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I had the occasion to visit a homemade war memorial recently. A man named Robert Wagner began an impressive collection of war memorabilia that spans from World War I through the most recent skirmishes in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Among the dog tags and snapshots of a younger version of himself, Wagner has all sorts of equipment including an Army medivac, two helicopters and a massive boat.
He let me sit inside most of them, and I was overtaken by the history embedded into each of the vehicles. One large truck, for example, had countless bullet holes punctuating its sides. The helicopter, a massive thing with no side doors, just two gaping holes on either side, was also battered and war weary.
I felt unworthy to sit in the seat of those scared, brave soldiers. They were just young kids collected by their government and pressed into service at the business end of the enemy’s gun. I looked through the same windshield they had, gripped the same steering wheel, and was overcome by the awesome sadness of it all.
Two weeks ago, Cherokee County graduated its newest crop of high school seniors. Around the county, the students wore their Sunday best covered in robes matching the color of the school they cheered and lived for over the past four years. They were expectant, jubilant even.
Their futures were wide open. Their commencement speakers reminded them that they have been well equipped to leave the safety of their childhoods and venture forth into a welcoming world as adults.
But looking at their young faces, watching them shift from silly to somber as they marched into their auditoriums as a class unit for the very last time, I wondered about all this optimism. These kids weren’t facing a draft to enter an unpopular war, so that was relieving. But the challenges they face in this bright, new world might perhaps be as frightening.
They may not have to sit in bullet-riddled cars in a foreign country where they are seen as an enemy, but with anybody’s neighbor owning an assault rifle, and the earth crying “Uncle!” anybody who is paying attention knows the world is shifting and slipping. It’s sagging a bit.
And it’s not just about adversarial politics or how snarling the megabyte sounds through the kid’s headphones. Although those things are worrisome. It’s more that these kids are entering a world with less civility, depleting courtesy and a pretty low bar of integrity than the generations before them.
I know we all tend to look back at our own decade as the golden one. However, the most memorable event that shook my confidence in the world was the Watergate hearings.
This generation grew up under the shadow of the Twin Towers, they endured active shooter drills in their grade schools and stood in compliant lines to have their shoes checked for bombs on their way to fly to their grandparents house.
It’s possible that these kids will use these devastations to affect change in the world. Maybe they will become sick enough of the weight of the bullying and fear to find a better way to be alive in the world. My generation was a bit useless for removing some of the obstacles the current one has to overcome.
At one of the graduations I attended, I heard a fresh-faced girl tell her friend, “I’m so ready to go, but I know it’s going to be different out there.”
That is my wish for the Class of 2023. I hope it becomes different out there.
Abigail Blythe Batton is a staff correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Her column runs every other week. Email her at ablythebatton@gmail.com or leave a message at 828-837-5122.