Little Bill
When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old, there was this kid we called "Little Bill" who lived down the street. He was freckle faced and snaggle toothed. His ears were too big and stuck out out so far that I always accused him of looking like a wingnut. I don't remeber ever seeing him when he didn't have a runny nose.
Little Bill was the biggest pain in the butt that ever existed. He was about five years younger than the rest of us and he followed us around all the time.You couldn't get away from him, and he wouldn't shut up. He always wanted to know what we were doing and why. No matter what answer you gave him, he wanted more details. We did everything to get rid of him.
Once I bet him he couldn't climb to the top of this huge tree down in the woods, even though I had seen him do it before. When he got to the top, we took off running and hid from him. He found us of course and apparently thought it was great sport. He walked up laughing, "Whutchalldoin?" We started groaning because he found us and we immediately began planning the next dirty trick to play on Little Bill.
Big Bill, little Bill's Daddy, had to work a lot of hours to take care of his wife and four kids, so he didn't have as much time to spend with Little Bill as Little Bill needed. I suppose that's why Little Bill followed us around all the time. I can still remember his mama hollering out the back door and down into the woods "Little Bill, get yourself home before you get hurt, you can't do everything them big boys do!"
As we got older and got drivers licenses and cars and developed an interest in girls it became easier to get away from Little Bill. If we went anywhere that he could get to though, he would be there, asking questions, getting in the way and just being a general nuisance.
About the time I graduated from high school and went into the Marines, Little Bill showed up at the house with this girl he wanted me to meet. She was almost as homely as Little Bill. She had red hair and freckles and was as flat chested as an ironing board. Little Bill had on a pair of black slacks that were too short for him, a white dress shirt, a tie and a pair of dress shoes that had to have belonged to his daddy. His hair was slicked down. He looked like "Alfalfa". He was going on a date and wanted all the big boys to know that he was still "following along behind".
I went on into the Marines, did four years. One tour in nam, the whole bit. Got out, got a job, got married and settled down. Then one day I got a call from a friend.
"Didja heara about Little Bill?" he asked.
"No, what's he gone and done now?"
My friend went on the relate the story of how Little Bill who had followed me everywhere else, joined the Marines the day after he got out of high schoo, just like I did. He had been sent to Vietnam. He had been killed not far from the airbase at DaNang.
It don't matter what LIttle Bill's real name was. It one of about 58,000 on a black granite wall in Washington DC. He could have been any one of them. Sometimes late at night when I awake with the sound of the choppers and the smell of the jungle in my head I think about Little Bill. As I doze back off, I sometimes hear the echoes of his mama's voice calling out to him, "Little Bill, get yourself home before you get hurt, you can't do everything them big boys do!"
I wish he had listened.
Have a nice memorial day folks and if you have a quiet moment, you might want to say a special thanks to "Little Bill" and all those guys and gals like him.
ribit
Liberals are like a "Slinky". Totally useless, but somehow ya can't help but smile when you see one tumble down a flight of stairs!
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