Fast forward, about twenty-three years, to be exact. Fate has plunked my aging carcass in Southern Maine and someone actually pays me to stand in front of large groups of people and make a fool of myself. What could be sweeter then this, a true partner and our wild child of a daughter?

Over the years I'd told these stories many times, trying to maintain their integrity as time passed. Most people seemed politely interested, little more. Two people, both women who were too young to have really understood the war stand out. Both seemed to have had the capacity to step outside their world and honestly try to understand the feelings those of us who served in Viet Nam so long ago. To both of you, a heart-felt thank you.

In 2000 I returned again to the love-hate relationship I've had with photography for many years. I arrived in Portland early for a darkroom class one December evening and decided to visit a Vietnamese restaurant, Saigon Thinh Thanh, on Congress Street.

It was still early and other than the people who worked there I had the place to myself. I wandered around the restaurant admiring the art work that adorns walls. The waitress returned at one point and I remarked how much I enjoyed the scenes of Vietnam. She said something about them being of Hue City. When I remarked that I knew of Hue she asked if I had ever visited her country. I replied that I had been their as a soldier during the war.

The young woman, probably in her early twenties walked and stood at my table. I looked up at her and thought, "Oh no...here it comes." Inside, I could feel myself tighten as I waited for what I was sure would be an angry tirade.

She stood looking at me for a moment. Then she began to speak. "Many people my age believe we owe a debt of gratitude to people like you who tried to save our country. Even though in the end we lost I would like to say, from all of us... thank you."

How many Viet Nam veterans have ever heard that? How many of our own countrymen, of any age, have ever thought to say thank you for what we tried to do? To have those words spoken by this young Vietnamese woman was, in some ways, like a second home coming.

She walked away and I manged to hold my tears till she could no longer see me. There were tears in my soup that night, but I rather think they made it taste all the better.