I had to apologize to my Father yesterday, he passed away in 2000. I had just had coffee with a friend, and we discussed everything under the sun and then some. As I left I felt a strong sense of remorse, I stopped and looked up and said my piece. I don't know why either was my last thought...
I have always had heroes, and even though I was too young to understand, I knew from the start that my Dad was one of them. He was a soldier and a war hero, along with all the rest of them from my childhood and younger years. The white hatted Cowboys and the colorful supermen and women. Bionic or biological, tough or just pushed too far, there were always heroes to be found. A sense of belief if not in the character, a belief in the principles are found and admired. In that framing, a belief also came that I could aspire to be anything... and that I could succeed.
The heroes and beliefs I formed through those years would not leave me, rather though they would be tempered with time. Those heroes from life became bigger in some cases and diminished a bit in others. They will always be there in some form though, in personality traits or parts of my belief system. The Rocky theme will always represent something powerfully meaningful, Taps will always make me cry. I was raised with a belief in the grander purpose of things, and a hearty respect for those who did the toughest and thankless jobs to keep this country going. I had to apologize to my Father again later on, this type of despair was deeply personal and at the same time everywhere else, in a very public way.
I looked back on the heroes, the same ones shared by that old friend in many cases, the principles tempered differently apparently. What was that supposed to mean? I understand I hold a good amount of pure and simple nationalism, I also temper that, I thought, with a balanced world view. Not only the meanings of the battles raging but the cost to the participants, long term and short. The heroes sometimes change faces, but their messages and missions all too familiar, all too persistent as they ring on. I wondered what their messages meant now? I wonder if their sacrifices would be remembered? I mean we don't celebrate the heroes from the long lost civilizations, seldom remembering the name of the most memorable, let alone the battles purpose, the principle upheld or the freedoms involved.
I had to apologize to my Father, in this state of the world and nation at this time I felt and feel that I have let him down. This nation is at a brink of so much infighting and just plain resentment he would not recognize it. He would not feel as if the things he and so many before had fought for had been protected and cared for in the proper manner. The foundations of the institutions that bear the flag under assault from within, He would be screaming Benedict Arnold left and right, I am after all my fathers son. No, this is becoming quickly unrecognizable as that nation filled with a pride greater than the partisan and intolerant, the bigoted and the demeaning thinkers. The scars of this war will be mostly unseen, but they will breed the same dissent as before, the same battles saved for a different day and a different time.
I said I was sorry because I don't know why so many would choose to believe that this country was so bad off. That its people were either elitists or deplorable's, an education being held against one and good old hard work the other as if that is the problem. The negativity of a people so free that they can dissect the personal correspondences of the most powerful people as if they understand it all. The judging of one another for a myriad of reasons to justify our discord, our will over others, our manifest destiny.
I told him I don't know, but this certainly was not envisioned as the nation you wanted to go home to when fighting in the South Pacific. This probably was not the country you thought it was going to be when you marched for civil rights. This couldn't have been in your thoughts when your ninth child was brought into the world, or your twentieth grandchild. The hard work to get ahead, the pitfalls of life and whatnot bringing it crashing down just to start over again. For all of those guys on both sides of the aisle that fought for the chance to make a better place, I really don't think that this was part of their plans. I felt a great remorse, we have stepped way beyond that pale, into a skin that just doesn't fit.
In this world today I do not see heroes being made, sans the colorful cinematic ones. Their violence permeates the messages more than anything else, the might is right mantra carried on sometimes. I see the heroes today not in the politicians, or the superheroes, not in those but the most decorated of soldiers. I see them mostly in those trying to get by, who accept that life and their happiness are dictated by their choices and nothing more. Those who share when they can and ask for little when they need. The lessons of my childhood heroes being fortified in everyday regular people, the heroes unheard of. It is their country too after all.
When the story of a people changes and that narrative does not meet the history of it, those heroes go away. They do not meet the standards of what it means to be something, someone, a subject of a story, a remembrance of a deed. I do not know when my heroes will all go away, or that the country in which they were formed survive the change enough to carry them. I know when I look around at the hurt and fear, the confusion and the deception in the world today, my heroes are still here. Filling the pages of a discussion board, or the local market, the principles I hold dear showing up in every one of them, no matter the differences. I hope their stories continue and the America I know will live on. The apology to my Father for this detour of national civility was warranted, but this shaming of a nation and its people, by its own people was not. For what will be left to save when all my heroes are gone?
I have always had heroes, and even though I was too young to understand, I knew from the start that my Dad was one of them. He was a soldier and a war hero, along with all the rest of them from my childhood and younger years. The white hatted Cowboys and the colorful supermen and women. Bionic or biological, tough or just pushed too far, there were always heroes to be found. A sense of belief if not in the character, a belief in the principles are found and admired. In that framing, a belief also came that I could aspire to be anything... and that I could succeed.
The heroes and beliefs I formed through those years would not leave me, rather though they would be tempered with time. Those heroes from life became bigger in some cases and diminished a bit in others. They will always be there in some form though, in personality traits or parts of my belief system. The Rocky theme will always represent something powerfully meaningful, Taps will always make me cry. I was raised with a belief in the grander purpose of things, and a hearty respect for those who did the toughest and thankless jobs to keep this country going. I had to apologize to my Father again later on, this type of despair was deeply personal and at the same time everywhere else, in a very public way.
I looked back on the heroes, the same ones shared by that old friend in many cases, the principles tempered differently apparently. What was that supposed to mean? I understand I hold a good amount of pure and simple nationalism, I also temper that, I thought, with a balanced world view. Not only the meanings of the battles raging but the cost to the participants, long term and short. The heroes sometimes change faces, but their messages and missions all too familiar, all too persistent as they ring on. I wondered what their messages meant now? I wonder if their sacrifices would be remembered? I mean we don't celebrate the heroes from the long lost civilizations, seldom remembering the name of the most memorable, let alone the battles purpose, the principle upheld or the freedoms involved.
I had to apologize to my Father, in this state of the world and nation at this time I felt and feel that I have let him down. This nation is at a brink of so much infighting and just plain resentment he would not recognize it. He would not feel as if the things he and so many before had fought for had been protected and cared for in the proper manner. The foundations of the institutions that bear the flag under assault from within, He would be screaming Benedict Arnold left and right, I am after all my fathers son. No, this is becoming quickly unrecognizable as that nation filled with a pride greater than the partisan and intolerant, the bigoted and the demeaning thinkers. The scars of this war will be mostly unseen, but they will breed the same dissent as before, the same battles saved for a different day and a different time.
I said I was sorry because I don't know why so many would choose to believe that this country was so bad off. That its people were either elitists or deplorable's, an education being held against one and good old hard work the other as if that is the problem. The negativity of a people so free that they can dissect the personal correspondences of the most powerful people as if they understand it all. The judging of one another for a myriad of reasons to justify our discord, our will over others, our manifest destiny.
I told him I don't know, but this certainly was not envisioned as the nation you wanted to go home to when fighting in the South Pacific. This probably was not the country you thought it was going to be when you marched for civil rights. This couldn't have been in your thoughts when your ninth child was brought into the world, or your twentieth grandchild. The hard work to get ahead, the pitfalls of life and whatnot bringing it crashing down just to start over again. For all of those guys on both sides of the aisle that fought for the chance to make a better place, I really don't think that this was part of their plans. I felt a great remorse, we have stepped way beyond that pale, into a skin that just doesn't fit.
In this world today I do not see heroes being made, sans the colorful cinematic ones. Their violence permeates the messages more than anything else, the might is right mantra carried on sometimes. I see the heroes today not in the politicians, or the superheroes, not in those but the most decorated of soldiers. I see them mostly in those trying to get by, who accept that life and their happiness are dictated by their choices and nothing more. Those who share when they can and ask for little when they need. The lessons of my childhood heroes being fortified in everyday regular people, the heroes unheard of. It is their country too after all.
When the story of a people changes and that narrative does not meet the history of it, those heroes go away. They do not meet the standards of what it means to be something, someone, a subject of a story, a remembrance of a deed. I do not know when my heroes will all go away, or that the country in which they were formed survive the change enough to carry them. I know when I look around at the hurt and fear, the confusion and the deception in the world today, my heroes are still here. Filling the pages of a discussion board, or the local market, the principles I hold dear showing up in every one of them, no matter the differences. I hope their stories continue and the America I know will live on. The apology to my Father for this detour of national civility was warranted, but this shaming of a nation and its people, by its own people was not. For what will be left to save when all my heroes are gone?
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