A letter from frontline
By Kay Lee
The white mail truck marked with the U.S. Post eagle logo stopped in front of my mailbox at the same time as always: 1:30 in the afternoon. Alone I sat on a stool at the breakfast table sipping a mug of coffee, gazing out at the street through the window.
Sam, the mailman who sits behind the wheel conveniently located on the right side of the truck to easily reach the mailboxes planted along the curbside, stopped there for an unusually long time today. My heart began to beat fast; I’m sure he is sorting out mail from Korea. Normally, I wait for Sam to move on to the next mailbox before I step out of the house, but today was an exception.
``Hi, Sam, it’s a beautiful day.”
``Sure is, Kay. You’ve got a letter today, along with some bills, of course,” the old man smiled.
A greenish envelope had a large Korean letter stamped ``MILITARY POST” and ``Pride and Trust, ROK Army” printed in small letters. My eldest son’s name, Jin, was also written in Korean with a lot of coded numbers to identify the military unit. The boy has finally completed his six-week boot camp. Long-stored tears blocked my vision.
I stood by the mailbox and opened the envelope.
``Hey, Mom,” Jin greeted me with his fine English penmanship. I felt instantly that the boy is doing alright.
``The recruit training wasn’t as bad as grandpa and dad warned me about in Seoul. There was no chastising with such disciplinary punishments as ‘Wonsan bombardment’ or hitting soldier’s butts with a baseball bat or showering them with abusive comments. I wouldn’t say the recruit training was easy, but I went through it like everyone else. And I’m now wearing the standard army camouflage fatigues, cap and black military boots. I swore in, and I’m a soldier of my home country, a dog tag dangling from my neck. I’m glad I volunteered and I’m proud of myself.” The mail truck now heading down the street, my vision was glazed over with tears again.
``I’m not supposed to tell the exact geographical location of our unit but I can see a lot of rugged mountains and a beautiful river far away. The quarters, mess hall and supporting facilities in the camp are well maintained with a full plumbing system for baths and toilets. The army provides three meals a day, in case you didn’t know, and the meals aren’t like the ones you cooked for me but still I guess they are healthy, with a variety of side dishes at every meal, though I miss ice cream once in a while. For that craving, I visit the Post Exchange with friends and get some sweets using the Army provided credit card. You see, I’m being paid.
``I didn’t tell my platoon peers that I was a college student in the U.S.A. and that I volunteered to complete my military obligation while my blood is still hot. But yesterday the company commander rushed to me while I was sweeping the quarters and asked me to follow him quickly.
‘You speak English, don’t you?’ The captain asked while we ran to the headquarters.
Ah… yes, I said.
‘The translator officer is out and a general and group of high officers from the U.S. Army unit are unexpectedly visiting us and we need a translator.’ I did what I was ordered to do. It was an easy job.
But Mom, please don’t expect that everything I do will be easy. Remember? Dad and you wanted me to grow up and mature in the service by going through all the military hardships. I promised I will, and I’ll be a good soldier...” Jin’s letter continued on the reverse side of the Army provided lined pad.
The writer is a mother of two grown up boys and lives in Old Tappan, N.J. Her email address is kayleenam@gmail.com.