A Baby Boomer Defines Life After World War II

Children Love the World
By Cheryl Piperberg
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Baby boomers:
We were children with no worries.
The world was a playground.
Lots of good things happened.
We had no understanding of prior terrors.
What went before had little reality for us.

Children Playing on a Playground
By Werner Wolff
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Father went to war.
Mother pined for a lost love.
What traumas they went through!
Yet they survived, in physical form at least.

We, the children, knew nothing of that.

San Francisco Bay Area - Where We Lived
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We watched Captian Kangaroo and Howdy Doody
wondering how to get on the show like those lucky kids
and the ones on Art Linkletter's show, where
"Kids Say the Darndest Things."

We knew we were special
because Art listened to what kids said.
He laughed, we laughed.
Everyone was happy.

Clarabelle the Clown, Bob Smith, and Howdy Doody
Performing at a Taping of The Howdy Doody Show
By Martha Holmes
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(No wonder so many of us are terrified of clowns!)

The war survivors mourned lost "casualties".
They dealt with trauma.
Broken hearts. Broken dreams.

We children were blissfully unaware
yet the vibration of trauma and distress still rocked our world, invisibly.

We played on new playgrounds. Rode on new rides.
We loved, danced, explored, and sang.

We believed in this great country:
A masterpiece of higher civilization.

Elementary School Children, Blissfully Unaware
By Eisenstaedt
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Then one day in history class
the teacher mentioned Dresden, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Our wonderful country bombed thousands of children out of existence.
"It was necessary," the elders said. "We had to do it to win the war."

"Wait!" I said.
"Were these not children just as I am?"
"Are these children who died not as important as I?"
"Am I supposed to believe that killing children as an act of war is honorable?"

Suddenly I didn't feel so safe anymore.
My beautiful world with it's manicured lawns
and blooming flowers
and well-fed children
hid something sinister and mean.

Something so awful,
people don't talk about it anymore.

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Victims of a Bomb in Hiroshima Waiting to Be Examined
By Carl Mydans
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I go ahead and live through my childhood,
but I latch onto the only philosophy that makes sense,
"Love everyone."

If only we can make our parents understand
that war is wrong
and that children deserve to live out their lives naturally,
then perhaps the world will change.

We grow our hair long,
rebel against authority,
gather in protest marches,
abhor VietNam's slaughter.

Our parents look on, horrified.
Was this what they brought us up to be?

Antiwar Demonstrators
Protesting US Involvement in Vietnam War
Outside Democratic National Convention
By Charles Phillips
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Now I am old.
Fifty-seven later this summer.
I have my own little victory garden.
Victory over what?
VICTORY over scummy bankers
that steal all the money from us and our children
so we can serve as menial slave labor
in our pathetic attempts
to grab a small share of the American dream.

My victory comes from every little squash that appears,
every tomato that ripens,
every green bean that offers its substance to me.
Self-sustainability.
Life without more than I really need.
The ability to turn off the TV permanently
and enjoy life without brainwashing.

For these victories I am very grateful.

Farmer Tending Organic Vegetable Garden,
Vashon Island, Puget Sound, Washington State, USA
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