I don't live with my father, and I haven't for several years now.
This makes it difficult for me to compile a biography, especially since my mother is reluctant to talk about him at all.
My father was born Robert Charles Copeland, in California, roughly forty years ago.
He went to a parochial school for his elementary education.
He enlisted in the Marine Corps when he was 17 years old.
He went to training at Camp Pendleton and in South Carolina.
He served one grueling tour in Viet Nam.
He survived the siege of the battle of Khe Sanh.
He was wounded, shot in the upper thigh and awarded the purple heart.
He returned home to find his Family apathetic and some of his friends refused to speak to him.
He married shortly after returning.
He and his first wife had a daughter and divorced a few years later.
In the course of their 16 year marriage, they had five children and moved from California, to Arizona, to Washington.
As far as I know, he now lives in Cottage Grove, Oregon with his girlfriend and their young child.

I didn't know my Father before Vietnam.
So I can only bear witness to the way he was after the war.
Though my father, Lance Corporal R. Charles Copeland, only served one tour in Vietnam, it played a crucial part in the way he sees himself and the world.
Time passes and times change.
But the time he spent in Vietnam remains firmly attached to his psyche.
From my early childhood, I saw his firm belief in discipline and his inconsistent temperament.
I was taught by repeated, negative reinforcement, that talking back would not be tolerated.
His punishments were always harsh, and for a long time I was afraid of him.
He varied day to day;
He would dish up a harsh tongue lashing one day and sincere praise the next.
He once told me that he was strengthening me, like a sword put into a flame.
Now I realize that he had seen a side of life that made him feel that he had to equip me to endure.
He served in the Marine Corps and was sent to Vietnam right out of high school.
Unlike many others that served, my Father wasn't drafted, he enlisted. He chose to serve in the Marine Corps because he believed,
(and still believes today)
that God himself, holds the Corps above the other branches of the armed services.
He loves his country and taught me to stand whenever the Marine Corps Hymn, or National Anthem is played.
He also believes in fighting for what is right.
He once told me, that if there was a worthy cause we would all be fighting for it.
As I grew older, I was introduced further to what it meant to fight in that melancholy war.
I remember many a Saturday my father spent drinking beer and watching Vietnam movies.
By the time I reached my 14th birthday, he had introduced me to his favorites:
"Apocalypse Now" and "Platoon".
I see now, that he was showing me the cinematic version of the atrocities he had witnessed, in order to enlighten me and give me some insight into who he was.
At the time however, I was merely disturbed.
One day, several years ago, I accompanied my father on a quest to find a "souvenir" of Vietnam.
We went to several military surplus stores in Seattle, (where we lived then) looking for a K-Bar comparable to those that the Marine Corps issued for Vietnam.
A K-Bar, as I discovered when we found one, is a fairly large, heavy-duty, survival knife.
He told me that in the jungles of Vietnam a K-Bar was indispensable and very valuable.
It was a tradition that when a Marine ended his tour of duty he would pass his k-Bar on to his best friend.
Once purchased the K-Bar became a fixture in my father's hand.
As he sat in his recliner watching television, he would sharpen it for hours at a time.
He would sometimes trace his facial features with the blade, close enough to look alarming, but far enough away not to draw blood.
Sometimes he would fling it at the floor, where it would penetrate the carpet and stick.
Handle pointing upward.
Sharp, rugged blade, digging into the floorboards.
Like a perverse, "Sword in the Stone".
Also, like the man who threw it, manufactured for violence.
For survival.
Trying to burrow into a society that sees no need for those things.
My father has always been searching for a new relic of his war.
For a change of career... for a new start... for Absolution.
He has had three wives.
A total of 7 children.
Lived in four states and held numerous jobs.
He went to Vietnam, a boy of 17.
Though that was 30 years ago, the terrible experiences he had there, have hung over everything else in his life, like a terrible shadow.
He was in counseling briefly and I hope that he will continue.
So that someday, he will find whatever he is constantly searching for.

CH-53 HOME

NORTH HIGH ESSAY

MIRA COSTA HIGH

REDONDO'S ESSAY