The Unwanted Message:
It is about time we look for a real answer
This morning there is a post in The Free Press by Katherine Boyle, “It’s about Time to Get Serious.” It’s a short, perceptive essay on blaming the boomers for the state of their unmarried children and, by implication, the world. It succeeds, mea culpa, as I am one of those parents. To my credit, I admit I suffer from the lack of grandbabies.
If only the solution were so easy! It wasn’t easy in the ‘60s, either. My generation faulted the “Greatest” generation for Korea, Vietnam, and the Cuban Missile Crisis. The assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, was 911 of my youth. The “Greatest” lived through the aftermath of the Great War, the Great Depression, and WWII through no fault of their own, with considerable credit to truth, justice, and Western Civilization.
Today, Western Civilization (capitalization deliberate) is under attack. Philosophers and literati preach that the Earth would be better off without that scourge known as Homo sapiens. Thanks to Bari Weiss and friends, there is The Free Press, where someone ancient like me may still be heard.
Ms. Boyle’s essay reminds me of a poem an old poem. Dated in my diary, it was 26 days after I was married (at age 20) and five months after I finished reading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. No apologies, no regrets. The sign is courtesy of IBM. Here is my poem in all its current political incorrectness:
The Writing on the Wall A sign hands on my bedroom wall, I see it when I enter there, More precious than a Chinese vase, More sacred than a prayer. A sign hangs on my bedroom wall, And others see it as they come, They do not read its holiness, And leave, its message dumb. A sign hangs on my bedroom wall, It offers one word of advice THINK, says the sign (you have a choice), But if you don't, you pay the price. Ilene Leslie Skeen March 26, 1967
And another thing... I like your poem well enough that I am printing a copy of it to put up on my refrigerator, where I have, among many other inspiring things, copies of Kipling's "If," and H. E. Henley's "Invictus."
I love it all! ... although the fussy fundamentalist in me would remind you that poor JFK's demise was on November 22, not the 23rd. Officially, anyway.