We Didn't Start The Fire

I have absolutely no tangible idea of what it’s really like to hear “President Kennedy is dead.” Or even whenI hear search engines love images with stories. Lennon was murdered. How about Pearl Harbor? Nope.

World War? Nazis? Not having microwaves?

Phones with cords though? Yes.

Conner, 6 years old next month, has picked up a bit of the news about the death of Osama bin Laden, but knows basically this “a bad guy is dead.” As he grows, he will learn the textbook version of this (on top of the basics he’s absorbed from me and those around him) and commit it to memory like I have done to Pearl Harbor, the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, and life prior to microwaves.

As he matures, he will begin to understand the human element of tragedy. The loss, the suffering, his own version of what it might have felt like. Most of this, as a way of life, will come from his personal experiences.

Conner, Chase and the generations worth of children around them will never be able to feel exactly what September 11th was like, wars in the Middle East (well, these wars), The utter destruction by certain storms (each different in it’s identity, outcome, appearance and those experiencing it), and what mom was really like in her mid-20s (don’t you dare say upper).

These children will not know of Osama bin Laden as we do. But one day, they might be empathetic to what he was a part of. I’m glad there’s this buffer between our generations though. I’m going to need a good story or two in 22-25+ years.

Oh. And:

You are welcome.