Of Veterans and Elderly

[winterkoninkje]

So I was on the bus today, heading to the post office to mail some things to Australia, and there was this guy on the bus. I see him on there not uncommonly, this old gent with a stoop who's always wearing his veteran's baseball cap with its cheap plastic weave in back and the pins and medals he's won. Usually he's the sort who gets on, sits in the front, and twenty blocks later he gets off, never says a word, never looks deep in thought or overly emotional, never has a book nor looks at the scenery. Today though he somehow got himself in a conversation with this kid, couldn't've been more than 17. Sounded like the kid had signed up for the army, or the marines, or some other armed service. The old man was telling the kid he'd served full terms in two wars, asking him if he watched the news at night, telling him when he watches the news he fears for those boys. The man tells the kid not to sign up, to watch the news, says maybe sign up in six months, but not now; he's served in two wars. I tried to listen in over the hum and rattle of the road, tried not to look; every time I glanced over to hear better, the old man'd look at me, he knew I listened. He told the kid not to sign up, don't break his mother's heart, not so soon.

We got off at the same stop, the old man and I. He never tried to talk to me, but I thought over his words, his conviction. "Don't break your mothers heart, not so soon." And I came to realize that that's what it comes down to, in the end, how you survive two wars; the only thing that matters is your own life and those you love. I could tell the kid had that vision, like he was doing his Duty, like he was Serving His Nation, like he was proud we was not so cowardly to send another to die in his stead; he had that vision but knew enough to be too ashamed to admit it. And it's not a bad vision, but you could tell from the voice of this hunched old man, that visions don't matter, that the morality of sending others in your stead doesn't matter, that in the end it comes down to all too human emotions, only yourself and those you love; that's the only way to make it through.

And I got to thinking about what it would be like to get to be as old as he, and recalling some things my brother was saying recently about retiring from the tech industry. And y'know, twenty, thirty years from now I'm not going to care about XML, not going to care about keeping up on the latest technology or the latest programming language, prolly won't care about programing itself. Thirty years from now I'll care about linguistics, care about anthropology, care about the social affects of life: good food, good drink, dancing, discussing, love, friendship. The computer is a tool of productivity. In youth, that is, in young adulthood we care about productivity, we're going to DO something; we're going to discover the next big thing, or invent it, or make lots of money, or do lots of drugs, or see the world; but there comes a point where we don't care what we do, but rather who we do it with. There comes a point when we realize that life isn't about what you make of it, it's about what you take from it. So, I figure, I've got twenty years to revolutionize computers and linguistics, and after that... ah, who gives a shit?

Comments

[konomaigo.livejournal.com]

This is why I've tried to make more of an effort to be communicative to those people I want to know ten or twenty years down the road.

Which hasn't been overly successful, but not been a failure either.

Good post.

[paracelsus626.livejournal.com]

Hey there! Speaking of being in touch, how are you? (It's Kristina).

[winterkoninkje.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

Yeah, I've also been trying to keep/get-back in touch with those I'd like to know a decade or two away. It's worked marginally well here too, but it's nice when it does.