Somethings Happening Here
"Dew not forsake me, oh may darlin.’" The lyric ran through my
head as I
waited for Matt, the counterman, to get around to me, "On this our wedding
day-ay." Memories are like that, woven through our consciousness like threads in
the fabric of life. "Dew not forsake me, oh may darlin’ – wait – wait along."
"Hey, enough already, Wil, ya ain’t waited that long." I guess I’d been singing out loud. "I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Singing ain’t gonna accomplish nuttin’ except getting you booted outta here." Matt went back to trying to ignore me.
Memories are like that, you know. You go and get enough of them, and they start taking over – ruling your thoughts and actions. It’s a survival mechanism.
"Oh, sorry, Matt. It’s an old movie theme from way back when."
"The good ol’ days, huh?" Matt didn’t look up, but I knew him well enough; I had his attention.
"I’m sure you know it. The movie was High Noon."
BLANK FACE
"You know, Matt. With the old western star, uh…
"Clint Eastwood?"
"No, long before that. Uh, Gary… Gray Cooper. That’s who it was.
BLANK FACE
"Oh, come on Matt. You’re a big movie fan. You musta seen it – won an Academy Award back in the black and white days. It’s considered the consummate Western.
HE HADN’T. I went on to explain, then insisted, "You gotta go rent it."
Matt promised to do just that, but I was left with a nagging discontent. Just
how 
can the generations communicate without shared metaphors? It’s no wonder
we’re beginning to see a disconnect between the Gen Xers, or whatever, and Baby
Boomers over the road to Baghdad. Gotta make the world safe for SUVs, ya know.
No wonder we’re in danger of repeating the mistakes of Vietnam. These kids just
have no idea whatsoever of what we’ve been through. Talk about cannon fodder.
"But," I hear them argue. "What’s to fear?" The only draft these days is down at the local microbrewery. Our armed forces are an all-volunteer, thunder wagon all set to crush any opposition, right? We’re America, right? It can’t happen to us. We’re the best! Uh, well, there is some history to consider – history that needs to be taught – expressed.
We are the generation that was going to
change the world, right? We weren’t
going to accept "the time honored way things have been done;" we were going to
change it. But, what do we do? We sit back and accept what passes for reality on
TV. It’s time to take on our proper roles as history’s conscience.
Just when did we begin trusting the ruling class? Saddam is evil, and has
done terrible things in the past. But he is no
more so than the likes of General
Custer, who slaughtered helpless women and children – President Andrew Jackson,
who defied the Supreme Court and destroyed the Cherokee Nation – those who
enforced Jim Crow or experimented with microbes, poison gas, and radiation on
the unwary – those who stole the property of loyal Japanese Americans and
imprisoned them to concentration camps. Americans have been guilty of ethnic
cleansing on our own version of the Kurds. On top of all that, who’s the only
nation to use nukes on a civilian population?
Why do we hate Saddam so? We have
met him and he is us. Why are we so sure he has those weapons? Why, we gave them
to him.
Hey, no matter what your political persuasion, times couldn’t be better for a writer. It’s time to share some real scary bedtime stories with these kids – give the self-assured little shits some nightmares to grow hair on their teeth. So, this column is now birthed of some old advice: "Don’t just sit there shaking your head in frustration; write on!"
