One:
Olympia, Washington, January 17, 1991 Every Thursday morning in 1990-1991, I volunteered in my son's first grade classroom. Sometimes I would help the children with their reading or math and sometimes I would just listen to them and answer their questions. The Thursday after the war that became known as Desert Storm began was no different in that respect. Despite my tiredness and a little bit of stress due to my involvement in the week's activities against the war, I looked forward to checking in with the kids. Their regular teacher was absent that day - she was several months pregnant - and the substitute was a woman who had a son in another class in the school. She was also a member of the local antiwar coalition. As we prepared our opening conversation circle, we overheard one of the boys talking about the bombing of Iraq. "We're kicking their ass, man." were his words. The substitute, Nora, and I looked at each other and knew immediately what we would talk about that morning with this group of first and second graders. We called the children together and they assumed their spots in the circle. After a couple minutes of playing around, they settled in and Nora began. "Today, Ron and I will start the circle. As everyone knows there is a war going on. First let me answer some questions you might have." She began. "The main thing is that your homes are safe. You and your families will not be hurt. The other thing is we all have to hope for and work hard to make sure this war ends quickly." "What about my uncle?" asked one of the boys. "He's in the army and he has to go there. Will he get hurt?"
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