Our playroom and living room had been turned into some kind of nursery. The yellow walls and the cream colored rug that lined the floors suddenly had a different feeling, a different meaning. I wasn't mad about it, hell I was getting 12 more siblings, and god knows that I hated my current ones. It was right before my 7th birthday in April of 1975. The Vietnam war was in play, and somehow I was involved. Well me, and my family. You see, my dad was a prominent pediatrician in the area, Pound Ridge, New York, and he had been asked to house, and take care of 12 Vietnamese orphans, who were caught in a plane crash known as “Operation Baby Lift”. Our job was to nurse them back to heath, and then put them up for adoption. Before I knew it, 12 white cribs, dirty diapers, empty and spilling formula bottles, were where my legos and barbie house used to be, and they were oozing their gross milk all over my precious dolls’ hair. But, I didn't care too muc...