It’s one of blame and bitterness.
I was raised by those from very different worlds. Their worlds weren’t perfect, but they were less confusing.
If a ship went into space, it inspired hope, and made millions of kids look at the sky and wonder, “What’s out there?”
Those ships were built by those with hopes and with dreams.
When I look around the classroom, people talk not of hope but of depression, not of the future, but of the grim present.
How will we change the world if we’ve already given up? If all we do is blame the past for ourselves and the world?
We can’t move forwards if we glare at things unchangeable.
In the world of my grandmother, war was for righteous cause.