Fly Kite for Papa

Here is another entry, another day, another essentially mundane description of life from the point of view of someone who, if nothing else, is not you.

From my office I can open a door to the patio which overlooks a lagoon, mostly ocean water from the Pacific. Beyond the lagoon I can see the far shore and the roads that lead to various shopping centers, car dealerships, and the freeway. Beyond that is the ocean itself to the infinite horizon.

I thank the stars that I live here. If I watch the news I see the lives of desperate people who live in squalor, in countries scourged by war and death, in places where the weather is a constant enemy, in places where misery is normal.

I remember the places I've lived, some just as bad, with tornado wreckage in Texas, with frozen wasteland in Nebraska, in the deep snow and icy winds of Minnesota, the thin cold air of Denver. Yet, except for occasional murderers, they were not ravaged by war.

I have seen many movies about wars. I was in the Navy during Vietnam, and by sheer luck never had to face a firefight or a minefield. I don't envy those who had to fight in the hot, sticky jungles, or in the dust storms of the deserts, or who died just practicing for war -- in an accident, some mistake that cost more than a good grade in their record.

Afterward, after the war is over, no one really wanted to talk of it, to brag about this or lament about that. They wanted to just not think about it anymore. They didn't want to see the faces of those whom they killed, or of their good buddies whom were killed instead -- to wonder why they instead were spared.

So, like me, they became workers in the American machine. I chose computers, others chose businesses or factories or farms. We raised our families until the next war came along. The next war came, and it wants to use our children as killers for reasons that don't make obvious sense, perhaps for patriotism, or for revenge, or for the Administration, or for nothing.

I had only a girl, and she did not choose to become a soldier, but instead became a mother. She also had a girl, and is about to have another girl. This means, just by statistics, that it is unlikely they will be soldiers.

And I wonder, in the future when I am gone, will this still be happening? Will there be wars forever? Will more mothers lose their sons and daughters in some foreign land? Will my descendants be killed by terrorists, by some kind of virus, or by a suicide bomber in a kindergarten?

Will this house be overgrown by cacti and scrub brush -- the normal vegetation? Will this view of the lagoon be lost to time, lost to the ravages of heat waves and super storms, never to be inherited, but to be uninhabited forever after, when our country has ceased to maintain this landscape and the desert returns?

I shouldn't worry about it, I guess. I lived this long, and I survived many close calls. My children are responsible for their own lives. I can only help them for a little while. They must fly the kite by themselves in the end. If the kite doesn't fly, it is not my fault.