It wasn't like the Gulf War, where you could follow the war 24 hours a day. It wasn't like the Iraq War, with its embedded reporters chronicling every fire fight. In my Nana's house, it was a time of Lawrence Welk and Pro Bowling during the day, and body counts from Viet Nam each night. There was footage of men in trenches shooting over the edge, medics caring for wounded, reporters shoving their microphones out into it all. And then the news was over, and you'd watch Laugh-In or the Smothers Brothers, or Sony & Cher; whatever you could until some grownup caught you and sent you back to bed. Looking back, very bizarre.
Oh, there are lots of other tangents I could follow in the swirling mist of memories, but that is where I leave it tonight.
It is hard to believe I was, I am, that cute little boy. The connection escapes me.