Brinksmanship and a fat lip
Twenty years from now, my as-yet unconceived child will ask what I was doing when the war of 2003 began. The kid will likely look at me with a cocked head when I say I was only trying to keep my bottom lip from falling off.
A more spiritual man might have taken my little try at unconciousness as a sign from above. My father has already once referred to it as a “spell.” I’m pretty sure only people over 70 have spells. I blacked out and fell on my face. Even when I’m 76 I won’t admit to having spells.
In less than 30 hours I have graduated to solid food, but nothing that requires the use of my front teeth. Molars only. I skipped work today and spent a few hours watching the first of many talking heads ruminating about the impending war.
I’m wondering if my tete-a-tete with the carpet knocked more than my lower face astray. As hard as I try (and believe me, I’m trying) I can get neither excited nor worried about the possiblity of war, retaliation, victory, or defeat. It just doesn’t seem real.
There comes a great burden with being the world’s only superpower. I figure a healthy part of that burden is knowing when to go and when to stay home. I don’t have that answer.
A man of thought (as I like to consider myself) should have some opinion or feeling about his country leading a charge to war. I feel incredibly shallow for feeling very little in the way of anxiety or patriotic fervor.
Perhap when my as-yet unconceived child turns 20, there will be no need for war.
That’s a nice thought. But, I’m sure when my dad’s buddies were stuck in Vietnam 30 years ago, he was probably saying the same thing about his as-yet unconceived child’s potential world.
If that doesn’t cause a spell in the heartiest of men, I don’t know what will.