THE HEALING PROCESS

The very young man, with his shoulders back and his chest sticking out front, walks down the long airport concourse. Dressed in his military drab green uniform with his starched shirt and tie is looking for his departure gate. He never liked being late and always wanted to know ahead of time where he needed to be and when. He was way ahead of time for his departure flight that would take him home. So after finding his departure gate he began looking for what he really needed, a bar where he could have a very quite drink or a few and reflect on his past year or so of his life. He knew he was not of age to drink but was willing to gamble that it might not make any difference, with his uniform, to the server. He sits on the high stool and waits to be acknowledged. It doesn’t take long before the waiter comes to him and ask, “May I help you Sir ?” In his kindest voice he says, “Can I have a beer please?” “What kind of beer and do you have an ID, Please?” Miller Lite please and I do have an ID but to be honest, I’m not 21.” So the waiter ask him if he is just getting back from Vietnam because he notices the campaign ribbons on his uniform? Yes I was there for 10 months was the young mans response. The waiter smiles, says he will get his beer, just don’t cause him any trouble and forget about the ID.

Before his beer gets to him he feels a tap on his shoulder and he slowly turns to face a middle aged woman with a scorn on her face. “Did I hear you say you are just coming back from Vietnam, she asks?” Yes ma'm, that’s right he responds. She then spits in his face and slaps him across his cheek as hard as she can. The young man turns back towards the bar and takes a long drink of his beer. Another tap hits his shoulder and again he turns toward the woman. “Don’t you dare turn your back to me. How dare you, you child murderer.” She says. And again spits into his face. And as her hand goes up to again make contact with his face, he sees , at the corner of his eye, a black hand grab her wrist, and he hears these words so plainly, “You insult this fine young man once more and I will personally punch you out.” The man holding her wrist looks very stern and willing to deliver what he has promised. And also says, “I have a lot of money and quite a few lawyers to fight you on this matter.” The woman pulls her arm away from the mans grip and storms out cussing under her breath.

May I buy you a drink the black man says? No thank you I’m fine, says the young soldier. But I insist says the man, as he calls the waiter over, he says “Give this gentleman what ever he wishes for as long as he wishes,” and he puts $300,00 on the bar. “Sir this is not necessary, I appreciate it very much and thank you but I can get it from here.” “Thank me, THANK ME,” he said, “but no sir, thank you, thank you for all that you have done for me.” And he turns and walks out of the bar.

T hat man was none other then Sammy Davis Jr. And that solider was none other then ME.

True Story by Me,
Peter