The View from the Other Side

Updated: Feb 1

This White Male Point of View was posted online. It tells a moving story, purportedly from an old man, talking about the old days.


I talked to a man today - I talked with a man today, an 80+ year old man. I asked him if there was anything I can get him while this Coronavirus scare was gripping the world. He simply smiled, looked away and said: "Let me tell you what I need! I need to believe, at some point, this country my generation fought for... I need to believe this nation we handed safely to our children and their children...

I need to know this generation will quit being a bunch of sissies...that they respect what they've been given...that they've earned what others sacrificed for."

I wasn't sure where the conversation was going or if it was going anywhere at all. So, I sat there, quietly observing. "You know, I was a little boy during WWII. Those were scary days. We didn't know if we were going to be speaking English, German or Japanese at the end of the war.

There was no certainty, no guarantees like we all enjoy today. And no home went without sacrifice or loss. Every house, up and down every street, had someone in harm's way. Maybe their Daddy was a soldier, maybe their son was a sailor, maybe it was an uncle. Sometimes it was the whole damn family...fathers, sons, uncles... Having someone, you love, sent off to war...it wasn't less frightening than it is today. It was scary as Hell. If anything, it was more frightening.

We didn't have battle front news. We didn't have email or mobile phones. You sent them away and you hoped...you prayed. You may not hear from them for months, if ever. Sometimes a mother was getting her son's letters the same day Dad was comforting her over their child's death.

And we sacrificed. You couldn't buy things. Everything was rationed. You were only allowed so much milk per month, only so much bread, toilet paper. EVERYTHING was restricted for the war effort. And what you weren't using, what you didn't need, things you threw away, they were saved and sorted for the war effort. My generation was the original recycling movement in the world.

And we had viruses back then...serious viruses. Things like polio, measles, and such. It was nothing to walk to school and pass a house or two that was quarantined. We didn't shut down our schools. We didn't shut down our cities. We carried on, without masks, without hand sanitizer. And do you know what? We persevered. We overcame.

We didn't attack our Presidents, Prime Ministers or whoever, we came together. We rallied around the flag for the war. Thick or thin, we were in it to win. And we would lose more boys in an hour of combat than we lose in entire wars today."

He slowly looked away again. Maybe I saw a small tear in the corner of his eye. Then he continued: "Today's kids don't know sacrifice. They think a sacrifice is not having coverage on their phone while they freely drive across the country. Today's kids are selfish and spoiled.

In my generation, we looked out for our elders. We helped out with single moms whose husbands were either at war or dead from war. Today's kids rush the store, buying everything they can...no concern for anyone but themselves. It's shameful the way kids behave these days. None of them deserve the sacrifices their granddads made. So, no I don't need anything. I appreciate your offer but, I know I've been through worse things than this virus. But maybe I should be asking you, what can I do to help you? Do you have enough to get through this, enough steak? Will you be able to survive with 113 channels on your tv?" I smiled, fighting back a tear of my own...now humbled by a man in his 80's. All I could do was thank him for the history lesson, leave my number for emergency and leave with my ego firmly tucked in my rear.

I talked to a man today. A real man. A man from an era long gone and forgotten.

We will never understand the sacrifices. We will never fully earn their sacrifices.

But we should work harder to learn about them...learn from them...to respect them.



The Other Side


Interesting to see the comments. All of them from older white men, much like yourself, who never saw a day of war. So why are they nostalgic?


Let's face it, there's no glory in war. It's a man-made method of playing little boy games. What were they fighting for in World War 1? Someone shot an entitled rich prick, so the whole world erupts in war, culminating in the invention of horrific weapons of mass destruction and 40 million people dead at the end of it. This does not include the estimated 60 million dead from Spanish Flu in 1918. That's one hell of a way to sort out your differences.


My grandfather survived World War 1. He was a British soldier who was gassed. He lived out the rest of his days struggling to breathe. He didn't think there was any glory to be had in war. He thought there were better ways to 'build character'. He was a cockney yet there he was, fighting for a bunch of rich pricks who couldn't sort out their differences any other way than to take their respective countries to war.


Where's the upside? Fortunes are made in war. All those weapons. Money to be made! All that deprivation caused by men who should have been working their farms and factories, instead killing their fellow men over invisible boundaries at the behest of other men who should have known better but could only see the career opportunities.


There's always money to be made in the re-build. Naturally, it wasn't my cockney grandfather making the money either. He was too busy simply surviving in post-war Britain until it became apparent that the rich pricks were at it again and were gearing up for another go, as if once wasn't enough.


So you can take your 'character-building' wars, your dewy-eyed nostalgia for the 'good old days'. I'd rather focus on where the next generation might take us, without having to look over their shoulders, waiting for the next war to decimate their numbers. Instead of moaning about what never was, try a little gratitude for what actually is. Instead of dismissing this generation as entitled wastrels, how about feeling a little empathy for them? After all, it falls to them to clean up the mess your generation has made of our planet. Let’s just hope they do a better job of looking after it than you and your self-satisfied, morally indignant friends have done.


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