Bombs Away…are you okay?

I was sitting in the parking lot of my local hyper-yuppie food emporium yesterday, while my wife ran in to get sushi for our lunch and my daughter slept in her car seat. We had just left church, and Paula had turned off the radio the second she heard the word “Taliban”. So I had no idea what was going on in the world–though I had suspicions when I saw the reporter and cameraman from the local ABC affiliate walking up to people in the lot.

We’re bombing Afghanistan, I thought. I turned the radio on again, and flipped over to the AM band (I’m absolutely sick of NPR right now). Sure enough.

The reporter strolled over. “Hey, do you mind?” he asked. “People in cars always make good shots.”

I consented, and the microphone was thrust in front of me.

“What’s your reaction to the attack on Afghanistan?”

I said, with the usual smattering of “um”s, that I was concerned; that I was a veteran that had served during operations in the Middle East, and I was familiar with the conditions there, and that I was concerned. I was concerned for my kids. I was concerned about the scale of the attack, and what the repercussions would be. And I was concerned about whether this would just be another act that contributed to the long laundry list of acts by the US government on our behalf that fed the (often justified) hatred of America in many parts of the world.

I made the news. And everything I said got broadcast. Except that last sentence.