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Youth Shall Be Served
When I was quite young, my mother got me out of bed to watch a segment of the 11:00 o’clock news. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I followed her into the living room. The TV flickered as black and white images slowly came into focus. What was so important? There, in front of me, was the horrific scene of black people being hosed in the streets of Birmingham while German Shepherds snapped at their heels. All the while, my mother was shaking her head, tears running down her face.
I never forgot that night. It was then, I suppose, I became an activist and crusader for those who were not as privileged as I was. I owe it to my mom for instilling in me my sense of responsibility to my brother and the world around me. Thanks, mom. You were way ahead of your time.
It was not long after that, I’m guessing that I was about twelve years old, when my mom sent me down to get a haircut at the local barber shop. I arrived to the smell of Vitalise and cigar smoke as I found a seat and waited my turn. Two chairs down there sat an old man who was disheveled, unshaven, holes in his coat. He was obviously homeless.
It became increasingly more difficult to sit next to this man. I felt my heart hurting. It was a feeling that I did not fully understand at the time. I continued waiting my turn. As the minutes passed like hours, the pain in my heart welled up into my throat and I felt a tear run down my cheek. The homeless man coughed and then cleared his throat. I dare not move. I didn’t want anyone to see what I was feeling. You see, real men don’t cry. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling this way. I felt confused.
Finally, one of the barbers told the old man to leave the shop. He said something to the effect that his store wasn’t a flop house. The old man got up slowly and shuffled his way to the door. He left the shop, the door’s dangling bell accompanied his departure.
I got up from my chair and followed him outside. I didn’t know what to do. He was sitting on the curb between two parked cars. I walked up to him and handed him the five dollars that my mom had given me for the haircut. I didn’t say a word.
The walk home seemed like miles when it was only a few short blocks. When I got there, I sat in a chair in my room and wept. But I didn’t know why.
These two events had a profound impact on my life. They changed me forever and helped to make me the man I am today...for better or for worse.
When Reagan was elected President, I learned that I was a liberal and that being a liberal was somehow a bad thing. I didn’t know I was a liberal. All I knew is how I felt about the world around me and my role in it. It never occurred to me that I was anything other than a simple human being. I suppose it was then that I became a true activist drawing on my youth and my mom’s inspiration.
And now, time has passed.
Yesterday, another profound event happened in my life. Another turning point, another passage to go through. Youth was served...as it must and should be. I’m looking back now and feeling a little marginalized. I feel as if I was put out to pasture. This is yet another feeling that I am not too familiar with. It will take some getting used to.
Yesterday, youth rose up and declared that there is “hope.” The kind of hope that shares the same space with idealism...and idealism that shares the same space with youth.
Youthful idealism makes us believe in things that we would not normally believe in. It is sort of our first application of “faith.” Over the years, some of our faith is well placed. However, many more times than not, we learn that our hopes and dreams are just that....hopes and dreams. We learn a bit of cynicism as a way of protecting our feelings. Over the years, the awful truth, born of reality, reminds us that our hopes and dreams can be fleeting.
I watched the other supporters of different candidates express this idealism and hope...putting their faith in their dreams and in their candidate. Most are younger than me. They have not succumb to the cynicism of time. And while it is refreshing to watch this idealism grow with their passion, I also observed what is common in all youth. The quick remark, the fighting words of people who do not know fear. They are quick to criticize and to passionately defend their beliefs, even if the evidence is not readily at hand. Youth believes in itself regardless of any outside forces. Who among us has not felt that way? Who among us did not believe that we knew all the answers at 21 years of age? It’s ironic that they will not even understand these words even though they think they do.
I supported a man who gave 35 years of his life to this country. He rode a train to work every day. He took a second out on his home so he could afford to send his kids to college. His son is preparing himself to do a tour in Iraq. His Foreign Policy knowledge stood heads above anyone else. He was without a doubt, the most qualified candidate running for President from either side. This does not mean that the other candidates are not qualified. It just means that the gap between their experience and qualifications and my candidate’s qualifications were not even close. It was a no brainer. I supported a statesman that would have been a shoe-in in the General. He may have well ended up being the greatest President in our lifetime. Apparently, this was not the time for reason. It was not the time to get our bearings back...to steady ourselves and start the pendulum swinging in our direction. Apparently I was wrong.
Yet, youth held the day. Their idealism and the siren’s call of “hope” drew them in. And for many of them, they don’t even know why. The rest of us tied ourselves to the mast and hung on hoping that at least one more time, we could call upon our heads and not our hearts.
You may think I’m bitter...and I was for a short time. But then I realized that this is the way it has to be. I admire the idealism of youth, if not their mistakes. I understand that the young must take their rightful place at the helm and elect who they feel will fulfill their dreams.
I will step back and let the inevitable happen without complaint. I understand youth’s attachment to hope. I am not any less hopeful than my youthful friends. I am just a person who understands that not all hopes and dreams come true. That is why they are called hopes and dreams. I wish the world were different. But it is not. And as I just simply fade away...as I slip into the past I will take with me my sense of “reason” and "hope" that this time, youth is correct.
-Paige
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