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I almost didn't go to My Lai. I wasn't doing the War Tour - the DMZ, the Cu Chi Tunnels, or Khe Sanh. I didn't have to go. I didn't want to go. Yet something compelled me to turn east off the highway. |
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Only the foundations of burned houses bore testimony to the senseless atrocities of one afternoon. In front of each foundation was an unadorned granite marker inscribed with the names and ages of the family murdered in that home. |
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I was not yet three years old in March 1968. Why then, standing alone in the tranquil glen, did I feel so guilty? Why did I feel that the shame was mine, the responsibility mine, mine the need to atone? |
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