National Vietnam War Veterans Day Ceremony
Visit WNCT Now to watch the live stream of the National Vietnam War Veterans Day Ceremony in Washington, D.C. today, Saturday, March 29, 2025, at 10 a.m. This is to mark 50 years since the Vietnam War.
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Get The Gavel A weekly SCOTUS explainer newsletter by columnist Kimberly Atkins Stohr. Enter Email Sign Up Cancer took him when he was only 56 and I was in my first year of college. He never got to see me grow up and into myself, make my way in the world, or father my own children. He was also spared watching his good Catholic son grow long hair, protest the Vietnam War, take up the guitar, and God knows what else. The tectonic societal shifts and grinds of that era would likely have played out at our kitchen table with glass-rattling shouts and fist-pounding. He may even have disowned me but, then again, he may have related to and embraced me. I had learned from my mother, when I was much too young for such a revelation, that my father himself had a 'lost' period before they met. What did that entail? Again, I'll never know, but I like to think there was bacchanalian revelry, foolish chances taken, and at least one wild, decidedly ill-advised love affair. And I hope that if there was conflict with his own father, it was resolved. Related : Advertisement For years I had a recurring dream in which he would suddenly appear. He had been in a faraway sanitarium or a medical facility, alive all these years, and I, his oblivious, self-centered son, somehow failed to grasp this or reach out to him. I would wake feeling hollow, shaken, and ashamed. Advertisement I can only remember one piece of advice my father gave me: 'Slow down when approaching a curve, then accelerate through it.' I think of him every time I drive a mountain road, and his advice has been helpful as a metaphor as well. When life has thrown me a curve and I locked the brakes, it did not go well. I, like my father, learned to commit to a course and power through. And I, in reaction to my father's taciturn nature, learned to be forthcoming, perhaps overly so, and have passed down a surfeit of advice and anecdotes to my own children. They will be well equipped should they, one day, attempt to decipher and demystify me. One moment remains frozen in time from his last summer. I was soon to leave home for college, and he had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was riding my first set of wheels — a beat-up, BSA 650 motorcycle — up Glenwood Way when I glanced over to see Dad standing on the porch of our 1960s ranch. His eyes met mine, and he flashed a rare smile at the sight of his middle son roaring off on that black beast towards a future he would not live to see. Advertisement
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I served my country. Trump's military parade is horrifying for a specific reason.
When I was in seventh grade, Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, Iraq's tiny, oil-rich neighbor. In response, the U.S. assembled a coalition of 42 countries to eject his army with military force. Looking back, the success of Operation Desert Storm may have seemed inevitable. But at the time, to most Americans, the Gulf War was anything but a foregone conclusion. In fact, early 1991 was a white-knuckle period for a country still traumatized and reeling from the Vietnam War. That perception was only heightened living with a mother whose cousin had been killed at Long Khanh in 1969. I had a front row seat to all the buildup, as my family lived in Shreveport, Louisiana, just across the Red River from Barksdale Air Force Base and the 2nd Bomb Wing. Every week, if not every day, I watched B-52s on the horizon as pilots practiced touch-and-go landings. I know I wasn't the only person in Shreveport that winter suddenly filled with a mixture of pride and apprehensiveness. 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It served a purpose. There was a perception that America was reclaiming a sense of pride, not only in its military, but in itself. Years later, I would join the military myself and serve in a conflict for which there was no neat ending and no parade. But what that day in Shreveport taught me was that there is a time and place for military parades and displays of martial power. They don't come around often, but they do come around. The ticker tape parades after World War II were another example, as was the Grand Review of the Armies held in Washington, D.C., after the Civil War. Now, 34 years after the Gulf War, America is holding another military parade. Only this time, instead of serving a purpose founded in genuine love of country, built on a celebration of communal sacrifice, we're faced with a president hosting tanks and planes for a martial display that, officially, is to mark the Army's birthday, but just so happens to fall on his birthday too. President Trump's military parade is, of course, troubling for its similarity to those that often take place in other countries like North Korea or Russia. In rare cases, such France's Bastille Day parade, they are something of a celebration of democracy. But far more frequently, they are shows of force and expressions of belligerence. It's arguable that they're signs of deep-seated insecurity on the part of weak autocrats who demand them. What is inarguable is that an endless parade of tanks and missiles is often the calling card of fascists. And that's where we now find ourselves. This use of the U.S. military is horrifying for a specific reason. It's not simply because he's showing off the hardware. It's horrifying because the parade serves as a mirror, reflecting where we are as a nation. The worst possibilities we could infer from Saturday's unwarranted, Kremlin-style parade are now flying low and slow in the parade of headlines across our news feeds. 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