Ya’ll know I am a pacifist.  I don’t like loud voices or violence of any kind for any reason.

I changed over time.  I am a War Baby.  I was born into a milieu that believed war was valiant and glorious and which taught us giving naughty children a smack was part of a parent’s job.

Then came wars that were not about us and that never brought peace and never ended, and I came to oppose military action and hitting altogether.  I evolved.

Now, I may just be continuing to evolve in regard to the military action part.  All this  abhorrent terrorism seems to be about angry young men, who are like street gangs with global proportions and really big sticks.  I’m sure their mothers did the best they could, but jeeze!  No deity condones what they are doing, supposedly in his name.

I was very surprised at myself when I pumped my fist — a gesture I generally find offensive  in any situation — when I heard we had fired on and hit micro-targets that were strongholds of these naughty boys.   Just think.  We had done our due diligence.  Our intelligence knew where these targets were.  We had ships at the ready, far away in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, missiles accurately aimed.  I felt proud — and I am not proud of myself for feeling that way.  What can I say.  I was a War Baby.