My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
A Litany of Our Folly
There was another senseless bombing in Ireland, and one in the Near East. On the same day captives were taken in the Mediterranean and violence erupted in South Africa. In Central America two wars are reluctant to end, and the president is annoyed by prospects of a peace not fashioned according to the dictates of his fear. There is concern we may spend less on weapons, for this world and on into space, as though weapons could protect us against our own deceits and rage. They are headlines, a litany of our folly. These sadly were yesterday's headlines as well, and last year's. Sadder still, they may be tomorrow's and might still seem like news in years to come.
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