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Memories and Generations
Sometimes it feels like decency is inherited, and this is one of those times.
Memories stir up easily at my age, particularly when in the path of a pandemic that creates a survival crapshoot for myself and my wife. We can’t defend ourselves, so we await our fates. I do hope that’s “fate,” because I’ve outlived one wife and I do not wish to repeat.
We got a message from Renee this last week offering to acquire some meat for us when we had trouble locally. She’s in Austin and we are in a burb. We will be using first names only, understanding that those who know us will know of whom we speak.
I was touched, as you must be when someone offers to take risk for you. It’s been only our kids making that offer so far. I’ve known Renee since she was a tiny baby or, in truth, since she was a bump in her mother’s tummy.
We lost Renee’s father, Terry, recently. I knew him from Vietnam Veterans Against the War, and I often wished that those who hated VVAW could hear him speak when there was nobody around but movement people. His motives were pure and, as I wrote at the time of his passing, he was one of very few people of whom I could write “an officer and a gentleman” with no hint of irony.
