Even those are all just words that don't begin to convey the convoluted tangle of feelings involved. Then I remember that if I'd known then what I know now, I'd never have gone to that miserable place myself, but I didn't know. I couldn't have known what is so obvious to me now, until after the experience. I don't mean to imply that I think the world could destroy all it's weapons and then everything would be paradise. Evil is a very real thing and sometimes must be fought.
Evil takes many forms.
I 'd only been in the country for a few weeks, when a couple of guys and I went into the village of Duc Pho to get haircuts. We were excited and sort of mesmerized by the fact that we were actually in a tropical country, in a war, and all on our own. We walked into the town orphanage, which was a small, high-walled schoolyard, with a large, rambling building inside, where the barber was located. I sat down in a rickety chair, laid my rifle up against the wall next to me, and the barber began cutting my hair. I remember being suddenly sick with sadness for myself, and thinking that it wasn't fair.