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April 2003
Innocence Lost
I grew up in a small town in the smallest borough of New York City.
It was a quiet town in retrospect, especially when compared to any town
in Manhattan. Tree lined streets, kids playing stick ball, block parties
and people sitting on their sidewalks after dinner sharing some coffee,
Entenmann's cake and genial conversation.
In no way am I suggesting that this was a small town in the "we
had to drive 20 miles just to get milk" kind of way. This was New
York after all, not Wyoming. What I'm saying is that this was my cocoon,
my world of blue skies and green grass. The safe place. The place where
evil rarely infiltrated. The place where the biggest worry amongst men
small and large was that the Mets had no pitching and were a safe bet
to be mathematically eliminated from the pennant race by the end of
June. This was a time between Vietnam and the Gulf. A time when war
wasn't a daily topic of discussion. A weapon of mass destruction was,
to me, an M-80 in a hollow tree log on the 4th of July.
Biological terror came each winter in the form of a truly nasty flu
bug that would strike down a majority of my classmates and at times
render me useless and horizontal in the familiar comfort of my bed,
watching game shows while partaking in my mom's chicken soup. A dirty
bomb was, well, I don't think we need to go there.
Occasionally, there would be talks of nuclear war and those pesky Russians.
But it just didn't seem real. As a kid, it felt like a staring match
between name calling adults. At times, the "Reds" were almost
cartoonish given the accent and the vodka. And what was this about waiting
in line for toilet paper? The portrayals, the satire on television and
in print, only helped defuse the seriousness of the situation. By the
time Rocky IV was released, someone might as well have started producing
plush figurines of the comrades. They would have sold like crazy.
Most importantly, conflict of any kind always happened "over there"
in desolate, dusty places where people dressed in sheets. It never happened
"here." It happened to "them," not to "us."
As a kid it was simple, it was easy to understand.
Today, it's not so simple anymore. With images of planes flying into
easily recognizable buildings, people running in terror, 24/7 coverage,
speculation and graphic detailing at their disposal, kids have far more
to deal with. How do we explain that we may have to kill innocent kids
their age somewhere far, far away to destroy a madman who wouldn't think
twice of killing them?
This morning, I was speaking to an old friend from New York who was
telling me how he had to explain to his young daughter why daddy was
buying a dozen rolls of duct tape. Why her classmates were talking to
her about getting fitted for gas masks. I didn't envy his position.
Call me naïve, call me disillusioned, tell me I'm not a realist.
It's all untrue. I just wish that all kids could experience one day,
one night on that tree lined street, unburdened by any occurrence or
thought outside the boundaries of their innocent minds.
Enjoy the Issue,
Richard Botto,
Editor in Chief / CEO of RAZOR Magazine - The Definitive Men's Lifestyle Magazine
www.razormagazine.com
