He will be shot in the stomach or the head he will be killed by a grenade. 'We don't want him to think he's never coming back,' she said.Īnd yet it's this exact fear that's holding Kate hostage: That Tiger will die on foreign soil. Kate had instructed the girls not to cry. Tiger said goodbye to David and his three sisters in the driveway. 'He's my son,' she said, and a flicker of astonished pain crossed David's face-they never speak in those terms, her children, meaning not his-and Kate berated herself while at the same time thinking that if David wanted to know what real pain was, he should try being her. David offered to drive, but Kate wanted to do it alone. On April 21, it's Kate who takes Tiger from Brookline to South Boston. Kate opens her wallet and sets twenty dollars on the table in front of Tiger. Her handsome son-so much like his father, but kind. It's the fierce, all-consuming love that any mother feels for her child, but with a dash of extra indulgence. She would never say she loves the son the most she will say only that she loves him differently. In forty-eight years, she has been married twice and had four children, three daughters and a son. 'I'm to report to the army recruitment office in South Boston on April twenty-first.'Īpril 21 is Kate's birthday. The expression on Tiger's face is part shock, part excitement, part terror. Kate spins around, clutching a handful of daffodils in front of her like a cross to ward off a vampire. She closes her eyes and thinks, These are the last easy thoughts he'll ever have.Īnd sure enough, a second later, he says, 'Oh jeez, oh wow…' He clears his throat. Kate busies herself at the sink arranging daffodils in a vase.

I flashed her my pearly whites and then I asked her out to dinner for tonight and she said yes. She's nineteen, like me, studying to be a dental hygienist.

Name was Magee, that was her first name, which I thought was far out. Tiger says, 'I taught a real cutie today, Ma. The letter uses that first name too-it's addressed to Richard Foley-though no one ever calls him anything but Tiger. He's whistling, wearing the polyester uniform shirt issued by Walden Pond Driving Academy with his name stitched on the pocket: Richard. When Tiger gets home from his job at the driving school, Kate says, 'There's a letter for you on the kitchen table.' Tiger seems unconcerned about what it might be. Frankly, Kate doesn't care if Vietnam succumbs to the Communists. Le Duan will succumb to the allure of capitalism or Thieu will be assassinated and someone with better sense will take over. There are peace talks going on right now in Paris. Army sends another letter-by which time, this god-awful war in Vietnam might be over. Surely this is every American mother's first instinct? Pretend it got lost in the mail, buy Tiger a few more weeks of freedom before the U.S. When the Selective Service notice comes for Tiger, Kate's first instinct is to throw it away.

Author of summer of 69