He ain't heavy he's my son. He has mental health issues that has caused him to be arrested and be homeless. He has even threatened me. Everyone says I should give up on him, but he ain't heavy he is my son and I love him.
It was the 60's, in the heart of the Vietnam War. I was about 8 yrs old. My hero, the man I looked up to and wanted to emulate most, was being shipped off to who knows where. Shipped off to fight in a war where I watched guys being killed daily on TV. Laden with sadness, I had to say goodbye to him with a terrible fear that I would never see him again. But I'm strong. His welfare was my concern. I wanted to cry like a baby but I held back my tears because I wanted him to know that I was strong, like he was, and confident that he would return, who knows when. But it was a lie. I thought he was going to die. To come home in a basket. I even pictured myself saluting his flagged casket, like JohnJohn did for JFK on that same black and white TV. When he left, I went back to my bedroom to let go and cry back to sleep in my pillow. It was 4am and a half century ago. Yet I remember that brief moment in my life, like it was yesterday - whenever I hear this song. It still brings me tears today. But they're tears to thank God that I can still tell him that he's still my hero.
He's My Brother.
The song was particularly applicable to the Vietnam era, where servicemen were literally putting their wounded buddies on their backs, and carrying them out of harm. I think of this song every time I see the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC which shows a wounded soldier on his comrade's back. I was fortunate to have missed VietNam; I was 18 and had a draft number, but the war ended. Six years later, however, I was commissioned in the U.S. Navy Medical Service Corps, and served 20 years. In today's world faced with a COVID-19 crisis, I see this song applicable to the dispute going on between upstate NY and downstate NY regarding sharing of ventilators. Given the shortage of ventilators, we must help our brothers where the disease is most prevalent.
The police use Knocking on Heavens Door when they lose a brother. I think theFire Dept should use this song when they suffer a loss. They carry us all.
My father was a drunk who beat my mother and took off when i was 15 and he died alone, pneumonia was the official reason but really the booze did him in. He sort me out and came into the sports bar i was working at and tried to say sorry, i was 21-22 and so angry at him and basically threatened to knock his head off. That was the last time i saw my dad. I'm 37 and iv'e been married for 11 years now and have 2 kid's of my own, i can understand some of the pressures he faced by having to provide for a family. I'm sorry dad i can't forgive you for what you did, but i'm also sorry i didn't give you chance to talk to me and even though you were not the best i should have been the better man and let you have your say. Thank you stranger for reading my written thought.