Testosterone City - begins
I am waiting at the Dept of Energy Building in case anyone show’s up for the postponed “Divine Strake” protest from yesterday’s flyering through the mall & in front of the White House. While I’m sitting on a bench under the building (it is raised on great pillars so there is no ground level but lots of shade in this unbearable humidity!) 2 large white males come rollerblading over & sit at the end of another bench several feet from me. I ignore them. Several minutes pass as they take off their blades & helmets. I can see that one is older than the other – and the younger turns his back to me & appears uninterested. I briefly ponder their relationship & why they chose that bench as opposed to the 20 other benches farther away from me.
The older man raises his voice to be heard across the expanse of cement benches & supporting posts, & asks me if I am looking for anyone. I’m immediately suspicious & answer him shortly ‘no’. I get up and nonchalantly walk around before he asks me if I was part of the group in front of the White House on Mother’s Day. He explains that he rollerblades with his son every day & saw us there. He then tells me he works for the Department of Defense. I look at him askance & he slowly explains he’s never supported this war – even as a republican. As disbelief crosses my face, he assures that at least – he pauses to do mental calculations - one third of the DoD folks are totally against this war. A shadow envelops him as he gestures to his son. I see now that the young man is mentally disabled. “I love him” he explains, “he has me to take care of him, & I’ll do it all his life”.
He turns to me & asks: “do you know how many young men are coming back like him?”
It is the first time someone has raised the brain injuries soldiers are suffering from in Iraq with me.
“He was born this way. It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.” he repeats in his measured tone.
He gestures again sadly towards his grown son & asks me to imagine many more men roaming the streets like his son.
“Who will love them?” he looks deeply into my eyes. “Who will take care of them?”
Who indeed
The older man raises his voice to be heard across the expanse of cement benches & supporting posts, & asks me if I am looking for anyone. I’m immediately suspicious & answer him shortly ‘no’. I get up and nonchalantly walk around before he asks me if I was part of the group in front of the White House on Mother’s Day. He explains that he rollerblades with his son every day & saw us there. He then tells me he works for the Department of Defense. I look at him askance & he slowly explains he’s never supported this war – even as a republican. As disbelief crosses my face, he assures that at least – he pauses to do mental calculations - one third of the DoD folks are totally against this war. A shadow envelops him as he gestures to his son. I see now that the young man is mentally disabled. “I love him” he explains, “he has me to take care of him, & I’ll do it all his life”.
He turns to me & asks: “do you know how many young men are coming back like him?”
It is the first time someone has raised the brain injuries soldiers are suffering from in Iraq with me.
“He was born this way. It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.” he repeats in his measured tone.
He gestures again sadly towards his grown son & asks me to imagine many more men roaming the streets like his son.
“Who will love them?” he looks deeply into my eyes. “Who will take care of them?”
Who indeed
posted by Xan @ 12:34 PM
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