It's hard for me to remember the 60's, as the saying goes, because I was there. But I do remember how deeply the hippie motto "make love, not war" resounded then. My generation was sick of war.
Sick of the daily body counts.
Sick of hearing the warmongers' justifications for sending our young men overseas to a foreign country which was supposed to be the right place to fight an "ism" (communism) because of the "Domino Theory."
Sick of seeing men coming home missing limbs or, worse, in body bags.
Sick of the "credibility gap" between the information the executive branch put out for public consumption and the real data they kept secret.
Sick of the persecution of a courageous whistleblower who thought the American public ought to hear the truth about the war.
Sick of a Congress that bled the nation's treasury and couldn't figure out a way to stop the bleeding as the war dragged on for years without a clear vision of what victory could really be.
Sick of the most arrogant and hateful president in American history, who misused our intelligence and law enforcement agencies and even his own loyal friends.
Sick of how the growing disagreement over continuing the war split father from son and friend from friend, causing a rift among the American people that would last for decades.
Sick of having to contemplate all this mess year after year and facing the draft, while we were young and vital and should have been building our careers.
Is it any wonder we were "Sha, la, la la la la, live for today," in the words of a hit song of the day?
Is it any wonder we created our own, radically new culture?
Is it any wonder we spoke of love?
Today I took a walk in the park to fight the winter blues. I passed by our veterans memorial and read the names of men that families, loved ones, and friends lost to war in Korea and Vietnam. Let's not have to add any new names to our Iraq War plaques.