How old is the universe? About a second and a half, or maybe just half, but that half has lasted 20 trillion years. Time is relative. Two things I don’t have. Relatives and time.
Most days I think I’m 49. Or 59. Or something like that. I’m not.
When I was in fourth, fifth and sixth grade, the USA and Russia were busy bragging about the size of their bombs. As in “Mine is bigger than yours,” followed by “No, mine is bigger than yours.” As well as the size of their arsenal, as in “I can destroy the world faster than you,” vs. “No, I can destroy the world faster than you.”
This culminated in the Bay of Pigs, which was also called The Cuban Missile Crisis. I was eleven years old.
Now each week brings A New World Disorder followed by another New World Disorder we quickly forget. Yet just because our collective short-term memory includes just about nothing, doesn’t mean nothing important has happened. For example, Greenland is melting, the moon is littered with golf balls, and a whale suspected of spying for Russia was shot dead in Norway. You can’t make stuff like this up. Or rather, you can, but I’m not.
My friend’s son, Xavier, has started middle school in Charlottesville, Virginia. A smart, handsome, formerly intrepid kid, Xavier told his mom he’s scared. He’s scared because in this school, kids can’t carry phones. He told his mom: “If there’s a shooting, I won’t be able to tell you goodbye.”
I would like to wake up each day in a world where oceans are living, not drying; rivers are thriving, not dying; people have food and a place to live. And madmen are not storming schools.
Thank you. I am honored by your words.
Thank you for your words.