Dear Mr. Deprado,

I don’t know what I am learning right now, and for the first time, I feel like I have little to bring you except some notes scribbled into a 99-cent store journal. There is war, for better or for worse. You would say that history will be the measure of the truth in all of it, but I don’t feel like I have time to wait for history, to talk this over with my kids and then decide if the war was a good idea or not. I want the truth now. I want to intrinsically enjoy the experience, I want to learn the lesson, gain the knowledge, feel the pain and the reward, and romanticize it all, but I want to do it now. I want it all to happen in a two hour and twenty minute, neatly packaged cinematic production preferably done by John Singleton so everything will be overly clear. Complete with sexy babes, boyish ex-navy Seal heroes, lots of car-chases, and an explosion where the protagonists will walk away from a giant cloud of smoke smoldering behind them. I want it to be tight, and if there is any extra footage? Put it on the DVD. I guess, for now, I will just keep scribbling.

Right now, I am waiting for Bridget from Fox news to locate "weapons of mass destruction." I need Dan Rather to lull me into complacency. I must have Hannity blaming blaming blaming and never shutting up even though he was the one that asked a question. I need more of Bush holding his dogs, making a fist, and telling me that everything is okay. I want Al-Jazeera scrolling beautiful Arabic across my television so I can pretend to have a "worldly perspective" even though they probably lie more than anyone. I need CNN.com headlines at my desk at work. I need the San Diego Coalition for Peace and Justice dramatically calling on us to "Honk in futility" if we are against the war! I have to find a way to write this all down. I have to go to open mics around town and listen to bad poets read bad poetry about the children of Baghdad. I am duty-bound to hear these poets boldly tell it like it isn’t, but I go to hear that "once-in-awhile" amazing voice that will shine like lemon in the sage and cranberry world of the coffee house, that quiet voice of strength and insight. Because even though I hate them, they are my heroes, and I am one of them.

I need guaranteed hope like Christmas Eve. I need God.

I need to remember to do my laundry even during a crisis like this. I need to know that my students believe what they hear. I need to go to the mountains, to surf, to find my way, to cry it all out, to knock someone down, to help someone up. I need to tell the military families that their loved ones ARE heroes no matter what. I need to forgive France, again. I need my country to not be so powerful for a minute, to stop "shocking and awing" the world for just a second so I can teach my students to write a complex sentence. I need to write a book about being a Jewish New Yorker. I need the people of Iraq to be free. I also need this for Congo, Sierra Leone, and in fact, the rest of Africa, North Korea, the Bronx, and South Central LA. You know what would really be great? I want a daily count of my life broken into sections. Instead of "War in Iraq, Day 23," how about, "Chris Doesn’t Clean the Kitchen, Day 47." or, "Chris is Tired, Day 6," or, "Chris Goes Hiking, Day 1, Will He Return?" I am sure I can find a friend who isn’t gainfully employed at this time, someone who might start a website. "Dailycount.com," it could be a whole business. The site could be full of peoples’ daily counts. A person would simply click on a name and be taken to an area of special countdowns for that person’s life. The reader could monitor activity, check stats, maybe even get involved by emailing or chatting with the person. Imagine the encouragement that might come via the web for, "Ernie Lets His Goatee Grow, Day 7." People could write in. "Way to go Ernie!" They could also log in to all of Ernie’s other daily counts. "Same Roll of Toilet Paper, Day 3, Dishes Piling in the Sink, Day 12." Just think of the potential sponsorships.

Dumb idea.

I need room. I went for a walk today. I trudged slowly in the irresistible sunshine along the Ocean Beach Pier (the longest pier in Cali, you can check). I am not sure what I am learning from all of this. I feel like a child in a world of adult causes, and everywhere I turn people are taking a stand on one side or the other. My allegiances seem to shift day to day, but through it all, I am hopeful like a quiet voice from some far off country shining on me through these sunbeams. The Pier seems extra long today, but the spray from the waves is cool in the thick ocean air. Along the railings the signs read, "no overhead casting" except one that reads, "nooverheadcasting." One long word, so many meanings. Up ahead someone was busy ignoring the sign. He pulled his fourteen-foot fishing pole back and back over his head almost taking out a family walking by, and he flung the long string of lures and weights and wriggling bait into the cool green blue. A good cast, and suddenly it is clearer how I feel. I imagine myself grabbing hold of the fishing line, splashing down into the sea, treading beneath water, pawing at the smelt swimming by in silvery flashes. From here, I see the ceiling of the water edged against the surface, and once again I am choosing sides. For now, I decide to stay down. I put away this light. I put away this dark. I carry myself beneath the surface. I am waiting for my air to run out. I have always taken air for granted. Pretty soon, all I will see is the light from the surface. When I am ready, I will paddle one stroke at a time toward that light. For now, I just keep swimming.

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