I was on a mission, though ironically not in the formal sense, with the interest of procuring some vintage military garb. As I pushed open the door to the "Top Gun" store (its true name) I anticipated a greeting presented with the formalism of Sergeant's orders. Instead I went seemingly unnoticed to browse through sweat- stained tees and uniforms with last names on the lapel, old canisters, packs, gas masks, polar gear and other accoutrements. It felt a bit like stepping backwards through time: garments stained with lingering smells of weeks' long journeys on foot for the sake of strong beliefs conjured an emotional coloration of war. I got lost inside the gory nuances of the collective experience that soldiers had/did/do face.
A moment later I turned to face the door through which I entered to see a Baby-Boomer in full garb accompanied from behind by a duckling-row of miniature soldiers, also dressed to the nines. One soldier dad, three soldier sons. The oldest of the boys couldn't have been more than 15 in my opinion. I am almost certain one donned braces. Judging by their shopping goals this day though, I could only conclude that they were preparing for their respective post-high-school military service agendas and needed the right gear for the future. I was only wondering whether impending service was a diplomatic choice or paternal expectation.
As the boys searched up and down rows of green wool and polyester, the sound of eight high-laced military boots clodding through uniform-laden aisles penetrated deep into my psyche. The boys' answers to father's questions were with the rote precision of trained officers.
"Yes. Sir".
A chill ran down my spine. I found myself suddenly feeling like an intruder in the midst of some secret operation. Then I remembered that this was the conversation between family members.
And most of them were still children.
My glossy hope goggles shattered. All too quickly I was catapulted back to the severity of the American situation. The land of the free; a land that prides itself on individuality, acceptance, opportunity and innovation, is overstuffed with individuals who refuse to accept or enforce individualITY (primarily among their flesh and blood) or to see that one traditional familiar way is not often the right one.
We millenia generation liberals have pipe dreams that the nation under our influence will be one of acceptance, peace, and positive impacts. Through a life of worldy travel, quality education and cohesive experiences we believe that we can break down walls and forge global bonds. We gather in cities and march peacefully to this end. But we forget that we are the periphery and there are masses who conform to convention.
While I observed the tension between this neo-nazi-esque brood I couldn't help to wonder which pristine little duckling would show his "ugly" colors first. What kind of life includes jamming great portions of oneself (homosexuality, pacifism or liberalism per say) into little subconscious holes beneath that woolen brocade, lest he be ostracized by papa bird for daring to be himself? Unfortunately the life of many a "free" young American it seems.
"If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children. "
Mohandas Gandhi
If you're EVER in New Mexico visit the Black Hole near the nuclear testing site in Los Alamos (photo of exterior above). Talk to the old fella there and ask to watch his videos-he defies all odds to assert his individualISM, and rightfully so.
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