When I was a wee person, we moved from
just outside of Peekskill, to . When I went to school, we had the usual
things like---felt, crayons, the alphabet. And eventually show and tell. Spring Valley NY
I think it was the Third Grade, so I was 8? And this girl, Jackie, with lots of freckles, got up and did a little report or something…on the wars in
I was blown away. The 1948 stuff. The 1967 big to-do. The Yom Kippur nasties. All of it. At 8, I sat there and I thought a few things:
- Jackie, you are so sweet and shy, why are you up there in front of the class talking about war?
- Jackie, your parents must have told you all about this.
- Jackie, you are only 8. Why are you identifying with this little country so far away where you don’t even live?
- Jackie, you seem excited about knowing all about these wars. Proud even. And this scares me. I didn’t know there were all these wars going on. Let’s wrap this up.
And since then, besides having a recurring dream that Jackie is in our beige family station wagon and she takes off her pants and for some reason she has a penis that she’s sort of proud of even though it’s rather vestigial and flops there useless obscuring her girl genitalia, I often think of Jackie whenever I see something in the newspaper about a war or skirmish going on in Israel.
I haven’t been 8 in a long time.
Not to be a glib bitch who’s pretending to be funny, but I’ve had enough hearing about these wars and I want them to end.
I was a kid during
Vietnam and I was terrified of
growing up and having to go to war. Everyone hates war (except those who
don’t). No more war. Please.
I still can’t believe all those facts Jackie had at her fingertips. I was so overburdened by it then that ever since, I never read more than the first line of any news item about war in the
East. It’s too repetitive.