Lost innocence
and the new generation

Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday, though it has been tinged with sadness since childhood as it so closely coincides with the anniversary of JFK’s assassination. When my daughter explained the sense of loss and grief she feels about the events of September 11, I told her that I felt November 22, 1963 was an equivalent time in my life, and that I was the same age then that she is now. “No, mommy, it’s much worse for me,” she declared.

I applaud her authority, and wonder if it isn’t true. But no matter whose pain is worse, the certainty is that this generation has lost its innocence explosively, definitively. A young teen quoted in The New York Times Magazine recently suggests it is because there is no middle ground between childhood and adulthood, since the terrorists hit home. Young children can be blissfully unaware of the potential destruction ahead, but teenagers are too aware of it, and their parents cannot honestly deny it to them.

This year, as always, we watched the Thanksgiving Day parade on TV as I stuffed the turkey and the children peeled potatoes. We “oohed” at the giant balloons and enjoyed the scene of crowds in Herald Square, and the dancing troupes of Broadway starlets. The NYPD marching band returned me to reality, as I wondered how many of their number were missing from this year’s contingent. Still, none of us spoke of foreboding as we watched the exaggerated cartoon characters float over the crowds.

After dinner, as we relaxed into enjoyment from the bustle of preparation, the children expressed their unstated fears about the joyous parade. Images of fire, destruction and death had crowded their thoughts. Afraid to “jinx” the world, they had pretended their innocence, so well rehearsed from previous years.

I know what they mean. As I watch politicians barnstorm the country, for elections or, as now, to build morale, I share that sense of foreboding, well-entrenched in my psyche from watching my childhood heroes cut down one by one, like trees in the forest. I can’t watch a motorcade without seeing the pink dress of Mrs. Kennedy, or see a victory celebration without scanning the crowds nervously.

Asked recently if I thought my life had made a difference in the world, even a tiny one, I felt instant regret that the peace movement I was active in as a teenager had not taken hold around the world. For many of us, as our friends and fathers were returned from the hell-hole of Southeast Asia, our dedication to peace on a global level waned. Peace became prosperity, prosperity became possession and property. Our generation did what our parents had done, focusing on family or self, once the threat was lifted.

Will this new threat spur the next generation to develop a global interest in peace? Or will September just leave a bad taste in their mouths as they butter their bread on both sides?