THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE

 "I had a dream I was twenty and there was no virus." This came out of the mouth of an eight year old boy. It's hard to imagine what kids have gone through the past couple of years. Acquiring cognition during the Trump years, observing adults pick sides in a divisive battle for  hearts and minds, parroting racist, conspiratorial mindsets or woke dogma only to be shut out of their schools, ripped from playgrounds, sequestered from friends, Zoomed by teachers and scared to death by an unseen virus that could kill grandma and grandpa if they got too close after not washing their hands for five minutes, kids these days have a tough row to hoe. Not since tykes watched their parents switch off the Teletubies to tune into a pair of high rises tumble on a bluebird September day, has a vulnerable generation been so traumatized by world events. But, unlike the 9/11 spectacle this is a slow moving tragedy that is but one of many mud slides, floods, forest fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, a lava flow of racism, sexism, and Republican white supremacy that threaten any fragile sense of security a kid can hold onto. "I was at a pig roast." the eight year old continued. "Everybody was happy."

"Out of the mouths of babes." my mom was fond of saying. She recognized the unvarnished wisdom of the innocent. Kids realized immediately that their lives would never be the same in that cold spring of 2020 and there wasn't a goddamned thing they could do about it. I remember this same boy along with his sister and father waiting in the snow for the the school bus, not to pick them up, but to drop off a free lunch. The bus never showed and the kids had to walk home empty handed. "I hate this Koran (quarantine)!" the little girl mumbled, kicking angrily at the snow. This was a peek at their future - lockdowns, masks, loneliness, fear, sickness, death and cold free lunches. Who could they blame? The grownups of course.

    "Another story, Mike!" the eight year old screamed in my ear. This kid was so amped up, jonesing for a little socializing with somebody other than his sister, the baby hedgehog and his parents. School was closed again! Normalcy has been denied a generation. And these kids have loving parents, friends and an extended support structure. Imagine the ones who are locked in stifling apartments, backseats of cars or wrapped in a thin coat on some icy forest floor. Imagine the ones with strung out drug addict parents, victims of weak spirited fathers who eye pre-pubescent daughters with predatory leers or alcoholic mothers asleep with the kitchen stove on. "Did I tell you the one about my grandfather's cane?" I ask. The boy nods frantically and screams, "THE BULL DICK!" Sis grimaces and pets the hedgehog "Thorny" with her heavy glove. I love these kids. I need their energy as much as they want to hear my silly stories. "What do you think about Children's Church for spring?" I ask, trying to think of another story that is age appropriate. They ponder the prospect of running a CLGM church service while terrorizing me. It sounds like fun. I worry about these kids. Then sis adds, "If you live that long." Snap. Maybe they'll be OK. They seem to know way more than I do.