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Letters Home © by Karl Wagner Theme: A beautifully written monologue by Karl Wagner, the repeated line being, “see you...

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Letters Home © by Karl Wagner

Theme:

A beautifully written monologue by Karl Wagner, the repeated line being, “see you when I get home,” shows a father reading letters written by his son over the years. The final letter from the son comes from the battlefield where the son was killed, and is followed by a touching response from the father. Although written in reference to Vietnam, this could be adapted to any war, by changing the dates and ages, etc.

Bible Reference:

Psalm 25:18

Cast:

1 DAD: Male, preferably at least in his 60‟s, or made up as such.

Set:

plain

Lighting, sound, costume:

standard

Props:

A desk, a chair, one or two old trunks containing some old clothes, assorted junk, and a metal box tied up with purple ribbon. The box should contain some letters in envelopes, aged. Blank paper and a pen.

Time:

8

Script: DAD enters, and rummages through the trunks, looking for the box of letters. He finally finds it, and sits down relieved. He touches the box affectionately before finally taking a deep breath, and opens the box. He pulls out a few letters, and then opens them one at a time and begins to read them aloud. DAD:

June 4, 1959. Dear Dad. We have just another week left here in camp, but boy has it been fun! We went hiking yesterday, and you know Jimmy Hunter? He found a snake and tried to pick it up. The counsellor yelled at him, and he backed away. We all got a big lecture about how dangerous snakes can be. Later on we had a volleyball game and my team won! We go swimming in a few minutes so, I have to go. Tell Mom and Janie that I love them, and miss them. Love, Ronny. PS: I‟ll see you when I get home.

DAD returns that letter carefully to its envelope and then reaches for another letter. He opens it, and reads it. DAD:

September 8, 1966. Dear Dad. Boot Camp is a lot tougher than I ever thought it would be. We‟re going from 5:30 in the morning until after 8:00 at night. I am exhausted, but I still believe I have done the right thing in enlisting. You were right though, Dad, the language these guys use is horrible. But God can forgive so, I guess I can to. Maybe I‟m here as a light for these guys? I don‟t know. Today we went to the firing range, and I shot a 210! A little better and I would

Letters Home © ©Copyright Karl Wagner 2008

Page 1 Published with permission by DramaShare® 2008

have shot expert. It‟s about two minutes to lights out, so I have to close. Tell Mom and Janie I love them, and I miss them very much. Love, Ronny. PS: I‟ll see you when I get home. DAD folds up that letter and returns it to its envelope. He then looks through and picks up another one. He looks at the return address and then opens the letter and reads it aloud. DAD:

June 23, 1967. Dear Dad. I arrived here in Viet Nam two days ago. We flew from Okinawa to Da Nang. As we were about to land there was a loud BANG, and the plane dropped about 2000 feet. We all knew that the plane had been shot at. But the pilot came on the intercom and said we hit an air pocket, and not to panic. It took me about an hour to catch my breath. Once we landed the sheer heat and humidity nearly knocked me to the ground. We were taken to a transient facility to spend our first night in “the Nam.” All night long there were jets taking off and landing, and the sound of outgoing artillery fire. I didn‟t get much sleep, but hey, “Welcome to my new world.” Next morning, right after breakfast, we were flown out by chopper to the CP. That‟s the Command Post. I got issued my M-14, flak jacket, helmet, and my mosquito netting. I was told to put the mosquito net up immediately, but I didn‟t do it. I fell asleep in the hootch, and in the middle of the night something hit me in the stomach. I woke up and saw a rat on me! It ran off as I jumped up to my feet in near panic. The Corporal in the same hootch, told me I better learn to do as I‟m told quick, or else next time it could be my life. Lessons come fast here. Give Mom and Janie my love, will ya? Your son, Ron. PS: I‟ll see you when I get home.

DAD returns that letter to its envelope and opens another, and begins to read. DAD:

December 24, 1967. Dear Dad. Well, it‟s Christmas Eve, but it just feels like any other day here. We had a big meal with turkey and junk, but it was with three less buddies. We went out on patrol this morning. It was pouring rain. The VC like to move in the rain, „cause it hides the noise they might make. We ran into an ambush about 3 clicks out. Our point man was taken out by gunfire, and then mortars rained down on us. Nowhere was safe. Our Sergeant got us reorganized and we returned fire. The second platoon moved in on the enemy with suppressing fire. Then, the VC just disappeared. They seem to come and go like ghosts. It is hard to keep my faith, but I haven‟t wavered Dad. I‟m halfway through my tour and God has protected me so far. Just pray for me, will you? I know you don‟t really buy into the God and Jesus thing, but can you just try? I need it. We all need it. Give my love to Mom and Janie. Tell Janie, that I‟m sorry I wasn‟t there to see her in her prom dress. My kid sister is growing up. Gotta go. Ron. PS: I‟ll see you when I get home.

DAD is noticeably shaken up, but manages to return the letter. He opens another and reads. DAD:

May 31, 1968. Dad. Well, it‟s the end of May, and I have 52 days and a wake up left here. Dad, everybody here is so out of it. One guy, Benji, from California,

Letters Home © ©Copyright Karl Wagner 2008

Page 2 Published with permission by DramaShare® 2008

just stares out into nothingness constantly. His eyes are lifeless, like a doll‟s eyes. Our Staff sergeant is almost insane. Just the other day, he shot some poor villager just because the guy didn‟t understand what the Sarge was asking. The old man didn‟t understand English no matter how hard Sarge yelled. Then for spite, we were ordered to light fires to the whole village. It happens so much they call it a Zippo party. Honestly, some days I feel like God is just nowhere to be found. Then I‟ll get a letter from home, or someone will save a wounded child, and then I see God is always there. Even when it‟s the worst we can face. I feel Like David did in writing the Psalm. “Look on my affliction and my pain, And forgive all my sins.” I have to go, Dad. Love to Mom and Janie. Ron. PS. I‟ll see you when I get home. DAD has some trouble replacing this envelope, and begins to tear up. He reaches for a blank piece of paper and begins to write, speaking out his heart. DAD:

(Read out the current date) Dear Ronny. I tried so many times to write this letter to you, but I could never do it. I just got too angry. It just seemed like time stood still while the war went on. We just waited for you to come home. Even, today, I still hope to hear your footfalls on the hardwood floors in the hallway. But it isn‟t going to happen. Not much has really changed around here. Oh, wait, they‟re tearing down the old high school. I hear talk about a mini mall, but that doesn‟t mean much to you, does it? Well Ronny, I‟m 72 years old, now, and mostly grey. But you‟ll always be nineteen to me. Your Mom, well, she‟s just as beautiful as ever. She kept all your letters all these years. Kept them in a metal box, tied up with ribbon. Your sister Janie got married back in 1974. You‟d love her husband Reg. He‟s a good and godly man. They have four children, and they‟re all grown now. She told them all about you, and her son even named his first son after you. Anyway, Ronny, my breakthrough finally came. But you probably all ready know it, don‟t you? The preacher said there was joy in heaven over one sinner who repents. Hopefully one of the angels told you. But, yeah, your old Dad, got saved. I‟ve finally been able to let go of the stupid self pride, and the anger. And, after 40 years, I can write you back. I now understand how much your sacrifice meant. Besides, you made it home, to the one home that counts. You‟re safe at home with God. Rest well, Ronny, and in peace. Love, Dad. PS: I‟ll see you when I get home.

DAD carefully folds that letter, and places it lovingly in the box with the others. He closes the box, puts it back, and EXITS.

Letters Home © ©Copyright Karl Wagner 2008

Page 3 Published with permission by DramaShare® 2008