When I wrote in the poetry post below that my Dad always has a profound Thanksgiving blessing, I mean that in just a few short words he reminds us of those less fortunate than us. Not to make us feel guilty, not to make us feel bad, but to keep the world in perspective. (My Dad was a global citizen way before that became a popular notion.) It’s sometimes so easy to just curl up in our cocoon of a warm house full of wonderful smells and laughing children and the t.v. tuned to the Lions game, and forget the big bad world out there for a day.
But that is a fantasy world. While we sit at our dining room tables (or card tables, depending on whether you’ve graduated from there yet or not.) So I think my Dad would heartily endorse keeping this kind of thought in mind before we all sit down tomorrow to a feast of the senses:
Comprehensive new strategy in Afghanistan will be unveiled by the President soon.
You know what this will mean? More troops, and the war will now be his. No longer Bush’s mistake.
Eight years. How many more? Two? Ten?
I want out. I never wanted in, to be honest. Sure, the night of 9/11, I was mad. Angry. The missile strikes felt righteous, in some way. In a way that a impulsive teen yells at a parent to get something they want.
Doesn’t work that way, though.