This weekend I played a show at Big Stone Gap in southwest Virginia with my friend and cellist Dave Eggar. It was an outdoor festival with food trucks, artist booths, and live music. Although this wasn’t my first time to the area, I still catch myself having to adjust to the local culture. The people of southwest Virginia are immediately engaging, genuine, caring, and willing to share. They give hugs, ask about how you have been, and actually want an honest answer. They do this, even if they just met you, which if one isn’t accustomed can feel like an outright intrusion of personal space. Coming from New York City a moment of adjustment is warranted.
There I was, adjusting. I was sitting under one of the tents, engaged in some music listening and people watching, when I heard a soft pop. It came from my left. I turned to see a grown man playfully running away from a child. The child, a boy no older than 6, was brandishing a bright orange toy pistol and chasing the adult. The boy was decked out. He had the complete gear including two guns – one in his hand the other secure in his twin holster – a plastic ninja dagger held through his belt loop, and sunglasses to match his attire. Obviously, this boy was in superhero mode.
I flashed back to the days of my own childhood. Filled with Cub Scout activities, G.I. Joe action figures, and my own collection of plastic toy guns, I would let my imagination run wild. I remembered learning how to tie knots (just in case I needed them in an emergency), creating entire worlds and narratives around good guys and bad guys, and practicing my aim. In the laughter of this superhero boy, those days felt like a lifetime away.
It seems that so much has changed in the dominant cultural narrative surrounding guns, gun violence, and war since the mid-eighties. I wonder if it’s the narrative that has shifted, or just my eyes that have opened over the years.
Either way, I see more now, and seeing this young boy began to make me think. What would become of him and his guns? Would he grow to think nothing of violence, having been desensitized to it, or become prudent in his understanding of it? What about the history of violence in general? And the role of the warrior in cultures around the world? Could anything be learned from cultures that cultivated a warrior ethos? What is our responsibility today as we teach future generations about these things?
Then I remembered that it was Memorial Day weekend…
***
What would you do with the warrior’s heart?
The protector, who lives by honor.
What would you do with the warrior’s heart?
The one who knows of the violence of man, and prepares themselves to face it.
What will you do with the warrior’s heart?
Would you raise it up?
Fashioning it with wisdom,
Would you honor it?
With the honor it bestows upon that which it loves,
Would you respect it?
And it’s willingness to sacrifice all it has.
Or
Would you exploit it?
Sending it out to do your bidding,
Would you belittle it?
Flippantly saying “we don’t need you anymore,”
Would you strip away the part of love that lives in the warrior?
Leaving their heart in the throngs of darkness…
What would you do with the warrior’s heart?
Would you reconcile it to love, or fuel it with hate.
It is after all,
a choice we have to make.
***
Violence, and the particularly concentrated example of war, is hell, and I would do anything I can to end them both. But on this Memorial Day, let us be reminded of the part of the warrior’s heart that is rooted in love, protection, honor, and sacrifice.
Let it all be reconciled to love.