Of War and Pets

(Photo: My mother, Shelia Eskin, 1969)

I found an old cassette tape in my mother’s belongings after she died and I recently converted it into an mp3 file. The 1970 recording is me at the age of six discussing the Vietnam War. It was a weighty subject for a young child, but my family was very politically active and even took me on a peace march in D.C. during which the crowd was sprayed with tear gas, so I had some context. My parents never spoke down to me during dinner-table conversations and, being the youngest of three children, I felt the need to be taken seriously. I could either pay attention to the discussions and add my two cents, like my brother and sister did, or go into a dreamlike state and tune them all out. I chose to absorb the subject of current events as best I could and tried to keep up.

     I am struck by the simple idea of recording ordinary conversations just for the sake of having an activity, perhaps something to do on a rainy Sunday. I recall so many of these types of recordings throughout my childhood, with various family members and friends chiming in on current events, interviewing each other, reading lines from scripts, hashing out some family issue or even tackling a homework assignment. I remember fighting over who in my family had the tape recorder on any given day and when it would be passed on to someone else.

     This particular recording begins with my saying “I’ve had a very hard day and I’m a little bit tired, so I think I’ll take a nap.” But, soon after, I perk up and, in an incredibly high-pitched voice, I proceed to express concerns about the war in Vietnam and what it meant for our soldiers. Bear in mind, what I say is through the lens of a little person who doesn’t understand the politics of the war, why our country got into it, nor what the objectives were for all parties. I saw news reports on TV of soldiers dying and I could not make sense of it, yet I still wanted to somehow be engaged in discussions and elicit my parents’ opinions. Unfortunately, my parents sounded exhausted on this particular afternoon and their responses were rather lackluster. In their defense, however, I interrupted quite a bit and kept changing the question before getting an adequate reply.

     “Why doesn’t he even stop the war?” I wondered, referring to Nixon. “Do you have an answer for that, Mommy?”

     Maybe he doesn’t want to, she said.

     “I think that too – maybe he doesn’t want to. I hope he doesn’t agree with the people in Vietnam. Because, at first, they were very nice people, they were just like us.”

     Who? my mother asked.

     “The Vietnam people. And, Daddy, what do you have to say about them?”

     About the Vietnamese citizens or—, my father said.

     “—I think I’m running out of tape. Mommy?”

     I doubt it, she said.

     “I doubt it,” I repeated. “Well, I want to talk more about this. Mommy, what do you think about our country?”

     I think it’s a very wealthy country. We have a lot of natural resources, she said, quite diplomatically.

     I pressed her. “Well, what do you think about stopping the war?”

     I think it would be a good idea to stop the war. (She sounded exhausted. Probably the end of a long day.)

     “Me too! Hey, instead of praying ‘Nixon stop the war’ why don’t we stop the war ourselves?”

     And, how would we do that? Mom asked.

     “Wwwelllll…we could make peace and we won’t fight with anybody we know. That would be one way of stopping the war.” (Common sense, because fighting with strangers is much better than fighting with people you know.)

     What would you do with all the soldiers who came back from the war? Where would they get jobs? Mom asked.

     “Make jobs!” I proudly exclaimed! “When I grow up I’m going to own pet stores, and when men come back from war –”

     --Some men don’t come back—

     “—when some of them come back from war I’m going to give them something to be sad on…pets!” (Not exactly sure what I meant here; perhaps that the soldiers could use pets for emotional support.) I continued, “Every man should have a dog!”

     But that won’t give him a job, said Mom.

     “I know,” I said.

     Well, how will he work?

     “You two give lots of people jobs,” I enthusiastically said to my parents, referring to the employment agency they owned. “So, you and Daddy give people jobs, and you, Mommy, help people when they’re very, very hurt,” I said, my voice softer now and dropping several octaves.

     If everybody has a job now, where are we going to find other jobs? Where are the jobs going to come from?

     “I don’t know, but, wait! Wait, WAIT! Do you think more people should be drafted?”

     No.

     “I don’t either. Some people want our men – our brothers – to be drafted because they think our men will stop the war. No! I’ve seen men in the hospital come back with only one leg. Shot! And they’re dead. I don’t like that. I’ve never been to Vietnam. But I still hope I’ll never go there. And that’s all I have to say. Do you have anything to say, Mommy?”

     I could say something about everything you said but it’s a lot to talk about now.

     “How ‘bout you, Daddy?”

     Not now.

     “Well, I guess the tape’s over now.”

I’m not sure I had the capability at such a young age of understanding the war, nor do I think my parents had the capability of explaining it to me. Listening to this tape, I get the distinct impression that I was aware of the gravity of what was happening in Vietnam — that it was a sad, frustrating and unfortunate situation — but all I really wanted was to sound like a grownup and have my opinions validated. In that respect, this brief, albeit confusing, recording makes an otherwise unremarkable conversation rather illuminating.

I guess the tape’s over now.