Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • This is the boy who filled my life with love. When he was born, our family took a deep collective breath, and life began all over again for us. His mother, sweet and delicate of frame and sensibility, gave him her devotion and the milk that nourished his growing. His father, a flawed and troubled man, straightened his back, gave up the bottle, and idolized his son, teaching him the things a boy needs to learn from his father. His sisters, who might have been jealous of the boy's special position in the family, gave him pure, unadulterated adoration. He brought laughter and joy back to our house. He gave back more to us than we ever could have showered upon him.

    On July 15, 2012, he would have been sixty-four years old. Alas, we will not celebrate this birthday with him, nor did we celebrate the 54th or the 44th or the 34th or even the 24th. No, this boy--this sweet, honest, hopeful, promising, loving little boy--went to Vietnam as an MP in January 1968. He had his 20th birthday there on July 15, 1968. On July 17, 1968 he was wounded when the truck he was riding in, in obedience to an order not to stop for anything, went around a woman standing in the road and struck a mine hidden by the roadside. This young boy was so terribly injured that both his legs were amputated and his family was notified of that dreadful knowledge. They wept and were happy to know he yet lived. Two days later, on July 19, 1968, my brother Jacob Finley Siratt III died of his wounds.

    I always try to let everyone know so that on these days, at least, thoughts of him will live on.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.