In many ways men’s memories are similar to those of women. They too remember their weddings and the birth of children. They remember education and career successes. However, there is one thing men remember that women do not usually recall. That is memories of war. Until the recent war in Iraq, few women were the front line of war except in the nursing profession, but men in our generation can remember their time at war either in World War II or in Korea or Vietnam.

War experiences leave an indelible mark on many men. Men handle these memories in different ways. One male characteristic is to shut down, to not talk about it. Sometimes that works and sometimes it makes things worse. Bottling up our feeling is never good for any of us. Other men had mental breakdowns, and created grief for themselves and their families.

I was too young for World War II, but I enlisted in the army for the Korean War. I was sent home because of my eyesight. I remember one officer telling me that I would be a liability on the battle field. I was devastated. I remember how his words shattered my masculinity and it took a long time to get over it. Now, working as a writer, I am interested in talking with other men about their war experiences.

I remember one day finding my new neighbor Harold sitting on one of the benches in our park. It was not far from his house. I had met him once, but never really got to know him. He smiled when I approached and we greeted each other. I sat down and we talked about our families and work, even our pets. The more I talked with Harold, the more I wished I had come to know him sooner.

Then I noticed a large scar on his arm that ran from above his wrist up into his shirt sleeve. I pointed at the scar and asked if he had been in an accident.

He smiled then said, "Well, you might say that. I was hurt in the War, on Guadalcanal."

I explained my lack of war background, then asked him if he would tell me how he was injured. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then began an amazing story.

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We had just landed. I remember running down the ramp on the beach. There was gun fire all around me and explosions along the beach. A bullet whizzed by my helmet and I was really scared. There were bodies of men everywhere on the ground and I saw Japanese soldiers rushing us from the edge of the jungle. I fired several shots. Then I saw one Japanese soldier fall and I got sick to my stomach. I had just killed another man. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept firing. I saw several jeeps and a tank coming down the beach but could not tell if they were ours. I remember the Japanese were all around us and I tried to club one with the butt of my rifle, but suddenly there was an explosion. I felt myself lifted off the ground. There was pain everywhere.

"Wow!" I interrupted. "You really remember all that, and so vividly?"

"I’ll never forget." Then he continued his story.

When I woke up I was lying on the ground. There were bodies all around me. The fighting seemed to have moved on up the beach. I looked to see where I was hurt. There was blood all over my chest and shoulders and blood ran down the side of my face from a cut on the side of my head. I looked at my legs. They had some deep cuts. I found I could move them if I tried. I lay back wondering what to do.

Suddenly I heard a moan. I looked at the bodies around me. It seemed every one, both Japanese and American, was dead. Then I saw a hand move. It was one of the Japanese solders.

He was badly hurt. He was covered with blood just as I was. He lifted his head and we looked at each other. Then he lay back and continued to moan. It appeared we were the only ones left alive.

I lay still, listening to the man moan. Then I decided to crawl over and see if I could help him. I managed to crawl over to him. I could still use my wounded legs and my left arm so I touched his face. He looked at me with a blank stare. I reached for my canteen and poured some water on his mouth. He gulped the water down and reached for more. I shook my head indicating no more water now, and then put the canteen down. There was not much water left in the canteen. We both lay back. I felt that we were both just waiting to die.

Then I heard the sound of airplanes. I could not tell if they were ours or the Japanese. Suddenly, there were explosions on the beach not far away. I knew I was in danger out in the open so I started to crawl the short distance to the jungle. I looked back and saw that the enemy soldier was trying to sit up. I could not just leave him there so I went back and grabbed the back of his shirt. I pulled him with me to the edge of the jungle until we were both under cover of the trees. I was exhausted and dizzy from the loss of blood.

Suddenly, two Japanese solders ran out of the jungle. They saw us and one of them pointed his rifle at me. The soldier I had rescued shouted something at them. He leaned over and blocked my body with his. The rifle was lowered. The man on the ground next to me then pointed to the fighting down the beach and shouted something. I found out later that he was a troop lieutenant and had ordered his men down the beach into battle.

We both lay back I felt him touch my arm. I looked up and he smiled at me. I smiled back. We had both helped each other. Yet, we were enemies. It was a strange situation.

The next thing I remember was waking up when another PT boat landed and men rushed ashore. They ran to help me. When they saw the enemy soldier I saw one raise his rifle I shouted that he had saved my life and to take care of him with me.

Later I woke on this hospital ship. I was covered with bandages. Apparently my chest was hit with shrapnel. I have scars like this one on my arm all over my body. In a day or so both the Japanese solider and I were conscious. I tried to talk with him. He spoke only a little English, but he said is name was Yoshi. The next time I woke up he was gone. The nurse said that he was put with other prisoners of war.

After the war I looked in several prisoner camps but I never found him.

"What a great story!" I exclaimed. "I sure would like to write that down."

"Maybe some day you can, but the story is not over yet." he said.

"Not over?" I questioned.

"Come with me. I lived down the street I want you to meet my family."

We started down the street and Harold took out his cell phone. He talked with someone and asked about returning some books this afternoon. When we arrived at his house he introduced his wife and while she went into get some beers, we sat on the deck. We talked about a number of things before I asked him to finish the story he said was "not over."

At that moment a car pulled into the drive and a man and woman got out. The man carried several books. The occupants of the car were both Japanese. They came up the stairs and Harold introduced me to Yoshi and his wife, Kioko. Harold enjoyed keeping me in suspense, but finally after the three of us and our wives sat down to a refreshment tray and more beers, he said to Yoshi, "I told my friend here about how we met on Guadalcanal. Now you tell him how we got together after the war."

Yoshi smiled. "It was like a miracle." he said. "When I got back to Japan I decided to go into medicine and I applied for a visa to come to the United States to study. After a year it came and we moved to the University of California. When I finished my degree I went to work as a pharmacist at a hospital. One day I decided to have lunch in a little café and when I walked in I saw Harold sitting at a table by the window eating his lunch. I could not believe what I saw. I walked over to him and we stood there looking at each other. Then Harold stood up and we hugged. We have be friends since that day."

"What a story!" I exclaimed. "I have a place for that in my new book. Can I use it?"

Both men agreed and we finished a long conversation and the refreshments. I could barely wait to get home and begin writing down their story. I did not want to forget a single thing.

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We seniors all know people who have been at war. Many men in our families have gone off to fight. And we also know that men have different reactions to war. A few are stimulated by the excitement of battle, but most men are repulsed by the aspect of killing other men. In our modern war with Iraq many men are diagnosed with a psychological disorder, post-traumatic syndrome. They have been mentally affected by their war experiences. This condition can reveal itself by men having a nervous breakdown or acting strange or not being able to fit in with the world around them.

This condition of emotional stress was present in men during previous wars, but it was not recognized or even named. The natural tendency of men to bottle things up can be directly responsible for this. We rarely heard about men having breakdowns after World War II, but they did happen. I had an older cousin who had a mental breakdown after returning from war in the Philippines. A few years later he committed suicide.

Many feminists have accused men of being naturally aggressive and promoters of war. Fighting, conquering, attacking, and counterattacking are called masculine skills, and carry many of the characteristics of business, sports, and social competition which are common male life- styles. Feminists say, often critically, that war creates real men. heroes, supermen, known by their performance and whose chests are clothed with medals and stripes. These are strong men, whose survival authenticates brains and brawn. These men are in charge of their own lives. They have power and authority to direct and shape the lives of both other men and women as well. All this is true , but it is not the complete essence of being a man.

Those of us who have had men in our families go off to war, should be proud. But we should also be aware of the mark this experience may have left on our man. Instead of being critical of men we need to be aware of the fact that this is the way God created man’s emotional characteristics. As seniors, in our own lives, we have seen a wealth of differences in men and their attitudes. The thing to remember is that as well as being aggressive fighters, men are also gentle and loving. Those tender aspects of men are what is important, and these are the qualities that most men in our generation have.

We now live in an age of war. It is both difficult to understand and accept. As long as the conditions for war exist, both men and women will be needed to fight and to protect us. That is mankind’s destiny.