Ken only told me "No" once in fifty-seven years.  And when he did, I was brought up short.  It was a new experience for me.  He had always supported everything I wanted to do.  I always had his unconditional support.  For everything.  Whatever.

So when he got orders to Viet Nam, I proceeded about readying all of our possessions into four shipments.  1. Uninsurable valuables,  2. Storage,  3. What Ken was taking overseas, and  4. The things I needed shipped for the year to Olathe, Kansas where I intended to live for the year that he was gone.  A number of the pilot's wives whose husbands had orders overseas were going to Olatha.  It would be a place where we wives could support each other.  Nobody in my hometown of Pryor was involved in the war.  Hard to believe, but it was like nothing was happening in Viet Nam to the ten-thousand people in Pryor, Oklahoma.  But in my world, everyone was involved in the war.

"No," he said.  "You aren't going to Olathe.  You are going to take the children and move back home to Pryor.  I am not going to spend this year worrying about you and our children.  I'm going to have enough to worry about getting shot at every day.  I want you where your parents are.  If something happens to me, you need to be where you have family.  So, No.  You aren't going to Olatha."

I was so shocked that I capitulated immediately.  "Ok," I said.  I had never heard Ken say "No."  Or make such a long speech.   He was always laid back.  Happy.  Content.

So I changed the shipping label from Olatha to Pryor.  He loved me.  I loved him.  I just hadn't been thinking about what his concerns were.  Odds were not on his side and he wanted his family securely settled in a home.  "We are going to buy a house.  When I get back, God willing, I'm going to retire and we are going to live in Pryor.  It's home.  It's our home.  We grew up there."

I did what he said to do.  I moved to Pryor.  And when he had done his time overseas, when he lived through that mess, that's what he did.  He came home.