How Many Steps Forward

I grew up in the 1950's and 60's.  People from that era are now called baby boomers.  My grandchildren see that period as the olden days: the days of station wagons with rear facing seats, transistor radios and dial telephones all of which pale against today's technology.

My transistor radio was my most prized possession. What a marvelous, magical device it was. You could take it anywhere tucked in a pocket or purse. The nine volt battery provided hours of entertainment. The reception was best at night because the AM signal was stronger. Numerous stations could be picked up from cities strung across the country.  KOMA was the favorite rock station. The radios came with a small pair of earphones another WOW invention. Long after I should have been asleep I burrowed under a layer of blankets and listened in secretive darkness undetected. Kids in thousands of homes were doing the same thing. KOMA rocked long after lights out. the next day school my friends and I talked about the songs we listened to and what were our favorites. We were innocent junior high kids just beginning to find our way around the various bumps in the road.

I found a snug, comforting sense of security deep within the blankets. I was untouchable and far removed from the bits of news that also accompanied the music. The technology of today makes the transistor radio a silly unsophisticated dinosaur. The inventions in commutation we take for granted in this century were things of science fiction when I was a child. Even with all the advances that have transpired over my life time there is still one thing that has not changed. We have not learned how to get along and live together.

I lived through the cold war era with Russia as the arch enemy. We practiced diving under our school desks in preparation for a nuclear attack. The Korean war had escalated in the 50's resulting in the creation of two countries which provided no long term solution. Vietnam finally exploded in the 60's and continued on into the 70's. I watched former high classmates enter the military as their draft numbers were called up and hoped that my husband of three years would not be one of them. From there we moved to Afghanistan and on and on.

The twenty first century has not brought us any closer to resolving conflicts nor being able to avoid them. History continues on down a repetitive road. There are no covers to crawl under, no magic in the earphones and no snug place to hide in the dark untouched.