Just when you’re sure you have a handle on life and you sit where you can almost see vibrations because your life and outlook are good, your phone rings.
He’s always a joy to talk with, proved by the fact that we talk at least twice a year, never on birthdays.
He’s my nephew.
I asked him what men want, but first I wanted to know what is going on with Ukraine? As far as I know, Ukraine wants to be part of NATO, but Russia doesn’t want it to be. Years ago, the U.S. said Ukraine could join NATO, but never made good on that promise.
I told him I’m firm in my thinking that this standoff has precious little to do with Ukraine, it has to do with Vladimir and Joe, two men who are relied on by taxpayers and tax cheaters to not blow up the world.
“Why do we teach children that mankind is meant for happiness but then encourage them to startle and kill?” I assumed he wouldn’t know, I was wrong about that, and I also wasn’t finished. “And why do we tell children to live in the moment knowing that believing that will always make them late?”
He went for the happiness question first, explaining in a comfortable tone that unhappiness affects people with abundance more than it does those in need. I said he was pettifogging, a word applied to attorneys who emphasize insignificant details, but found such joy in using a useless word that I did.
“We should produce men worthy of women,” he said. “Traditionally, males dominate. They absorb assertiveness, competitiveness, and toughness. That leads to emotional confusion, and that leads to learning disabilities and that leads to dropping out of high school. All because of an assignment of behavior.”
“I grew up with two brothers,” I reminded him. “They were the perfect brothers for me. I wanted more.
“Then I moved to Arkansas, far away from them, and missed them because they weren’t where I could see them on Sunday or every other day.
“But when I met men in Eureka Springs, they became those more brothers I wanted. They were excellent company, they made me laugh, they were spontaneous, they did goofier tricks than a trained dog, knew when the pawpaws were ripe, how to open up a carburetor with a twig. How to make jambalaya. It’s like men are always messing with structure, knowing full well that the planet is already giddy. I love that.
“What I want to know is why do I feel so disconnected from Joe Biden and Vladimir Putin? It’s like they both have heat but neither has warmth. They aren’t protecting anybody from anything.”
He paused and sighed. “I know. I agree. Russia has been busy the last ten years creating hypersonic missiles that travel twenty-five times faster than the speed of sound. Missiles that can be deployed from frigates or submarines and can’t be seen on radar.
“Over here in the United States, we are well aware of tested but unused weapons that could take out cities so fast that people will never hear them coming. Joe Biden and the United States are the aggressors, not the Russians. Whether Ukraine was promised membership or not, why pick a fight in a country known for corruption that’s even worse than ours and is six thousand miles away? We’re poking the bear.”
“That’s not what we’re being told,” I told him. “We are on the verge of purposely or accidentally killing a whole lot of people who don’t need killing. And I know that men like activities that require skill. So, is that what this is about?”
“This is about raw power and who has it,” he told me. “Pay attention to Bill Burns. He’s the CIA Director. He was U.S. Ambassador to Russia fifteen years ago. He was president of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. The Russians praised him as our ‘secret diplomatic weapon.’ He’s reasonable. He can make glass out of rock. He’s a brother you would like.”