my sleep. I suppose there were times I was somewhat like Elizabeth Coatsworth, a popular children's writer, who stated, "The only thing worse than writing is not writing." My last six months, though, I became really serious. I edited and cut words, sentences, and sometimes whole paragraphs. Janet did a final read-through, and we sometimes had heated arguments as to whether or not something would stay, be changed, or deleted altogether. I purchased Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages, and it became my right arm, making me realize that good editing is sometimes painful. I needed a common thread to tie all my stories together. In 2000, after Janet retired from teaching, too, we took a two-week trip out West. During that time, I saw things that reminded me of my childhood on Bowen Creek. In the end, that trip became the link needed to tie everything together. I wanted to get it published before Christmas 2002, so readers could have it as one of their gifts to open on Christmas Day. I received my first shipment of books by December 15. The joy of holding the first copy in my hands is beyond description.

Q: For most of us, that time and place you wrote about in your memoir seems like an old movie. Not many of us were able to experience that kind of country life as a child. Tell us what you remember best about your childhood.

The thing I remember most about my childhood is simple: we were allowed to be kids. Things were different back then. We knew our limitations by intuition. For instance, my father kept a loaded shotgun standing in the corner. We knew to not bother it without being told. We matured early on because we had responsibilities. Janet and I get our grandsons, Andrew and Tanner, off to school each day. The other morning we were sitting at the breakfast table, and she said, "I wish they didn't have to get up so early." I told her, "Well, at least they don't have to get out on cold winter mornings and milk cows before they have to go to school," something my brother Philip and I had to do in the '40s and '50s. We created our own fun by roaming the hills, pretending to be cowboys and Indians, wading the creek and lifting up rocks to find the giant crawdads, camping out with friends, damming up the creek to make a swimming hole, turning the barn loft into a playhouse, swinging on grapevines, walking on stilts cut from saplings, smoking whenever we could find a cigarette (new or used), setting traps along the creek to catch muskrats for their hides, and the list goes on. There was no TV in the house at that time, so we stayed outside most days whether it was summer or winter. We didn't have time to be bored. Watching my father butcher the hogs in November or my mother wringing a chicken's head off and cleaning it for supper wasn't something gruesome nor did it make future mental cases out of us. They were things that were natural for survival and interesting to watch besides. Cousins would come and stay weeks at a time, and we'd laugh ourselves silly. Through it all, Mother didn't seem to mind at all if we tramped through the house with mud or snow on our shoes. Our floors were covered with cheap linoleum purchased from the general store down the road for nearly nothing. A broom and a mop would make it like new again, for as long as they could stand the constant cleanings. And when one linoleum wore out, Mother would send us for another one. She and my sisters kept the house clean, but there was no carpet or other finery to worry about, so home was the perfect place to be. Although it was too small for a family of eight, living under cramped conditions drew us closer together both physically and figuratively. Yes, life was different back then, and it's sad that kids today cannot experience the simple childhood of yesteryear.

Q: Family seems most important to you, not only in your writings but also in the emails you've send me over the years. Why do you think you have this closeness with your family? Why is it to you so important?

My family is close mainly because of my parents. They talked to us, listened, and laughed at the things we had to say. We were important to them, and they would tell us stories about the way things used to be almost daily. We would listen to them tell these stories and delighted in hearing them time and again. This may sound odd to some, but I think a lot of our closeness centered around food. My mother was a wonderful cook, and she passed on this trait to all my siblings and me. Even after we were married, our visits back home always involved a fantastic meal. And, we had family gatherings often. We knew all our first, second, and third cousins, all our aunts and uncles, great-aunts and great-uncles, and on down the line when we were growing up. We knew them because they were important to us. I can't begin to tell you how exciting it was for relatives to visit. And, if they spent the night, that was the ultimate thrill. Sometimes there would be so many, some of us would have to sleep on the floor. But that wasn't hardship; it was fun. I say all this because children today don't really know who all their relatives are. When I taught school, kids would be telling me some tale about one of their relatives, and then they'd say, for example, "I think he's my uncle. I can't remember." I would say, "Don't you know who your relatives are?" and they'd say, "It's my mom's brother. Would that make him my uncle?" I've had numerous students tell me they had two moms and two dads. What a sad thing. With the divorce rate what it is today, it's no wonder kids don't have a sense of belonging to a family group. I may be rambling here. I don't know. Perhaps you get the point of what I'm talking about.

Q: You have had many things happen to your family in recent years. Has this changed you in any way for better or worse?

My brother, Kenneth's, oldest son died at the age of thirty from a heart attack. Kenneth's youngest son, Gabe, was mauled to death by their family dog. I've lost both my parents, and my brother, Philip, passed away in June from lung cancer. In October, 2004, our daughter-in-law, Cheryl, telephoned us from the hospital at two in the morning saying she had our oldest son, Anthony, in the emergency room, that he either had lymphoma or leukemia. That was on a Sunday. On Monday, a bone marrow test confirmed the doctor's initial diagnosis. When Kenneth and Donna, his wife, lost their two sons, it was heartbreaking to witness their hurt. It was different with my parents, however, In a sense, my dad died sixteen years before his actual death, suffering from dementia or organic brain syndrome, so I was ready to give him up. He was eighty-nine. Then, my mother died at ninety with a heart condition. When I was a youngster, I feared the day I would have to see my mother die, but the day it happened, God saw me through it all. In fact, I was with both my parents when they died, able to touch them one last time while they were still warm. I'm glad I was with them, too, for they would have been there for me. Philip's death has been difficult. For sixty-one years there were six of us, three boys and three girls. Suddenly, there were only five. My arch enemy while we were growing up was gone, and I missed him terribly. I long to see him and talk about things we did when we were little. Again, I was there in the hospital room with him when he passed away. And, again, I'm glad I could be there. The morning we got the call about Anthony, I was devastated. I lost control of my emotions immediately and wept without shame. I told Janet, "He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!" Here he is, studying to be an anesthetist, with a wonderful future ahead, and now this. He's such a good person and so easy to raise. Why is this happening? These thoughts rushed through my mind. As it turned out, Anthony began responding to the medication they gave him immediately. He finished his schooling, passed his boards, and is a working anesthetist with a bright future. How could I not change for the better through all this. God has been so good to me, and I cannot thank Him enough.

Q: Some people have been wondering what happened to you after you ended your first book. They wanted to know what the author is doing with his life now. So I will ask you—what has life been like for you since you ended that book, and what are you doing today?

Well, the response to River of Memories was more than I ever anticipated. My readers have been so kind, and I cannot thank them enough for their phone calls, cards, email, and snail mail. They have certainly been food for my ego. I have heard from folks as far away as The Land Down Under, Australia. I stay busy corresponding with new acquaintances and rekindling friendships from the past. It has been a fabulous ride. However, right now I am in a slump. I have a bad case of the winter blues. Next to August, February is my least favorite month. Everything looks gray, and we desperately need a fresh coat of spring greenery in West Virginia. Janet and I get Andrew and Tanner off to school and have them after school most days till their mother comes to pick them up. I'm on the computer a lot, either reading email or responding. I do write, but it's slow going. Presently, I'm working on another memoir, sort of telling all that stuff I forgot to tell the first time around. Occasionally, I hold book signings, most of them at a place called Tamarack. "The Best of West Virginia," is their motto. It's the perfect place to sign, too. It's located on I-77, in Beckley, West Virginia, and the audience I receive there is from all across this great country of ours. Sometimes they'll say, "I can't believe I have a book that's actually signed by the author," and that makes me feel really good, like it's a New York Times #1 Bestseller. Then I come home to Salt Rock to find that I'm only an ordinary citizen again. A big trip is always planned for September. Since River of Memories, Janet and I have been on a Hawaiian cruise and out West twice. I can't get enough of the West. It's in my blood, and I always put up an argument about going there rather than some other insignificant spot on the globe. We attend church on Sunday morning and evening and then on Wednesday evening, too, for prayer service. That's a good thing. I don't think God would be pleased if I didn't give Him at least two days out of seven. Besides, the older I get, the more I feel the need for Him in my life.

Q: Did you ever wish that you had lived someplace else or had a different life beginning?

When I was in third grade, I read in a book at Upper Bowen School, a one-roomer, about New York City and the Empire State Building. I longed to see it and stand atop its 102nd floor. The highest I'd ever been off the ground was the fourth floor of J.C. Penney in Huntington, West Virginia. Of course, the West Virginia Building in Huntington had fifteen floors, but I'd never stood on its top floor either. I could spend hours looking at pictures of big cities and their tall buildings, studying charts that listed important cities and their populations. I'd sit and wonder what it would be like living in one of them and how different it would be from living on Bowen Creek. When I turned eighteen, my cousin and I made plans to move to California, but those plans never came to fruition. A few years later, Uncle Sam came calling, and it didn't take long for me to discover what the term homesick really meant. Bowen Creek never looked so good. Yes, I suppose I did wish, during my early years, that I could live someplace else or had a different life beginning, but that's all behind me now. I've seen most of the big cities and their tall buildings, their traffic congestion, loud sirens, bright lights, and all. But that's not for me anymore. I'm perfectly content living on Madison Creek in Salt Rock, where the sounds I hear are the rushing brook after a rain, birds chirping from the tree limbs, the wind whispering through aging trees on the hillside, and my grandsons engaged in outdoor activity.

Q: You have said before that you have thought about a follow-up book or at least another book before you grow too much older. What is the status of that creative dream?

You're making me think I'd better get on the ball. After all, the last time I looked in the mirror, it didn't appear that I'm getting any younger. The status of my creative dream depends on whether you are talking about what I have in my head or actually down on paper. If we go by what I have on paper, then I have months of writing and editing to do. On the other hand, if we're talking about that which is imprisoned in my storehouse of knowledge, then the creative dream was completed this past October. No doubt you are reading some of the sentences that will appear in my next piece of work as I respond to some of the questions for this interview. As I write, I'm thinking, This might sound good in my next book. If I store this interview on my computer or on a floppy disk and use bits and pieces of it in my next creative dream, will you accuse me of plagiarism since it's part of the information contained on your website? If so, tell me now. I don't want to get myself into trouble now that I'm three score and two, sitting at home patiently awaiting my next Social Security check to arrive in the mail.

Q: I have read in your message that you have some regrets about not seeing any major military action in Vietnam. We both know that where you were stationed in Vietnam had many risks from just being there, so why all the guilt feelings? After all, you did your duty.

As you said, there were risks from just being there: the risk of being snipered while driving from one village to the next, getting shot down while being transported by helicopter or other air transport, getting nailed while standing in a foxhole during perimeter guard duty, or walking to the compound shower to wash away the jungle's stickiness. It was guerilla warfare, and no one was exempt from the enemy's weapon. However, I was a 71C30, secretary to the I.G. I had no control over my assigned duty. My business school education and civilian skills dictated where I could be used more efficiently. I traveled all over South Vietnam with him and saw a lot of the countryside. On the other hand, I saw and heard a lot of things that touched my inner soul forever. We visited the hospitals, and I witnessed the wounded and bleeding coming in by helicopter. I listened to stories told by infantrymen who came to our compound for a few days' rest, stories that instilled a deep respect for them yet infused me with a deep sense of guilt, that they were forced to face major military action whether they wanted to or not. When I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., there was a ghostlike silence. The visitors' tones were inaudible except for those standing close to them. I envisioned the flag-draped coffins being removed from planes and families grieving over loved ones whose lives had been taken way too soon. My eyes welled with tears, and I wept bitterly – in silence. Yes, I did my duty, and with it comes a sense of honor. But on the other hand, let me have my guilt feelings. Let me suffer in silence for the wounded and the dead. It's the least I can do for those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. To do otherwise would be dishonorable, and I couldn't live with that kind of shame.

Q: Are there any regrets in your life or anything you would like to have done differently?

I suppose we all have regrets about the things we have or haven't done with our lives. Some regrets are small and relatively unimportant, while others are huge and difficult to overcome. For the purposes of this interview, perhaps I should focus more on the significant things to be repentant about. First, I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with my two sons while they were growing up. Please don't take me wrong. Janet and I took them places and did things with them. They had hot meals for breakfast and dinner, and we were always there for them when they needed us. They were good boys and very easy to raise, but I took them for granted. As a teacher, I had lessons to prepare and stacks of papers to grade in the evenings and on weekends. After Anthony and Nathan matured and moved out, it dawned on me that I had spent way too much time on other people's kids and not enough on my own. And for that, I am deeply remorseful. The thing for which I am most penitent, however, is not reading my Bible more, starting at a younger age. I should have been more into His Word, memorizing verses to share with those whom I came in contact when opportunity presented itself. I could have been more prayerful and meditative on a daily basis, thinking of others rather than myself. He should have been the Focus of my life, and everything else would have fallen into place. What can I do about it, now? Nothing. I'm now in my golden years. People and places and things are difficult to remember. At this point, the focus of my life is whether I've sorted out the right number of pills to take in the morning to help me face the day and how I can lose weight to help control my diabetes and blood pressure. You see, our center of attention is never quite where it should be. We can only look to the future as if tomorrow we can be a better person than we are today. With that thought in mind, perhaps there's something I can do to overcome at least a few of my shortcomings after all.

Q: You retired from teaching. So, can I ask what and whom you taught? Did you find teaching a real calling, or was it just a job for you?

My first year of teaching was spent with a group of second, third, and fourth grade students at a small three-room school. I had to teach handwriting, spelling, reading, English, math, social studies, science, music, art, and physical education to all three groups. I was the greenhorn out of college who was thrown to the wolves. There was an immediate deep respect for the one-room-school teacher I had during my first three years at Upper Bowen School in the late '40s and early '50s. I don't know how they taught all those subjects to all six grades. In fact, they couldn't have. It was an impossibility. How do I know? My own experience told me it was impossible. The next year I moved out of the jungle, to a fifth grade class at Salt Rock Elementary. There I taught fifth grade for seventeen years. Again, I taught all subjects with the exception of music, art, and physical education. Since I lived and taught in the same community, I set high standards for myself and my students. With high standards came building pressure. I worked hard and so did the students. The harder we worked, the more papers I had to grade, for I was never one to exchange papers and let the students do it. Eventually, I dug a deep hole for myself and couldn't get out. The only means of escape was to move out. So, when our county went to the middle school system, I moved to seventh grade, teaching social studies, science, and reading. Planning lessons was much easier and less time consuming, but I found I couldn't be as attentive to the students in forty-five minutes as I was when I had them all day. I didn't know them as well individually. Although I missed my elementary students, I stayed at the middle school level until retirement. Did I find teaching a real calling? I can't really say. When I see former students in the work force today who have become teachers themselves, writers, doctors, lawyers, and blue-collar workers, many tell me I was the best teacher they ever had. You see, I don't think children want us to allow undisciplined actions, slothfulness, and work ethic to slide. They look to us as role models, not as their best friend. So, if I listen to the words of my former students who have met with success, then I made the right decision. Sure, there were times that it was "just a job" for me, and many days I wanted to call the central office and say, "Take this job and shove it!" To do that, however, would not have been the real David Lee Thompson. My desire to do the right thing was instilled in me by my own parents many years before I decided to become an educator.

Q: You are not the same person you were thirty-five years ago, and, I assume, not even the same individual you were last year. So, I will ask you—what changed in your attitude, emotions, and even in your spiritual views? Have these changes been for the best or your betterment, or have you felt that you are slipping back little?

Oh, how well you know me, Bill – not for thirty-five years, but at least a coupleand already you can see modifications taking place. I never began to examine the "person change" until I was forty. I looked back and thought, People don't really mature until they're at least thirty. Then at fifty, I vowed that maturity didn't come till we reached forty. Before I knew what was happening, sixty showed up, and the decade for maturation had risen to fifty. Now, by the time I reach seventy, who knows what experiences will cross my path to institute further internal changes in me. I've finally reached that point in my life where it doesn't matter if the dirty dishes from breakfast wait until noon to be washed, the sun's rays through the family room window contain more dust than usual, whether I've shaved two days in a row, polished my shoes to perfection before presenting myself to the public, or if the grass can wait just one more day before having the mower taken to it again. It's unhealthy to concentrate on the trivial things of life in most instances. Now, the crucial list overrides the insignificant. Oh, my. I just fell asleep answering this question, Bill. Do you suppose that was vital? It must have been. I find it happens often these days, and without realizing it's coming, I find myself waking up. As I was saying, the essential things dominate the unimportant: Does Janet have the medication she needs for her asthma and heart condition; will Anthony's next bone marrow test from Duke University turn out all right; is Nathan okay when he doesn't call from North Carolina when we think he should; and the list continues. My spiritual views are more rock solid than they once were. I used to question the reason for my existence. As it is now, however, my questions concerning the reasons for my presence on Earth are no longer skepticism. The human side of me has relented, accepting the spiritual realities of my existence. I'm here for the simple reason that God created me for His glory, to fellowship with Him as a free, moral agent to choose, love, and serve Him. I do feel my changes are for the better. Yes, there are times that I find myself slipping back a little. We all do that on occasion. But we must pick ourselves up and persevere, continue trying as long as we have breath in us to battle for the good of mankind.

Q: What do you now value more highly than other things in your life?

Without question, God must come first in my life. He commands that we must put nothing before Him. Next is Janet, the other half of me. A sense of guilt, however, comes with placing her second. Something tells me she should be first. But to put God between the two of us would be like splitting myself in half, and I cannot consider myself ahead of Him. Third comes my sons and grandsons. Again, I am bothered by having them third in line. To place them third is to value myself more highly than they, since I am the other half of my wife, who's in second place. It's all very confusing, don't you think? After that are my siblings and other relatives, country, friends, health, the innate beauty of the world, and all the other people and situations of this world that I have no control over but can pray to my God that His will be done.

Q: : How important is your spiritual/religious life? Does it motivate how you live your life?

My spiritual life is very important to me. As I said before, God comes first in my life. I must put nothing before Him. Therefore, He dictates how I live my life. Do I have the perfect life? Definitely not. I'm sorry to say that I commit some kind of sin daily, either by commission or omission. No one can be perfect as long as we are in our worldly bodies, but we must strive to do so daily. Do I sound as though I am one of those religious fanatics? I hope not. I can't even say I do the best I can. My heart tells me I need to do better, but I fail miserably.

Q: Do you have any short or long-term creative goals for the coming years?

My short-term goal is to finish my next book before October. The experts tell me that fall is the best time to put books into the hands of readers. As for the long-term, we'll just have to wait for that one. I do think I will always be writing in the future. It's now in my blood. Besides, my readers keep hounding me about it. I recently said to one of my writing friends, "I feel as if writing keeps me from doing some of the things God would want me to do." She said, "I look at it like this: if someone likes my writing, and they get joy out of it, then that's God's way of telling me I'm doing something for that person." I sorta look at it like that, too, and I'm glad Justine helped me look at writing in a different light.

Q: How do you feel about the world situation right now? Do you think things are getting better or worse for the world at large? Do you have any strong opinions about the war or politics?

I feel that the world situation is grave. I do wish I could be more optimistic about our present conditions, but I can't. Things are getting worse daily. Terrorism is such an awful thing. And how do we fight an enemy who doesn't care to die? Ever since 9/ll, it seems as though everything is rapidly spiraling downward. Do I like war and want it to divide our country the way it has? I think you know me well enough to know the answer to that. But someone has to take the reins. I may find myself in disagreement about some things on occasion, but we must take a stand against terrorism. And it appears that we are the ones who have to take the lead. It's as though all the things and situations that should be morally right in the world are suddenly perverse, something to be stifled. I can tell you this: I would rather trust the decisions of those world leaders who are determined to set things right morally than to be bombarded negatively by Hollywood and the news media on a daily basis. I don't know, Bill. I honestly don't know. I can only trust that God's will be done.

Q: Have you read any of the books by the other MWSA authors? If you have, are there any that you liked or recommend to others?

Truthfully, the only one I have read is, A Spiritual Warrior's Journey, by you, W. H. McDonald, Jr. It is difficult, however, to add anything to Jan Hornung's insightful Foreword about your book. I can say, however, that A Spiritual Warrior's Journey touched on all my emotions. I was deeply saddened when I read about your R&R in Tokyo. For the first time I understood what you must have meant when you said in your review of my own book, that our lives were much different during our formative years. I also had a sudden and deep respect for the helicopter gunners on the hueys that flew the I.G. and me to the various locations during my tour of duty in Vietnam. Thank you, Bill. Someone like you protected me from the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese soldiers lurking in the jungles below. And, yes, I would highly recommend your book to others, whether they be Vietnam veterans or my wife sitting in the family room rocker next to me. Finally, I must say that I shall never again look at another owl and feel the same.

Q: Do you have any present-day heroes? Who was your ideal hero growing up?

My answer to this is that I have many present-day heroes – plurally speaking. They are the men and women who stand on the firing line and in the trenches daily to fight for the betterment of all mankind. Many are in hostile areas such as Iraq and Afghanistan, but others are in Washington, fighting a war of words in all three branches of government, in combat daily over making the right decisions for the world as a whole. When I was twelve, I wanted to be like Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger, Sky King, and Don Eagle, the wrestler. But more than any of these, I wanted to be like someone closer to my own age – the boy who played Joey on the contemporary western, Fury. I wanted to live on Broken Wheel Ranch so badly I could almost taste it. Now, I ask myself, Why do we have to grow up and face this world of reality? Do you ever want to be little again, Bill, and have all the bad things suddenly disappear.

Q: If you could pass along some of your wisdom to others, what life lessons have you learned that you feel is important or even key to personal happiness or some degree if inner peace?

This is difficult. I don't know if I consider myself to be wise. I suppose my advice to all is to keep trying to put some degree of trust in others. There's an old saying, "I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them." I'd like to think that I can at least trust others as far as I can see them through a set of binoculars. I think the key to personal happiness is to be content with man's basic needs: food, clothing, and shelter. But to this I must add: develop a personal relationship with God.

Q: Can you tell us something about yourself that others would not know from just reading your book?

I'm a self-proclaimed perfectionist. I got it from my father. What a miserable inheritance. That's why I wouldn't let my students trade papers and grade them nor would I allow them to grade their own. I had to do it myself so I could catch all their missing jots and tittles. I didn't do it to destroy their self-esteem at all. I did it because it was my job to help put them on the road to improvement and not make the same mistakes again. The truth of the matter is: they would probably have learned more had I let them grade their own work. It would have been reinforcement of skills, going through the lesson a second time with them. And besides that, I could have spent more home time with Anthony and Nathan. But you see, I like doing things for myself. That way, I know it's done right. There once was a hypochondriac who had the following inscribed on his headstone: "See, I Told You I Was Sick." Being the self-declared stickler that I am, one who suffers from chronic hypertension and anxiety, my marker will no doubt read: "Went to Meet His Maker, Trying to be Perfect."

Q: Are you afraid (or were you ever afraid) of anything in your life?

Yes, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the future for my sons and grandsons. I'm afraid of what horrific situation I may have to face myself before I depart this world. I'm afraid of the physical pain or mental anguish either my loved ones or I may have to suffer. I'm afraid of the panic attacks I'm forced to endure. They arrive unannounced and without warning or reason. When they appear, they strike with a hellish vengeance, rendering me pale and hopelessly afraid. It's as if I'm going to die, not sometime out there in the future, but right now, this very moment. I blame it on Agent Orange. I cannot rationalize any other reason for it. But with prayer, God's mercy, and Janet's love and understanding, I will find reassurance to the end.

Q: Is there some personal goal of self-improvement that is tops on your do list?

I desire to be a better Christian, husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, neighbor, and citizen. Perhaps I should have picked only one for self-improvement. Then the others would fall in place. Do you know me well enough by now to choose the one I should have selected? In addition, I desperately need to exercise regularly. During my last visit with my primary care physician at the VA, he spent my entire half-hour session, pounding into my stubborn head the importance of exercise. Not only would it help lower my blood pressure, it would also help my diabetes and decrease my level of anxiety. I already knew the truth of the matter. We didn't even have to discuss it. I now have two weeks before my next visit. I think I'll begin tomorrow. That way, I can truthfully tell him that I have, indeed, been doing what he said.

Q: Any parting words that you would like to add about yourself?

I really think I've said enough about myself, but I do wish to be remembered as though I have tried to live my life according to the words of Denis Waitley: Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude. And may I extend to all the veterans of this country – especially to you, Bill, for the great work you have done for each of us – a hearty, "Welcome Home!"

Bill: Thanks David for your time and allowing us to explore so much personal stuff.

Thank you, Bill. It has been my pleasure to serve you for a change.