Where Have All The Children Gone...

Published: Thursday, May 2, 2013 at 09:50 AM.

Folks, there is a military school in Pyongyang, North Korea, where eleven year old students are being taught tactics and strategy aimed at preparing them for the “fight” against the United States. One of the pre-teen students at the Mangyongdae Revolutionary School was quoted as saying, “I am trying to study harder, because I really think that’s how I can get my revenge on the American imperialists”. The shaven headed Jo Chung Hyok, between taekwondo thrusts, added, “It’s my revolutionary duty.”

Are you kidding me! What kind of world are we living in? It sometimes can be a razor thin line between “brainwashed” and “hogwash”!

And listen, the problem I have here is not that North Korea hates us. That is not breaking news. And I’m not concerned this morning about the upcoming 60th anniversary of the close of the Korean War. Or who has the most missiles aimed at whom. Or who, for goodness sakes, has right or might on their side! I’m not even thinking about the eventual outcome of all of this.

I believe with all my heart that an eleven year old kid ought to be first and foremost…..an eleven year old kid! I don’t care what language you speak. I don’t care who your father is mad at. I don’t care about national policy or U. N. sanctions. It doesn’t even matter if your national leader is a complete nincompoop.

When I was eleven years old I was swinging on a grapevine across that big ditch down behind George Sexton’s house. I was polishing the Johnson waxed dining room floor with my back side as I slid into an imaginary home plate with the winning run. I was racing my little brother to the top of the hill in front of Paul David Campbell’s house.

I wasn’t mad at anyone. Hate wasn’t a part of my vocabulary. I wasn’t trying to “get even” or “settle an old score”. I wasn’t concerned about strategy or tactics. I wasn’t living for the future…… I was trying to have the most fun that I could have at that particular moment. It seemed like the God intended natural thing for a little boy to be doing.

Oh, I knew about world events. You sit on the front steps of Woodrow Kennon’s store and listen to the men talk for five minutes and you came away with a working knowledge of hog prices in Memphis, the weather “coming up” from the Arkansas/Missouri area and the job Ike was, or wasn’t, doing in Washington. We took it all in, we figured some of it was important but to tell you the truth, we were much more interested in the peanuts we were pouring down the neck of the Coca-Cola in our sweaty little hands.

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