Remembering Bartow

I connected with an old neighborhood friend via Facebook earlier today -- while I'm still not a huge fan of the site, it does make it remarkably easy to find people you "used" to know or who you've lost track of. We had a nice chat and reminisced about other people we knew in common -- one of which was a neighbor who was killed in Vietnam.

I grew up during the Vietnam era but I was too young to really understand all the ramifications. I can remember worrying about whether my brother might have to go -- he was fourteen years older than I was -- he never did -- I think maybe because he was in school. But a family down the street did lose their son. His name was Bartow Potts and he was about ten years older than I was -- he had two brothers who were closer in age to me. I don't remember any of the details other than he was killed over there and, eventually, the family moved away but I couldn't tell you when or where.

Ten years ago, when my eldest was in the 8th grade, her middle school class took a trip to Washington, DC. One of the places they were to visit was the Vietnam Memorial -- at the last minute, I wrote down Bartow's name and told her to see if she could find it. When she came home, not only had she found it (they actually have a list of names and where they are located on the wall) but she did a rubbing of the engraving. Though I never really knew Bartow well, the memory of his death had stayed with me and tears stung my eyes.

Today, on Memorial Day, I want to remember Bartow Potts and all of those like him who lay down their lives for this country. No matter how one feels about war, every soldier -- dead or alive -- should be given their due respect.

I hate to think where we'd be without every single one of them.