July 14, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
I went to church alone today. Baby John must have gone to an earlier Mass. Becca hasn’t been to church in months. She’s staying with Craig now, so I spend a great deal of time by myself. It’s alright, though I wish it wasn’t that way.
It’s good to be alone. It gives me time to think about everything that’s happened and everything that might happen for the rest of the year.
After Mass, I went out to breakfast at a neighborhood diner. The place was filled with church-going couples, mostly older folks. They looked so sweet, drinking coffee and chatting with each other. It made me feel like I was back in the old days, maybe the 1940s after the war. I tried to imagine what it would feel like. Then I thought of my parents, and then I thought about how I haven’t called them in a long time. Then I felt guilty.
Then I wondered why we couldn’t be a part of their society. Why they have a right to tell us how to behave, when our life isn’t anything like theirs. Craig would say that we’ve inherited an imperfect world, and it’s our job to perfect it. We have to make it better.
I don’t blame them for being imperfect. Unlike Becca, I don’t know if they could’ve done anything about segregation or poverty or the war. After all, they had their own wars to fight. But I don’t see why they should stop us from changing things, from making things better. And I don’t understand why they’re angry about it.
In the News: July 14, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
I went to church alone today. Baby John must have gone to an earlier Mass. Becca hasn’t been to church in months. She’s staying with Craig now, so I spend a great deal of time by myself. It’s alright, though I wish it wasn’t that way.
It’s good to be alone. It gives me time to think about everything that’s happened and everything that might happen for the rest of the year.
After Mass, I went out to breakfast at a neighborhood diner. The place was filled with church-going couples, mostly older folks. They looked so sweet, drinking coffee and chatting with each other. It made me feel like I was back in the old days, maybe the 1940s after the war. I tried to imagine what it would feel like. Then I thought of my parents, and then I thought about how I haven’t called them in a long time. Then I felt guilty.
Then I wondered why we couldn’t be a part of their society. Why they have a right to tell us how to behave, when our life isn’t anything like theirs. Craig would say that we’ve inherited an imperfect world, and it’s our job to perfect it. We have to make it better.
I don’t blame them for being imperfect. Unlike Becca, I don’t know if they could’ve done anything about segregation or poverty or the war. After all, they had their own wars to fight. But I don’t see why they should stop us from changing things, from making things better. And I don’t understand why they’re angry about it.
In the News: July 14, 1968
