What Will We Tell Our Grandchildren?

I’m sixty-three. Just a few days ago, it seems, I was twenty-three. A day or two later, I was thirty-three and got married. A day later, I was forty-three and yesterday, fifty-three. I’m sixty-three and have a grandson and those two little girls I had are colleagues now. Sometimes, I ask myself how all this happened and so quickly?

I remember asking myself as a young man how the world got so crazy. The nuclear arms race, the Cold War, Vietnam, pollution; where in hell were the adults and how could they let this happen? Then, POW! JFK is dead. POW! MLK is dead. POW! RFK is dead. Then, like I said, four days or so go by and I’m sixty-three and have a grandson pushing three! What will I tell him when he asks the inevitable question: “Pa, what did you do while the soils were being destroyed, while the water and air were made foul, while the corporations responsible for it were given complete control of the Republic, while the poor were left to suffer and die without insurance and the medical care it provides? What did you do, Pa, while the sick egos of old men brought the government to a standstill, while the cowardice of others vacillated and procrastinated while the country languished and lurched toward fascism? Pa, what did you do when the Great Man, the black Abraham Lincoln was made powerless by the stubborn and petty will of moral midgets, persons in miniature? Pa, why did you let them ruin my world? Did you know about it? Did you do anything? Did you care? Did you just hide in churches and temples and refuse to hear the cries of the weak and the helpless? What about the Prophets, Pa? What about me, Pa?

What do I say when he asks me if I have ever heard this song by Bob Dylan?

The Times They Are A-Changin’

Come gather ‘round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside and it is ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times they are a changin’

Tell me Mr. Boehner, Mr. Cantor, Mr. McConnell, Mr. Lieberman, Mrs. Bachman, Mrs. Lincoln and all the rest of your liars and cowards… What will I tell him? You’ve made a hell of heaven Sarah Palin! Tell that to Jeeeesus! What will I tell him? What will I tell Jesus?