Wars & World Leaders: What I Want From You

When you want to kill

other human beings

I want you to look

sad and not angry

When you want to send

our children a world away

to kill and fight and die

I want you to look

remorseful not presidential

When you make and make

possible guns and nukes

and bombs and such

I want you to look

chagrined – recognizing

the already failure of your

acts that it is instead of

gleeful at anticipated success

When the children – anyone’s

children – die, I want you to

confess instead of count

as if it were a basketball score

And speaking of the children –

when you decide it’s killing time

I want – no, I demand –

that you not do it on the backs

of dead children – they are 

beyond your saving and your

anger will not bring them back

and I care about them and all

the others and I do not need

pictures of bloody corpses

of the too-young to decide

whether the living children

can be saved by this course

and I resent and tremble in

my own anger that you would

use them to make you sleep

better at night for the children

still breathing you would risk

to avenge they who need no

vengeance for they are far

past caring about such things

I want you not to stand on

their corpses – that’s what 

I want

When the temptation to the 

killing fields comes, I want

you to eschew the language

of heroes and wonder if you

would go or send your own

beloved where you would

so easily dispatch mine

Who am I to want so much

from you?  I am citizen.

At Last

At last, Etta James is at peace after a life of fame and almost fame and lost fame, of abuse by others and by self, of glorious moments and inglorious periods.

In reading her bio on Wikipedia, I was forcefully struck by sadness at the recounting of her early childhood, filled with revolving caretakers, a largely-absent mother and unknown father, and a man named ‘Sarge’ all-too-willing to exploit Jamesetta (her birth name), who, by the age of 5, was demonstrating her musical ability.

Late at night, Sarge would waken Jamesetta and force her, by beating if necessary, to sing for his poker buddies, sometimes when she was soaked with urine from having wet the bed. Wikipedia

Sarge’s behavior isn’t all that unusual: parents and other adults are often willing to exploit children to their own ends.  Sex trafficking, forced labor and enslavement continue to be worldwide problems.

But even in otherwise loving safe harbors, parents will unthinkingly demand ‘performance’ from their children.  I’m sure I’ve done it myself: say ‘mommy’. . . show them how fast you run . . . draw them a picture . . . 

While it isn’t necessarily exploitation to ask things of our children, when we do it for our own glory or pride, when we fail to consider their desires, their shyness or reluctance, when we demand rather than ask for a ‘performance’ to prove how special we are because our children are in some way special, loving encouragement turns into exploitation.

Even the definition of exploit reveals the bitter irony: when used to refer to something I do to, for, or with myself, it’s a positive, as in I love hearing about Beth’s exploits, referring to tales of adventure or heroism; but when used to refer to my treatment of another, as in Beth exploited Ben’s talents from an early age, it refers to my use of Ben for my own advantage or gain, without counting the cost to Ben.

It is the recognition that what I can do for my own honor or glory quickly becomes dishonorable and vainglorious when I insist it come from another.

In otherwise loving homes, parents are challenging children to play the sports they played, to practice the musical instruments they always wanted to learn, to reenact their childhood dreams, instead of nurturing the children’s own dreams and talents.  That’s exploitation.  And even if there isn’t a beating or a drunken barrage behind it, such behavior is costly.

It denies the image of God beauty of another.

Children are not mini-me’s; they are human beings in their own right.  And far too many are longing for their own ‘At Last’ day of freedom from the exploitative demands of those charged with their nurture and care.