Nicky

Nicky

It was a hot day in April, as we all sat in our Senior Civics class, listening to our teacher, Mr. Mozley. It was a good class and we were enjoying ourselves, and our little debate on the Vietnam War.

Fillmore is a very small town, and we had all grown up together. K-12. Not only had we all gone through school together, in many cases our parents and their parents before them had also gone to school here. So while we often disagreed in our lively debates, the love and friendship we shared was deep and genuine.

For many of us, it was a purely intellectual discussion. Many of the guys in our class would end up being drafted, most of the girls would not join the military. And a war being waged half a world away barely touched us in our safe, close-knit, and idyllic little community.

But all of that would change before class ended that day, and our lives would never be the same. As we sat there talking, Mr. Biggers, the principal came in with a look of sadness and disbelief on his usually cheerful face. He had just received bad news from Mike T’s parents. His brother Nicky had been killed in Vietnam.

Mr. Biggers gently delivered the news, and we all sat in stunned silence. No! It couldn’t be true! Not Nicky! Not the handsome football hero with so much to live for! How could one so young and so close to us be dead?

Suddenly the war was real for us. Suddenly our childhood has ended.

It is hard to believe that this happened thirty-eight years ago. I find tears in my eyes even now, today, as I sit here writing this. And I still have to wonder, “Why?”

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