Dearest Rachel –
One of the things about my news feed is that it has a certain bent (some would call it a ‘bias’) to it. Whereas so many major outlets claim the mantle of objectivity and impartiality (a cloak so obviously ill-fitting as to be utterly laughable, when you compare how they treat one political persuasion as compared to the other), the folks I read make a point of not insulting their readers’ intelligence that way; they make it plain as to where on the ideological spectrum they stand, and why, to a certain extent. As Americans (even in a couple of cases of correspondents that are long-time expatriates posted elsewhere), they are unabashedly pro-American, which you would think would be a tautology akin to the hoary old joke about whether the Holy Father happens to be Catholic.
However, it would seem that, by and large, the members of our nation’s fourth estate consider so many of the innate characteristics of their fellow countrymen – including their place of birth, the color of their skin, and the reproductive organs ‘assigned’ to their bodies – to be original sins that require repentance from and atonement for. Which would be irksome enough if it weren’t for the clear fact that absolution will never be granted for such crimes against the rest of humanity. It’s a situation that, for the life of me, I cannot grasp; why would anyone adhere themselves to a religion that did not offer salvation of some sort, however remote, but insist that there are certain people who, by dint of birth, are irredeemable – especially when each of these qualities happen to be the dominant ones (in terms of population percentage, as opposed to actual oppression – something that seems to escape the understanding of the high priests of this faith and their flock) in our society? You’re not going to win converts by telling them they are evil and have no hope of redemption. The particularly odd thing is, most of the devotees seem to share several of such characteristics, render them every bit as damned, per the tenets of their faith, as the rest of us; the level of self-loathing among them (if they engage in sufficient self-reflection to realize it) must be nearly immeasurable.
I digress a bit here, but it gives you a little background as to where this is going – although you might remember that I started reading this feed even before retiring, and really started following it in the downtime of the pandemic lockdowns, reading certain articles aloud to you and Daniel as a form of speech practice for the YouTube channel that never really came to be.
You’ll also recall that, just yesterday, I spent the time with you talking about how things have changed with regard to what to do about the Memorial Day weekend; what we had as traditions are out the window with the passing of you and Kevin, leaving me at a loose end as to what to do with myself. This letter, at the oblique urging of my news feed, can be considered a mea culpa for my unwitting selfishness.
I tend to forget about it, since I don’t have many in my extended family that have served in combat during living memory. Sure, my uncle Wally was part of the occupation of Germany after the war, and I have a second (or third; I forget the exact dimensions of each connection) cousin who was a member of the quartermaster staff in, I believe, Afghanistan. But as a whole, the family doesn’t have any grand tradition of war fighters, to be honest, and no one, to my knowledge, in the family tree I’ve been grafted into has actually gone so far as to fall in combat.
This is where my news feed fits into this, with the reminder that, like so many other holidays that we celebrate, Memorial Day is not really about the leisure time activities we associate with it. Its point is not so much to have a long weekend away from work so as to travel over the extended time frame, or to get out and fire up the grill to welcome the ‘official’ start of the summer season – not that there’s anything wrong with any of that, mind you. No, the point is to honor those who fell in battle, who earned the right to the American Quarter of Valhalla (if we, as a nation, believed in such a place). To take the day more lightly than that does these heroes of our past a disservice.
I won’t lie; reading such admonishments, however gently worded, raised my hackles ever so slightly. Why should I feel guilty about not being able to enjoy the holiday as we used to? Why should I feel guilty for enjoying the holiday in general, for that matter? Don’t I have a right to be happy?
But in fact, the right that we have, as elucidated by our founding document, isn’t happiness, after all, but rather the pursuit of happiness. We are not assured of happiness – indeed, it’s implicit in the phrase that some of us may not really know if what we pursue will actually make us happy in the first place – but rather the opportunity to chase after it, in the hope, however forlorn, that we may find it. We’re given the chance at it, but no guarantees; and for that, certain folks went to their deaths (which likely didn’t make them particularly happy) to ensure that their kin and country would continue in that pursuit for years and (hopefully) generations to come (which may have made them happy, if they had the chance to reflect on that fact).
To be sure, it’s not an insight worthy of Linus Van Pelt – and to be honest, the emotions that were stirred up in me at first might be considered more akin to his sister Lucy – but it is something that was brought to my attention after yesterday’s philippic that I think I ought to repent for. I’m sure that those I may have dishonored by yesterday’s lack of consideration – which, let’s face it, is more widespread than just myself – would be more than willing to offer absolution for it – which is more than I can expect from the imams of self-immolation that dominate (in terms of oppression, rather than the percentage of the population) the infotainment sphere.
So now, as I attempt to pursue what happiness I can for the day, I’d ask you as always to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck, as I’m going to need it (as always).
Letters to Rachel 