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Doug’s Page

By Doug Quirk
 

A Day To Remember

More years ago than I care to count, I remember thinking that there was something special about being a member of my generation. My friends all agreed. And unlike most times when we like to think that way about ourselves whether true or not, this particular instance was reinforced by a teacher in school. We were a generation who had little at the time to be proud of, so whatever we could latch onto was considered worthy.
Yes, I am from the generation that saw movies seldom seen again except on rainy Saturday afternoons like Goonies, Sixteen Candles, and The Breakfast Club. We also suffered through the era of both disco music and heavy metal that were led by men in lots of makeup and on more drugs than anyone should have been able to survive on (think Boy George and Kiss!). We were the kids who thought indoor roller skating was the best thing to do on a Friday night. And we were among the last that were able to create our own team sports by choosing from our fellow neighbors that congregated in the streets instead of having to be driven by our parents to the local sports complex.
And gratefully I will say, my generation was the last of the dying breed of students who were taught to learn instead of being taught how to take a test. Our teachers had the time and the freedom to pursue subjects that piqued their students' interests along with those that were required for our particular grade. An hour spent pursuing questions that we raised as a result of what we learned was not considered indulgent and wouldn't have been brought censure to our teachers.
This leads me back to the time when we learned we were part of a ‘special group.’ You see, for years my classmates and I sat through history classes that rehashed one era after another. Sometimes we focused on ancient history and the battles that were fought to conquer one country or another. Other times the focus was on the United States and the trials and tribulations that created, shaped and continue to drive this country. I remember that every year that we studied American history we never made it all the way through its history. Some years we only got as far as our ancestors arrival to the Pacific shores. Other years we made it up to World War II. And one year our teacher skipped so quickly through some decades that he knew we had already been through. For the first time we were actually able to get to the final chapters of the largest of our textbooks and learn about the Vietnam War.
This was when we discovered how fortunate a group we were - and how it appeared that we might be lucky enough to remain son. As our teacher pointed out to us, we were the first generation in quite a while who were free from the trials and tribulations of war. The world, more or less, was now a place where peace ruled over conflict. The powers that ran the major countries were talking and working together; or at least not seeking to destroy each other. And even though many of us might have family members who fought in or died in earlier wars, we might be the first people not to grow up watching our own peers taken before their time.
I think that this was the one class that year that you could have taken a survey after it was over and have every person there remember the lesson that was offered to us. And, to a great extent, I believe this particular forty minute session helped to shape the mindset of many of us. Some took it as a sign that we could more safely enlist to be sentinels for our country. And though none would refuse if the need arose, there was less anxiety for those who enlisted. Others took the path of trying to keep war as but another chapter in the history books and worked to keep peace alive.
I can still recall one of my first trips into New York City at the age of sixteen. A group of us from school decided it was our responsibility to participate in a march against the proliferation of nuclear arms amid tens of thousands of others. All of them strangers, but none of them were out to do harm on this day dedicated to peace. I don't think that we would have made that journey had it not been for that class and the teacher that saw an opportunity to inspire and motivate us.
Alas, we can no longer refer to ourselves as of that special generation. Now, the best we can do is hope that very soon a generation will be born that succeeds in the chance that we once held but has slipped away. An opportunity to know their parent as a part of their lives instead of as but a picture that hangs on a wall. The chance to have a family reunion without having to leave an empty chair at the table for those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. To live without having to remember a loved one's birthday by making a trip to the cemetery. We can only hope that one day soon, children will not have to care for their elders who live with the scars of war; be those scars physical, mental or emotional impediments that have snuffed out dreams no longer achievable.
So to all of you women and men who have represented us so bravely and valiantly, whether among us still or paving the way in the next life, we remember and honor thank you this month. May you be served with as much honor and dignity as you have served us. Here's to every one of you. And to freedom. And to peace.

 
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