preparing our children for battle

as i watched way too much tv over my spring break i was bombarded, of course, by commercials. but there was one commercial in particular...wait, let me refrain: there was one product in particular that made me groan in disgust every time i saw it. the product was a "realistic" video game of world war 2. the player would be able to fight like a soldier, shoot like a soldier, bomb like a soldier. they didn't mention this, but i am sure the player would die like a soldier too. you should have heard the dramatic music playing in the commercial. the way they glorified war. okay, i know they were trying to sell a product and make money. but can children or anyone else, for that matter, really understand the effects of war when playing a game of endless lives and endless restarts, endless pauses for dinner breaks or chores and endless bloody victories against an endless, faceless enemy? why is shooting at people entertaining? why is blowing things up exciting? why are we teaching our children that war is fun, a game?

as i scrambled to do some reading this morning before heading back to fort worth and the dread of school tomorrow, i read this poem, "rite of passage," in my rhetoric text book by sharon olds:

as the guest arrive at my son's party
they gather in the living room--
short men, men in first grade
with smooth jaws and chins.
hands in pockets, they stand around
jostling, jockeying for place, small fights
breaking out and calming. one says to another
how old are you? six. i'm seven. so?
they eye each other, seeing themselves
tiny in the other's pupils. they clear their
throats a lot, a room of small bankers,
they fold their arms and frown. i could beat you up,
a seven says to a six,
the dark cake, round and heavy as a
turret, behind them in the table. my son,
freckles like specks of nutmeg on his cheeks,
chest narrow as the balsa keel of a
model boat, long hands
cool and thin as the day they guided him
out of me, speaks up as a host
for the sake of the group.
we could easily kill a two-year old,
he says in his clear voice. the other
men agree, they clear their throats
like generals, they relax and get down to
playing war, celebrating my son's life.