Grandson Grant turned exactly eight months old on September 10th and I wonder what I will tell him someday about the horror that befell this country almost ten years ago.
When I was a child, the only things I had to be afraid of were neighborhood bullies, coming home after curfew or getting busted for occasionally lifting a candy bar or pack of smokes from the local neighborhood grocery store (Grant may or may not learn of this). Other than those worries, we played outside from dawn til dusk, rode our bicycles miles to a distant junior high school that had an indoor swimming pool and god forbid...hitch-hiked when we were absolutely beyond the aerobic capacity of teenagers who smoked (see previous reference to shoplifting).
Yesterday,as Grant clutched my index fingers, toddling barefoot like a tiny drunken soldier through the soft green grass in our backyard, it was easy for this aging grandfather to wonder what is in store for his grandson. Will there someday be a tragedy that will be seared into his consciousness as vividly as his grandfather's memories of September 11Th, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King Jr.? Does the fear of a next terror attack never end? Lord...for his innocent little sake, I hope the world one day comes to its senses again.
Tomorrow I will hoist Grant's khaki covered/diaper bottomed butt atop of my still sturdy shoulders and stroll down the paths of his pine-studded back yard. I will place his tiny fingers against the textures of tree bark, evergreen needles and wildflowers, knowing that while he is yet so innocent he will never have to worry about the bad stuff in this world.
And when he someday asks about all of these things, I hope grandpa will be able to explain them or maybe...just maybe...people will all have learned to forgive rather than to retaliate by then.
This is my prayer for September 11Th, 2011.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)