Reflective Essay: The First Vietnam War

“Click, click, click.” The buckles smack the boots of each British soldier owning them as they stomp by in clusters. I grip Beth’s small hand tighter and the dirt kicks up under my small felt heels as I swiftly move across the square. My arm soon gets heavy, however, so I let go of Beth and hold the box of raspberry tea in both hands. I glance over to make sure Beth is out of harm’s way and see more red coats atop horses. My mouth turns downward and I snarl at the men marching through town. I turn away just as Beth pipes up,
“Momma, why do all these soldiers live in New York City?”
“Well, Beth, they are scared that the third of us will start an uprising. And if they are here when we do, they seem to think they will be able to stop it,” I

Their parents died, and I came from Britain to raise them. I lost my job and being a British soldier is the only way to make money, darling. I would much rather work for Washington,” answered the tired looking, burly, soldier.
“You can live in my house if you fight with Washington. For freedom from the Intolerable Acts, which my Daddy says he refuses to give us. And once we win the war, you can work on my Daddy’s boat. Come with me now, and we can pick up your family on the way,” said Beth abruptly. The man smiled and shook his head, indicating to her that the idea was impossible. I ponder this small child, who thinks so innocently, who puts so much trust in people.
At this moment I realize it is only Beth, the red coats and I on this small street. I look away as the silk ribbon from my sun hat dips over my eyes. My brow crinkles as I become aware that she is so close to these soldiers while I carry rebellion in my own hands. But Beth comes over without a bit of anxiety. Then she tells me their little deal, unaware I heard her the first time. I look at the man, probably pushing 18. Tired and worn, but should not be given his age. I smile and do what Beth’s father would