Dear
Wesley,
You're
two today and you're napping. If you're dreaming, they're probably
happy dreams. You're almost always happy awake. Whatever your
worst dreams are, they're probably not worse than what I fear
may become of this world and your future in it. You've spent
your first two years and the nine months before that in a loving
family in a beautiful town in a very wealthy country that has
shared a little of that wealth with us, though not with everyone.
But
you've been born a future citizen of a nation that practices
aggressive war and genocide, the leading producer of weapons,
the leading producer of global warming, the greatest enforcer
of inequities and poverty, the greatest proponent of lawlessness
and hostility on the planet today. Like a doomed descendant
of apple-picking Adam you will share in the responsibility for
these crimes as soon as you're old enough for people to plausibly
blame you for them, as soon as you're old enough to lend a hand
in stopping them.
Ours,
Wesley, is a nation with a democratic tradition deeply rooted
but deeply poisoned. The next 10 months, Wes, represent a significant
portion of your life thus far. If you keep to the current pace,
you'll be five inches taller at the end of these next 10 months.
And yet almost all of our fellow citizens have accepted a story
in which these 10 months do not exist. Those who support the
dangerous path our government is on are happy to kick back and
let it go for these next 10 months. Those who oppose what's
happening have decided not to bother pressuring the government
to change. Instead they are all going to pretend that a new
president will solve everything for us and that the new president
will take office tomorrow - they'll pretend that each day for
10 months until it's finally true, unless events of such horror
to achieve it break the spell. But that is something I, too,
am reluctant to contemplate.
I'm
not as fearless as you are, Wesley. I know too much or I've
forgotten too much. We're trained from as young as you are not
to think about truly horrific things, Wesley. As soon as we
discover death, we're told it isn't real. As soon as we discover
tragedy, we're told it's part of a mysterious plan. And, even
if we don't believe the stories we're told, we still have to
put horror out of our minds in order to function. Right now
tens of thousands of people are returning to this country from
Iraq unable to put horror out of their minds,
and unable to function. They're leaving behind them millions
in the same traumatized state, a lot of them children like you.
I
am able to avert my gaze, and I do so, and so I am hopeful and
optimistic. I'm not as optimistic as the crowds who have put
all their eggs in the basket of a new president, Wes. I'm not
as optimistic as all the self-professed pessimists who will
wisely inform you that there's no way mere humans can influence
our government, while blissfully assuming that we'll somehow
survive the dangers of war and warming and election fraud.
I'm
MORE optimistic than any of them. And do you know why? Rightly
or wrongly, Wesley, what gives me the most hope for our future
is you. I don't mean that you alone will rescue us from our
destructive tendencies. I mean that you amaze and inspire me
and give me confidence in future human society, especially when
you reject my guidance and do things in a different way using
skills I didn't realize you had.
Perhaps
you get your stubborn independence from your Mommy, Wes. That's
sarcasm, by the way, which your Mommy says you don't understand,
but I'm convinced you sometimes do because I've seen you laugh
at it.
You're
the laughingest, happiest, most joyful person I've ever known,
Wesley. And you laugh for good reasons now, at books, at games,
at hanging upside down, at surprises.
You're
the most helpful person I've ever met, too, Wes. On every rare
occasion when I do something useful around the house, you help
me. You used to pretend to help me. Now you often really help
me. Yesterday we put new license plates on the car. Real screwdrivers
are so much more fun than the pretend kind.
You're
one of the two kindest people I've ever met in my life, Wesley.
I married the other one. When you see another child or an animal
or a character in a book who is sad you try to comfort them.
You are a loving friend to your dolls and animals. You are constantly
looking out for me and Mommy, when we are supposed to be looking
out for you.
You
are the most resilient person I've ever seen or heard of. You're
almost never sad, and when you are, you sometimes recover with
lightning speed and switch to full-on happiness in less than
a minute.
You
are the fastest learner I've seen, as well. During the past
two years you've gone from lying in a basinet eating and sleeping,
to your current state of telling us what you want to do, doing
it, telling us what you did, and not sitting still or ceasing
to observe and absorb the entire time.
Two
years, Wesley. Less time than it takes a congressional committee
to schedule a hearing, and in that time you've become able to
talk, form sentences, sing, shout, dance, run, climb, swim,
hug, kiss, pretend, anticipate, wait, share, converse, paint,
sculpt, count to 10, stack blocks, kick a ball, swing a bat,
shoot a basket, and recognize letters and words. I cannot even
imagine who you will be at three. And, by the way, you're already
telling us you ARE three, which you think is very funny.
I
don't know exactly what you were born with, Wesley, and what
you've taken from the full-time care and teaching you've received
from your Mommy (with help from me, grandparents, friends, etc.).
But I have no doubt the world will be better off in hands like
yours than in those that are passing it off to you.
Your
favorite thing to do is “Go outside,” which you sometimes exclaim
even before saying “breakfast!” You love playgrounds and slides
and places to explore. You love swings and trees and the hammock
and the garage. You love riding your tricycle, playing with
a water table, helping to water the plants, playing hide and
seek, and simply running around.
Sometimes
I'll sit down at my desk, Wesley, and you'll come over and say
“Pick you up!” which means “pick me up.” And of course I always
do and always will. I hope you never stop saying it, but I know
that's not possible.
BlackCommentator.com
Guest Commentator, David Swanson, is co-founder of the
AfterDowningStreet.org
coalition and a board member of Progressive Democrats of America. His website is www.davidswanson.org.
Click
here to contact Mr. Swanson.