AUGUST 20, 2021 – In these days of debacle, I imagine a conversation with my long-gone elders. We’re sitting on the porch, sipping lemonade while discussing current events.
Aging folks view the world differently from how they found it in their younger years. I thus apply a range of settings to my imaginary time machine.
I start with 1921. My grandparent are in their late twenties, survivors of their own killer pandemic. I watch them react to news of the mask wars and anti-vaxxers of 2021.
My maternal grandmother—a cross between Queen Victoria and Winston Churchill—quips, “Maybe the mask-wearing wouldn’t be as important if people learned to think before they talk.”
I move the dial to the 1930s and construction of the Hoover [Boulder] Dam. My grandparents beam with pride over that engineering feat, but they gasp when I show recent photos of shrinking Lake Mead.
“Looks like the Dust Bowl,” says my Dad as a young teenager.
“Yeah,” I say, “only worse.” I then describe what’s happening to the ice cap over Greenland. My reserved Swedish grandmother puts her hand on my wrist and gently squeezes it.
I then move the dial to August 1945. I describe the Cold War that will follow WW II, then the wars in Korea, Vietnam, the Levant, the Balkans, Rwanda, Iraq, and Afghanistan. I tell about the creation of Israel, the bust-up of the Soviet Empire, and the ebb and flow of international terrorism.
“And you mean to tell me,” says my dad, “that not a single nuclear bomb will be dropped in any of those conflicts?”
“We’ll come close over Soviet missiles in Cuba in ’62,” I say, “and we’ll develop other means of wreaking havoc.”
When I mention the cost of the Endless Wars ($2 trillion), my “all business” maternal grandfather protests. “How will you possibly pay for those?”
“We’ll borrow from China.”
“China?” says Grandpa, perplexed.
As the sunlight, slipping toward the horizon, filters through the porch screen, I offer my elders more lemonade, now furtively spiked. I describe the rise of You-Know-Who and show videos of the January 6 assault on the Capitol—and of Republican Senators and Representatives downplaying the attack and accusing Democrats of “politicizing” it.
One elder—who’ll go unnamed—hasn’t yet swallowed a mouthful of the spiked lemonade. A fine spray spews into rays of the setting sun.
“Oh no!” the embarrassed elder says. “Let me help you clean up!”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
“‘Don’t worry’?! How on earth can I not worry about Americans attacking America? What will you, your children, grandchildren, friends and neighbors do? What will America do?”
A long, heavy silence descends upon us. After a time, my mother—the religious person in the group—says softly, “I’ll pray for America.” I look at Grandpa Nilsson. He’s back in early 1919, wearing his WW I uniform with his medal from the “Great War for Civilization.” A tear spills over the lower lid of his right eye.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
