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.