The Children of War

We, my generation, are the children of war; a war to which we are blind. I was in fourth grade when we entered the Afghan war. I have not known a world where my presidents did not argue about the troops would come home, our troops, my troops. Children who are raised in a war, even if they are against that war, are accustomed to it. Those children will hesitate far less at the onset of the next war, for I'm sure we can agree their will be one. Yet ask a 17-year-old if they feel the war has impacted them, and unless they've had a family member or friend who was in the armed forces, they will probably say no. We were conditioned in history class to think of was as Rosie the Riveter and Freedom Gardens and rations. Children of this war forget that we are very much a wartime country, but we also forget what it is to be free. Classically, we are free. As adults, we will vote in open and fair elections for the men and women we want to voice our interests in national politics, we can (in many states) have diverse families, and incredible education and employment opportunities (if we momentarily disregard how many opportunities are closed based on socio-economics, race, sex, gender, and sexual orientation). We do not, however, truly have freedom, freedom from a fear that is so far departed from us, freedom from this monster we call war.