Years ago, at the tender age of 15, I met an older man (though he would firmly reject the labels of ‘older’ or ‘gentleman’) who shared captivating stories during my after-school job at a quaint little library in a small town. I referred to him as Mr. J throughout my time there. He frequented the library at least twice a week for the six years I spent shelving books and assisting patrons. Mr. J was a witty fellow from Liverpool who had moved to the Lower Mainland in British Columbia, Canada, settled down with his partner, and somehow aged gracefully over the years. The details of his journey have faded from my memory since I left that job 14 years ago, but the tales he shared remain etched in my mind with surprising clarity.
Now, as a mother to an eight-year-old daughter, the pandemic has thrown my world into disarray. Navigating lockdowns, social distancing, and masks while trying to maintain a sense of childhood wonder has been a chaotic experience. My daughter has developed a strong attachment to her iPad, and I often find myself tuning out the endless loop of “Full House” episodes, accepting the mind-numbing intervals as a part of our new normal.
One day, while I was venting to Mr. J about some trivial high school issue, he unexpectedly reminisced, “I remember the last day of school.” I thought this would lead to comforting, grandfatherly advice, but instead, he wore a wistful grin and shared, “It was in May of 1941 when I came home from school, only to learn the next morning that it had been bombed during the blitz.”
He recounted how the destruction of his school thrust him and his friends into adulthood overnight. With his father away at war, his mother needed support at home, and he took to working odd jobs while helping with repairs in their devastated city. “Naturally,” he chuckled, “as a young boy, there were days I wished our house would be bombed just so I wouldn’t have to clean it. I imagined my mum and I would be safe elsewhere. I’m not that terrible. Just a little terrible.” His humor was infectious.
Reflecting on this story, I feel fortunate for the announcement of school closures in March. While navigating challenges is difficult, I cannot fathom the terror of a war-torn city. My daughter has not experienced the fear of destruction or uncertainty about a parent’s return from far away. The worst we’ve faced is a generic email update, which is a far cry from the realities Mr. J endured.
Yet, Mr. J’s wisdom rings true even today. He dismissed my naive empathy, saying, “I was young enough to be marked by it, but I eventually moved forward. I always had my friends and community. Without that, I would have been in a much worse state.” This sentiment resonates deeply with me. Every generation has faced its unique crises—war, economic turmoil, and disease. 2020 is no different, and our upheaval is one that Mr. J, who witnessed his city being bombed, felt he could not have managed with the carefree spirit of youth.
Our current isolation is a legitimate challenge, giving rise to anxiety and despair as we navigate a confusing internal struggle. We crave connection with friends and family, longing to hold them tightly as if that could help us weather the storm ahead. While it may not be the horror of war, it is a significant struggle that shapes us into versions of ourselves we never anticipated. Our children are learning to cope with a silence that isn’t natural for humans.
I often think about Mr. J’s wartime stories and wonder what my daughter will recount when she is in her 70s. Will she share tales of a time she couldn’t visit loved ones, and how we found creative ways to play as the once-busy street below fell silent, marked with arrows and mask reminders? I ponder how she will respond to the same innocent empathy I once offered to Mr. J, a man who had lived through war.
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In summary, the stories of resilience shared by Mr. J remind us of the strength found within community and the importance of navigating struggles together. Our current challenges may not compare to the horrors of war, but they are shaping us in profound ways. The lessons learned from past generations can guide us as we forge ahead into a future shaped by these extraordinary times.