Why is everybody so angry?
Over 150 years ago, Abraham Lincoln used the words, “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” from the gospel of Mark to prophesize what could happen to our country, already splitting apart over the issue of slavery.
And it strikes me how well those words still apply today.
Where so many in our country seem to be so angry, so divided. So ready to jump down each other’s throats, if not actually choke them.
From religion to politics to backup referees, and everything in between, we all seem to pick a side and hold on for dear life, gritting our teeth and our minds against moving.
Then we vent on radio talk shows, post scathing posts, and write Letters to the Editor in all caps.
And I wonder how we got this way.
And why we’re all so angry. So strident. So sure we’re right and the other side is not only wrong, but almost evil.
And I wonder when we’ll remember that we’re all in this together.
That this country is ours. Not yours. Not mine. Not theirs.
Ours.
And I wonder if there’s something in the water. Or if something that was in the water is gone.
Or something that was in our hearts.
So that’s it. No easy wrap-up. Nothing resolved yet.
Just an observation.
We’re angry.
But if this “Great Experiment,” these United States, are going to work, it’s in our hands.
So that, as President Lincoln offered in his later Gettysburg Address, “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
@Copyright 2013, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.
Dear Iron Monopoly Token,
I owe you an apology. Since I was a kid, I’ve played Monopoly hundreds of times. And, all those times, I could have chosen you.
But I hardly ever did.
As a boy, I would typically go for the racecar or dog. Then, as I got older, I'd pick something more eclectic, like the hat, wheelbarrow or cannon.
And when I was really feeling like pushing the envelope, I'd select the thimble, smirking inwardly, knowing my selection would momentarily knock my competition off-balance.
But, in all those times, on all those days, throughout all those years, I rarely chose you.
Looking back, I'm not quite sure why. After all, you tried to be accommodating. You were light, flat and thin on the bottom, and also had a handle that made it easy to move you around the board.
Yet, somehow, I believe that lightness kept me away.
Because how could I hope you'd hold your own against the solidity of the other tokens?
But now that you're going away, replaced by a cat, I'm feeling regret.
How could I have treated you so poorly?
As if you didn’t matter.
And now it's too late. I can write you letters, send flowers, even fill up your voicemail, but I know you won't return my calls. Instead you'll just move on. Probably to another game. In fact, I've already heard rumors that the Candyland people are in negotiations with your agent.
So, I guess I'll just wish you well. And say that, once again, I'm sorry.
And that I've learned my lesson. I'll never take another token for granted. Even those non-descript plastic Trouble pieces.
I wish you well, Mr. Iron.
Press on...
Take care,
James Warda
