The Things They Carry

The Things They Carry

 By Tim O’Brien

 A family discussion

 Winter 2010

It is dinner time at my sister’s house. We are gathered at the table, Trisha, her husband, their two children and me. Lauren, who is in her last semester as a high school senior, is talking about a book report she has to give tomorrow. She’s not yet read the book and she brags about this irresponsible indifference to this assignment. Trisha is about to speak up and take the bait for a verbal confrontation when I jump in.

 “I’ve read that book before”, I tell the group, “not a whole book because it was so gruesome. It’s tough to read but it was good book. You may want to read it someday Lauren. The guy has a good message”.

“I’m sure he does”, she responds flippantly, “but oh well, it’s too late for tomorrow. I have to give an oral report. That’s going be a waste of time because I have nothing to say. I’ll just have to take the F”.

I jump in again. “Well other than the first chapter, the rest of the book is all about how everybody got blown away in the war and how the war changed him. But it’s the first chapter that spoke to me. He tells the story of being an 18-year-old boy during the Vietnam War and he receives his draft notice. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like. The war ended just as I was turning 18. That could’ve been me. And I sure would never go to war”, I tell her. And to my surprise she’s listening. So, I continue.

“See he got this draft notice and he was afraid to go to war. Somebody told him about this boat man in Michigan. The old man had his rowboat along the shores. And young men just went there and sat in his boat and he rowed them to Canada. Neither party spoke to the other. No questions were asked. No names were exchanged. There was no conversation that could incriminate each other. But the boatmen would just let young men get in this boat and he would row to the other side. And he would get out and walk away. And then the 18-year-old get out and walk away. Then the boatman come back to his boat and go back to Michigan.”

“So, Tim took this boat ride. He didn’t want to go to Vietnam. He was afraid. The old man took him to the other side and got out. But Tim just set the boat and cried and cried and cried. He didn’t know what to do because he realized if he got out of the boat he could possibly never see his family again. He also realized if he didn’t fight in the war he might always see himself as cowardly. And he might regret that he didn’t pull his weight as a male in our society”.

“He sat there all afternoon and cried and he never got out of the boat. And the boatmen came back and road back to Michigan. And Tim got out in Michigan and went to war.”

“And Lauren, that was the essence of the whole book, the life long struggle of who am I? What do I stand for? What are my fears? How do I hold myself accountable in difficult times? What is my moral high ground?

“Hm, sounds interesting”, she said.  “Maybe I’ll read it someday but I doubt it.”

The next afternoon, I got a phone call from Lauren.

“Hey, I got an A in my book report.  I thought you would want to know,” she tells me proudly.

“What? How did that happen?  You didn’t even read the book.”

“I know.  Isn’t that funny?  I got up first and just told you story.  I even told that part when you said the first chapter was the only chapter that really spoke to you and you know what my teacher said, ‘Me, too.  I loved that chapter’. And I just talked about the moral high ground and she said I truly got the essence of the book and she gave me an A.  Can you believe it?” she laughed.

I couldn’t decide if I should laugh with her or jump in to a lecture on the moral high ground. And then I remembered that it was March of her senior year and there is very little moral high ground left in any high school senior at that point.  I decided to take the victory that she at least listened to me.