When I was my sons age we heard about the horrors of Vietnam.  It was odd.  It was abstract.  I was a child.

I grew a bit and was then afraid of a nuclear war.  We were told there was a real chance.  99 red balloons.

Some lights shone through.  I remember Genesis and their promises with the Land of Confusion.  I remember Reagan yelling at Russia.

Shitty things were happening at home.  I spent some teenage years in the Midwest.

I went to see Neil Young and Crazy Horse at the onset of Desert Storm with my foster brothers and a teacher in my alternative high school.

Finish grad school and nurse a hangover from my best friends wedding as I make my way back to work on September 11.

Leave work that day and there are tanks on the corners around every Metro station.

Twenty Fucking Years later – we are still there.

Twenty Fucking Years later my kid is my age when I heard about the horrors of Vietnam.  They have to be as confused as I was.  Fuck, I am still confused.

Forty years later and I am still a pacifist.  There is always a better way.


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