Template:Adminpick/August 2017

“Who is he?” my son inquired, pointing to the tall figure drawn upon the dusty, nearly crumbling page. As a reproduction of a reproduction of a reproduction, the history book could have easily been mistaken for the mad scribblings of troglodytes in their firelit caves.

“A great leader,” I replied. “Few remember his name anymore. Washington, I believe it was, though it’s quite likely I’ve been told many a falsehood by the ones who call themselves historians.” I chuckled ruefully, as did my son.

“Tell me what a leader is,” he said. Where I came from, it was not unusual for children to be demandingly curious.

“From what I’ve heard, leaders were people who created order out of chaos,” I told him. “Many had great visions for what the world could be like—or in Washington’s case, what his country could be like. No doubt he’s rolling in his grave now that everything he worked hard to instate has fallen to ruin.”

By now my son had put the old book aside and was peering out the red-tinted window wistfully, his chin resting on his arms which were in turn resting on the steel windowsill, and he said to me in a serious tone: “I want to be a leader.”

It broke my heart to hear that he had developed an unattainable dream, a dream I would have to shoot down before long. Such was the treatment all dreams were met with in those times, but the sadness I felt then seems silly to me now that I wonder in vain what has become of his poor soul. He could be anywhere, or nowhere, and it’s likely I’ll never know. By all that is holy, I only hope he’s in a better place than I am now. (Read more...)