Sons to Moloch
There are now so many segments on the evening news that I can’e2’80’99t bear to watch, I might as well just stay in the kitchen and see to whatever is on the stove.
The magazines and newspapers are no better: I close Time with half the articles unread, I turn briskly past the Smithsonian article about the display in Washington, DC showing artists’e2’80’99 renderings of dead Americans, I hurry past the picture in the San Francisco Chronicle of 1500 pairs of boots displayed before City Hall.
And beginning this week, every nondescript American car that comes up our driveway will make my heart stop until I see whether or not the person behind the wheel is wearing a uniform.
This week, my son deploys.