My Grandpa Little was a storyteller with a dash of humor. He had a way of describing real life tales of his childhood that always delightfully delivered a life lesson along with a twinkle in his eyes. I am not completely certain that he did not embellish his memories just a bit but he had a way of retelling them over and over again in exactly the same way. He really enjoyed discussing life in rural Virginia where he lived with his grandmother who took on the task of raising him when his mother died in childbirth. One item of lore that he especially liked was a cautionary tale with a moral that needed little explaining.
He was a young lad with more than a bit of curiosity. He had done inventive things like cutting off the upper toes of his shoes when they became too small but his grandmother insisted that he needed to wear them just a bit longer. He admired his grandmother for being a kind of leader in the area where they lived. He noted that many men and women came to her for advice. She had a wisdom and knowledge that was homegrown but more than often right on target. She became known as “Doc Reynolds” to those who knew her.
He recalled how one day she invited the ladies of the area to come over for coffee and conversation. He was well old enough to entertain himself while they chatted. His grandmother reminded him to be on his best behavior and stay outside while the ladies were present. He gladly left for the great outdoors because he had no interest in hearing them talk about topics that meant nothing to him. He was glad to be free to be himself for a time and he liked that his grandmother trusted him to stay out of trouble.
He did a bit of this and bit of that and then began to explore. He found an old log with a mound of some kind in its midsection. Curiosity got the best of him as he wondered what that profusion was and why it was there. It did not look like an ant bed but it indeed looked as though someone or something had chewed the wood of the tree into sawdust and then turned it into an interesting dome.
He found a nearby stick and poked the mass just enough to get a feel for its texture. When nothing happened he became a bit more aggressive hoping to get to the heart of this strange accumulation unlike anything else he had ever seen. As he moved the stick around in a stirring motion he got his answer as a swarm of angry hornets attacked him.
They went for every part of his body even being bold enough to burrow under his clothes. The pain of their stings was overwhelming. The only thing he could think to do was to strip down until he was naked and jump into a nearby pond. All the while he did not realize the ruckus that he was making with his screams of pain. Before long his grandmother and her lady friends were all outside looking shocked by his naked body and hearing words that he probably should not have uttered. He knew by their faces that he was in big trouble but at least he had been able to rid himself of the offending hornets.
His grandmother’s party was over as each woman sensed that it was time to go home. When everyone was gone his grandmother gave him a dressing down while she put some kind of salve that she had made on his wounds. Somehow the sting of her words was worse that what the hornets had inflicted on him. He ended his story by commenting that the whole incident taught him to be very careful about taking actions without knowing what the consequences might be. He would urge us to always think things through before racing into trouble.
I have found myself thinking more and more about my grandfather as we are embarked on a war that seems to be without any kind of plan. We have indeed stirred the hornets nest and the question is whether or not we will be able to quell the horror that has ensued. Somehow I do not have confidence that there was a rationale for all of this other than that Trump had a feeling. Obviously there are many unintended consequences that are the result of this action. We bombed a school where innocent girls were killed. The new leader of the nation is no better than the one we killed. In fact, he lost much of his family in the attack and will no doubt want revenge. The strait through which much of the oil and commerce from the middle east comes is now blocked. The unilateral decision to stir things up in Iran has not been explained in a coherent way and it seems as though those leading this effort each have conflicting ideas as to why we did it. Furthermore there is no real plan to stop what we have started and probably should have left alone.
War should always be a last resort and any decision to go in that direction should be part of a well thought out reason with a plan for how to navigate out of the situation. So far we have none of these and while I worry on a Sunday afternoon Trump is out playing golf as though it is just another weekend. Meanwhile the Secretary of Defense seems like a little boy playing soldier. I wonder when the adults are going to come along to make the ridiculousness stop. Sadly there is nothing humorous about it all as innocents keep dying for an undefined cause but the message is the same as my grandfather delivered long ago…always be very careful before racing into the unknown.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 