You’ve remember who you were with when people shooting bullets at you

A story told to me by a home inspector.

His father was enlisted in 1944 and went to three wars: WWII, Korean and Vietnam, done his duty in 1968.

He had his best quarter in Vietnam, shared with three other sergeants with a roof over their heads. There was this woman from nearby village, who was hired to do chords for them. Before he arrived, her husband died in fighting the North. During his 19 months there (extended from 11 months initially…), her five sons died fighting too. She was alone by herself. His father treated her as his sister and tried to persuade her to come to US, “my family and I will take care of you.” But she refused, “no, this is my home.”

This bothered him a lot – wished he could have succeeded.

Years later, when he worked at  MD Anderson in Texas where he would spend 20 years, and getting 7 promotions in his first 11 years. One day he walked the opposite direction from a Vietnamese man in the hall way. Two some decades had passed but they instantly recognized each other.
“He and his family lived a few yards away from us.” He paused and said, “you’ve never forget who you were with when people shooting bullets at you.”