Interminable War

The war, it seems, went on forever.

It lasted half my lifetime. At least it had when it finally ended. In 1945.

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, I was a little over four and a half years old. When the Japanese surrendered in Tokyo Bay, September 2, 1945, I was eight years and five months old.

War movies had already been going on for nearly four years. And they are still going on.

I even occasionally come across a war movie I don't remember having seen before.

It's no wonder that younger generations can't place the war in any particular half century. It was ancient, wasn't it? Nineteenth century? Just after the Spanish American War? Or was it before?

It's also no wonder the younger generations find it unsurprising that a war in a foreign land could have been going on for a decade. It's like seeing WWII movies. Especially if you don't have a father or an older brother in the fight. Life goes on as usual.

That isn't the way it was in 1942. Or 1943 or 44 or 45. We were all in it together, even if all we did was deliver carefully smashed tin cans and bundles of paper and magazines to the scrap drive. Or sweetened our tea with saccharine instead of sugar and our mothers saved up ration cards for months to be able to bake a birthday cake.

Is this trip necessary? The patriotic posters asked in the train station.

Good question.