#12 Disabled Vet. Anything Helps. God Bless.

by Jade Leone Blackwater

“Hello son. Lunch?”

“Okay,” says the man. He brightens when he spies cash beneath the sandwich. I offer a bottle. “Thanks Ma, just praying for water,” he sips. “I’m Tom.”

“Daphne. My wife Jean.” I shake Tom’s paw, stiff as leather. Jean waves from our car.

“You guys are all right,” he rises on clicking legs and stows the food in his bucket. “Ten kids,” he starts, “three of ‘em mine. Rest are my buddies’, what didn’t come back. Five grandkids. Four dogs. Two cats. Gave up the potbelly pig.”

“Work?”

“Lookin at it!” He explains, “I’m weird now. People make me uncomfortable.”

“I understand.” I correct, “I probably don’t.”

“You don’t wanna understand. Fourteen years in service. Honorable discharge. I’d go back if they’d—eighteen confirmed, twenty-four hours, most with a blade. I couldn’t—wasn’t right when I came home. Not just the legs.”

“Disability?”

“Never enough.” Traffic grumbles. Tom repeats roll call. “I get those kids to church six days a week. Keep ‘em outta trouble.”

“They’re fortunate to have you.”

His brow widens. “Took a long time, getting back indoors. Used to go to soup kitchens ‘cause I had to. Now—” Tom lifts his chin, eyes closed. “No. I’m blessed. Lake Silvi Baptist. Mud Bay Gur’dwara. One Sky Universalist. Red Road Neighborhood Center. Ten kids, three of ‘em mine. Rest are my—Five grandkids.”

“We’ll keep you in our prayers, Tom.”

“Pray for those KIDS,” he insists, then looks away.