Over this past weekend I read a heartbreaking article in The New York Times about the war. There’s no shortage of pencil-pushers in Washington who insist that American troops need to fight the fight in Afghanistan, but they make no personal sacrifices themselves towards that end.
The article, Families Bear Brunt of Deployment Strains, tells the story of families who are torn apart because of the overseas deployment of a mother or father. All the sacrifices are born by the troops and their loved ones. The politicians don’t give a shit. It’s always been that way. The article is full of quotes like this:
It’s pretty hard worrying if he’ll come back safe. I think about it, like, 10 or more times a day.
Isaac Eisch, 12, on this father, an Army Sergent deployed to Afghanistan
How does a little kid rise above something that?
It’s a tough read. The article began on the font page. I opened the inside spread and finished it. On the opposite spread, my eyes fell on an article about the Debutante Ball at the Waldorf-Astoria this weekend.
It was about the difficulty of executing the perfect Texas Dip. The Texas Dip is a bow the Debutantes from Texas have to perform when they enter the ballroom and are announced to society. It’s a maneuver that requires the Deb to throw their arms apart and bow forward to the floor until their chin almost touches the carpet.
The Dip is difficult to perform because the large white meringue dresses they wear limit their range of motion. One of the little princesses complained that it made her “quads hurt.” Another was featured for her heroic act of performing The Dip with a broken collarbone. Her arm was bound in a raw silk sling that matched her dress perfectly.
The juxtaposition between the two article could not have been worse.
I don’t consider myself an angry guy. By that, I mean that I lose my temper just like you do, but I don’t get into fistfights, shout or kick walls. But the bile rose in me and I wanted to mash a Debutant in the face. Don’t you?