A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2015 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 44
His Dad's Stuff

I thought it strange that Jase had never asked about where his dad was buried, but I couldn’t if I’d ever told him that I’d brought Jason back from Vietnam. I decided to take him to the cemetery one Sunday after church. I didn’t tell him where we were going until after we had stopped for breakfast at Denny’s and we were on our way. 

“Where’re we going?” he asked when he noticed we weren’t heading back home.

“I’m going to show you where your dad is buried,” I said.

He looked at me, a half blank, half startled look. “Oh. I thought all American soldiers were buried in that one big military cemetery.”

“You mean Arlington. No. He could have been, but he wanted to be buried in his hometown.”

“So I’ll get to see where he grew up,” he said. He seemed excited about that.

“Yes, I’ll show you the town, and where he went to school, where he played football,” I said.

I took the narrow back road to the cemetery.  It was like a private drive, and the scenic countryside always seemed to prepare me.  It always seemed a solemn journey, driving through a cemetery, and this one was even more so. I pulled over near the gravesite and we got out. I took a deep breath, resolving to keep my composure. This was going to be tough, bringing his son back to visit a dad he never knew, and never would. We walked to the grave and I showed him the marker then stood back a little.  Jase stood gazing down at the marker for a long time, and I wondered what was going through his head. Thoughts that I couldn’t allow were trying to emerge in my head. I did permit myself a silent prayer of thanks that this boy had come to me, out of the hard, virile loins that had given me so much pleasure. Pervertedly, perhaps, I thought of all the semen I had drained from the loins of his father, all that I had swallowed into my being, and that had spurted deep into my bowels, and of all those trillions of sperm, I had to marvel at the one that had become this handsome boy was the most precious.

Jase squatted down and traced his finger over the lettering on the marker.

“He was the bravest man I ever knew,” I said quietly. “You should be very proud of him.”

He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wish I could feel more,” he said, twisting around to look at me.

“It’s hard to feel something that you never knew,” I said as I stepped up beside him. “Just be proud, and know that he would have made a fine dad.”

Then suddenly he turned to go. I was almost offended, but he wasn’t being disrespectful; he simply did not feel what I did.  I decided not to spend the moments there that I’d planned.  This was Jase’s time, brief and unemotional as it was, and I could not force my emotions on him.  We walked back to the car.

“Where did my dad live?  Is the house still there?” Jase asked.

“Yes, we can drive by it,” I said.  “We can’t go in, it was sold after his parents died.” I wanted awfully bad to tell him he had an uncle in Jason’s brother, but it would serve no purpose except to cause ill will and heartache.  Allen wanted nothing to do with the boy and I had to respect that, for both their sakes.

I drove by the house first, to get that out of the way.  I thought he would enjoy seeing the school more.

“I stayed there with his parents when I brought him home,” I said as I crept past the house. “I slept in his room.”

It caused some heartache but I didn’t show it. Well past the house, I asked him if he wanted me to turn around and drive by again.

“No, that’s okay.”  He looked out the window and turned once to look back for a few seconds.

“We’ll go to the school,” I said.  “The football stadium is named after him.”

“It is? Wow!”

I drove through the town first, slowly down the main street, then back.

“I’m trying to picture my dad growing up here, walking these streets. It’s hard to do,” he said.

“Yes, it would be,” I said.  “You didn’t know your dad, and you grew up in a different country. I imagine it would be hard to relate the two.”

I took him to the football field first. We got out to go onto the field.  Walking up the ramp, he stopped and looked up at the arch with Jason Seaborne Stadium across it.

“Wow! He must’ve been a hell of a jock,” he said quietly.

“He was a hell of a man,” I said, indicating the arch.  “This isn’t just about him being a jock; it’s about him being a man.”  I showed him the bronze plaque.  He read it but didn’t say anything.  I stood back till he was ready to go.

We were in luck at the school; the maintenance man was there.  I told him who we were and asked if we could have a look around. He seemed excited to meet Jase.

“I’m honored to meet the son of Jason Seaborne,” he said, putting out his hand. “Come along, I’ll open some doors and you can wander around at will.  The trophy case is up on the second floor, be sure and check that out.  And the locker room is down that ramp.  His locker still has his name on it. Nobody uses it. It’s still got his jersey hanging inside, and his helmet. There’s even a jockstrap hanging in the locker, with his name in the waistband, but nobody knows for sure if it was really his, or if somebody just hung one in there.”

Jase seemed to be in a state of awe as we went through the school.  It was obvious that this was making a greater impression than Jason's gravesite. He was quiet as we stood in front of the trophy case and he searched out his dad’s trophies. It wasn’t hard; there were a lot of them. We went in and out of several classrooms and I knew he was imaging, as I was, his dad sitting in those rooms.  Downstairs, he seemed a bit dazed as we entered the locker room; even hesitant.

“Don’t you wanta go in?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s weird, that’s all, being here where he was when he was my age.”

“I wish he could be here to show you around himself,” I said.

We went in and I followed a couple of paces behind him, letting him find his own way. Jason’s locker door was standing part way open with his name printed on a piece of tape.  His helmet with SEABORNE across the front sat on top.  Jase walked over to the locker and opened the door then just stood there. After a moment he reached up and got the helmet. 

“Put it on,” I said.

“Do you think I should?”

“If anybody has the right, you do,” I said.  “He would be proud to have you wear it.”

He put the helmet on but didn’t connect the strap, and he left it on only for a moment.  He placed it back up on top of the locker then reached inside to get the jersey. He held it up but didn’t take it off the hanger.

“Twenty-Nine.  I wonder if there was any significance to his number?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why don’t you try it on.”

“No, I have no right to wear his number,” he said, and hung it back in the locker.  He fingered the jockstrap hanging on a hook then took it out. “Do you think it’s really his jockstrap?” he asked, holding it up.

I smiled and touched the pouch.  “I don’t know.  It’s obviously pretty old, and well worn, and it’s sure stretched out enough. It could be his.”

“Wow!  This really is weird, but pretty awesome, holding the jockstrap that my dad wore."  With it still in his hand he looked at me with a mischievous grin.  "This is gonna sound perverted but I'm standing here holding the jockstrap that held the cock and balls that made me."

"That's not perverted, it’s profound," I said.

"I wish I could have it,” he said. I started to say something but he cut me off before I could speak. “But I would never ask for it, or take it.  It belongs here. I wonder where the rest of his uniform is.”

“I don’t know, but the important stuff is here,” I said.

Jase hung the jockstrap back on the hook and positioned the door exactly like he found it. He paused a moment then walked back toward the showers.  He stood in the entrance of the big shower room, I stood just behind him.

“I can almost picture him here, and hear him laughing and joking around,” he said.

“Take that picture with you,” I told him.

“Yeah….yeah, it’s all I’ve got.” 

It wasn’t all he had. As we were driving back home I decided it was a good time to pass along some of Jason’s belongings to the boy. I thought I should make the special occasion somehow more special. I stopped for hamburgers and fries to take home so I wouldn’t have to mess with fixing supper.

“Were you okay with today?” I asked Jase as we were sitting down to eat.

“Yeah, I’m okay.  I’m glad you showed me where he’s buried. I can go back now when I want. And it was neat as hell, going through his old high school and seeing his locker and stuff.  He really is some kind of hero to people.”

“Don’t ever say that where he can hear you,” I joked. “He hated being thought of as a hero.”

“I wish I could go to school there,” Jase said.     

“Listen, Jase, there are some things I want to give you, and I think now would be a good time,” I said.  I went upstairs and I got the box from my bottom dresser drawer containing what I considered to be Jason’s treasures. They were my treasures too, but they no longer belonged to me.  I had the memories of his dad that Jase didn’t have.  He needed something to help him connect with his dad. I went to my dresser and got Jason’s single dog-tag and chain from my jewelry case, along with the shell casing I’d dug up at Jason’s base camp. Before I went back downstairs, I took Jason’s athletic jacket out of the back of my closet and hung it in Jase’s closet.

“This is stuff that belonged to your dad,” I said as I sat down at the table and opened the box.  I handed him the watch first.

“This is a Navy SEAL watch,” he said, beaming proudly. 

“Yes, he wore it all the time. It’s been a lot of places in your home country; places that you will never have to go,” I said.

I removed the necklace from around my neck and held it out to Jase.

“This was my dad’s?” he asked.

“Yes.”  I continued to hold out the necklace.

“I think you should keep it.”

“No, it’s yours,” I said.  “You can wear it to school.  Let’s put it on you.”

He leaned forward for me to put the necklace on him.  I was surprised how well it fit around his muscular neck.

“It fits you almost as well as it did your dad,” I said.

He hefted the weight of it then reached back and unclasped it.

“He was my father, but he was your buddy and that pretty much evens things out. You knew him better than I ever will. If I want to wear it, well I’ll just borrow it.” He handed the necklace back.

I didn’t argue with him.  “It’s in that jewelry box any time you want to wear it.”

I took the necklace, then gave him the dog-tag.  “I buried his other one when I came back to Vietnam to get you, under the roots of some huge, ancient tree, within sight of his old compound.” 

He rubbed the metal plate between his fingers then slipped the chain over his head.  I gave him the shell casing too.  “I dug this up with my boot at his base camp,” I said.

I took out the medals next and laid them across the table.

“He won all of these?” Jase asked.

“He wouldn’t say he won them, but they were awarded to him,” I said. I went on to explain each medal. He picked them up and fingered them one by one as I told him about them.  Then he surprised me.

“I think you should keep these, too,” he said.

I must have looked at him surprised.

"You have more right to them than I do. You were there with him. You know what they stand for. I think he would want you to have them,” he said.

I gave it barely a moment’s thought. “Alright. I’ll keep them, for now. But someday they’ll be yours,” I said.

“All right,” he agreed.  “Someday, when I’m old. And this,” he said as he removed the dog-tag from around his neck.  “I’ll keep the shell casing but you should have his dog-tag.  You earned it.  I didn’t.”

“It’s not something you earn the right to wear,” I told him.

“Yes.  It is, and I didn’t earn it,” he said.

I accepted it without any further question. I brought out the small stack of folded clothing. I unfolded the Navy SEAL T-shirt to show him the KaBar knife.

“Wow!”  He picked it up and removed the knife from the sheath.  “It’s well worn," he said.

“It’s well used,” I said.  "He carried it all the time.  It was part of him."

He slid the knife back in the sheath and handed it to me.  “You keep this, too.”

“I….I think you should have it, Jase,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You should have the things with a close attachment to the war. I know it’s my dad’s knife, but you were over there with him.  Here, take it.”  He thrust it at me.

“All right. But only for safe keeping.  It will still be yours someday,” I said.  Then I handed him the NVA bayonet and explained what it was.  He held it for a moment then handed it back to me.

"This should be with his knife," he said as he carefully arranged the bayonet under Jason's KaBar knife.  "It lies in defeat under his KaBar knife."  He meant I should keep them both.

I didn't give him the handkerchief that had held the soil from Vietnam.  That was mine to keep.  And I laid the twenty dollar bill aside, the one he'd left me to buy a drink, but the bartender had given me the six pack. I handed him the T-shirt.  “You might want this to wear.”

He picked it up and held it up to his chest. Next I handed him Jason’s athletic shorts with the Navy SEAL emblem on the left leg.  He held them up, smiling.

“I like these. Do you think they would let me wear these in gym class at school?”

“I don’t see why not.”

I gave him two pairs of briefs. I hated to part with them but felt compelled to give them to the boy. I still had a pair that I wore, that I would keep.  Jase shook out the briefs and held a pair up.

“Man, I’ll bet he didn’t have any trouble filling these out; there’s not much to them,” he joked.  “Sorta like the ones you bought for me.”

There was something else he needed to have.  I went to my dresser and dug out Jason’s old, tattered jockstrap. I wore it now and then, and I hated giving it up, but he should have it. There was a sense of melancholy in knowing that the garment, especially the worn pouch of the jockstrap that once held the manhood that had produced the seed that made this boy, would now hold the boy himself.

“You were wondering about the jockstrap hanging in his locker. This one is his,” I said, handing it to him.

He held it up, smiling, holding it up and fingering the tiny holes. “Pretty much stretched out, isn’t it,” he said, laughing.

“It held up a lot of weight for a very long time,” I joked.

“He must’ve worn this a lot, the way it’s all worn out. Dang, it looks like somebody’s been chewing on it,” he said, laughing.

“We can’t be sure about the jockstrap in his old locker, but you can be very sure that this one was his.  I saw him wear it many times,” I said.

“You got this out of your drawer. Do you wear it?”

“Yes, now and then,” I said. “It might sound weird but it makes me feel closer to him.”     

“Do you wanta keep it?” he offered.

“No, I….you can wear it in gym class,” I said. “The other one belonged in his locker. This one belongs to you,” I said. “I’ll tell you something, Jase. I don’t think the jockstrap hanging in your dad’s locker was really his, unless he had two. He told me he wore this one all through high school. I think they put that one there with his name in it as part of a memorial.”

“Good,” he said, smiling.  “So I’ve got the real thing for sure. I might wear it now and then. I don’t think it would hold up to wearing it all the time. If you ever want to wear it, just come in my room and get it.”

 “All right. But I don’t want to ever see it in the clothes hamper,” I said.

“Hand wash only, huh?” he said.

“No. Don’t wash it, period. He said he never washed it.”

“So when I wear it and get it all sweaty, my sweat is soaking in and mixing with my dad’s sweat. You know, I did think it was weird, what you said about feeling closer to him when you wear it.  I get it, now.  It’s not weird at all.”  

“I also have his duffle bag full of his stuff, too,” I said.  “You can go through it any time you want. Just get it out of my closet. The key to the lock is there on my dresser. This is the stuff I kept back when I packed up his stuff to bring him home. I had no idea I would be giving it to his son someday.”

“Thanks for keeping it,” he said. “Could I ask you something, Brad?”

“Anything.”

“I know you and my dad weren’t in the same outfit.”

“No, I was in Intel, stationed in Saigon.  He was out in the field.”

“You said you know it’s my dad’s jockstrap because you’ve seen him wear it many times.  If you weren’t in the same outfit…….” 

The way he let his words linger, I wondered what he might be implying.

“We met up whenever he could get into Saigon.  We always got a room at a hotel there, and a lot of times he was wearing it,” I explained.

“Oh.” He let it drop, but I wasn’t sure he was completely satisfied with my explanation.

I put the box back in the closet.  "There is one more thing, Jason."  I took down the folded flag and took it over to the bed.  "This is the flag that covered your dad's casket."  He reached for it but I kept my hand on it as he held it tightly to his chest.  I didn't intend to give it to him till he turned eighteen but the way he held it, I could tell it meant a great deal to him.  "It's rightfully yours," I said as I removed my hand.

"It's as much yours," he said.

"No.  There's not going to be any discussion about this, Jase.  If there’s not a wife or mother, the flag is presented to the oldest son. It would have been presented to you been at his funeral. Put it in your room."  I was saddened somewhat with my decision, but proud.

To be continued... 

Posted: 02/27/15 rp