True to our alpha and follow-pack natures we were all momentum.
Thinking of ourselves as new men in new clothing, that of living by faith in the Jesus piece, and trying to abide the Ten Commandments was really in friction with the pyramids of what politics and culture had become towards the end of the twentieth century.
The stumblingblocks were huge and microscopic. Would appear in any encounter or in isolation.
There were habits and addictions, comfort zones, and obligations. "So different from us," people clung to each other and acknowledged by way of fear.
"Protect each other." The generations meeting us in the liminal places, the thresholds, were adament about that. Though people couldn't really agree about hardly anything past next step in one foot in front of the other. We were under orders as surviving next generation; as Service people; as future world leaders and participants; as forging beach heads and bridges and boundaries.
There were astounding crashes. "That was a miracle!" Some said rather factually without as much wonder as acceptance--comes with our God's package. That God in which we can trust. "Remember when we scraped the hurricane mud off that old bent up license plate and saw that phrase anew? We had nothing again."
We nurtured each other as fellow Americans through collapses, personal and public. And kept proving our generation will not cave to too hard. Navigate that he or she couldn't.
Couldn't save everyone.
Couldn't seal the deal.
Couldn't stay sober.
Couldn't say.
And pass the baton as we can.
One of us opened a backpack briefcase to reveal a multitude of actual batons. "No backing out. We exist."
"We won't be bored." Final assurances. One of us closed the airplane's door and locked it against being sucked away.
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