December 7th

I meant to post this yesterday but I ended up being tired after work and I came home and watched my roommate and his brother shoot aliens instead. Sorry that got in the way of a greater amount of timeliness.


Yesterday I had to go to the post office so I caught the bus down town, walked to the post office, and did my business and then walked back to the bus depot. On my way back to Pickering Square I saw that there was a gathering on the foot bridge that runs over the river. This particular bridge is huge and more than stable enough to drive vehicles on (I mention this last mostly because there was a truck out on the foot bridge). There were quite a few people out there in the cold and the snow and there was a lot of black clothing and general somberness and someone was shouting something indecipherable from the distance I was at over a loud speaker. One end of the bridge is right before Pickering square and I looked at the people for a few moments before proceeding.

I had to wait for the buses with the other bus-riding folks milling around in Pickering Square and I pulled out my book to use as a shield against conversation and boredom so I'm not sure how much later it was (less than twenty minutes, though, certainly) but there was a sharp retort. And then another. First the other people in Pickering Square remarked that the pigeons were terrified but after a couple more they realized we were hearing gunfire. I did not count the number of shots but I'm sure there was some kind of significance to them.

The people in the square were going crazy. "That's gunshot! Why are we hearing gunshot?!" Because I am a nice person and I wanted to quell their terror (and also because their shouting was interrupting my reading) I told them: "They're having a memorial on the foot bridge." "A what?" Several people asked with the same phrasing. "A December seventh memorial," I clarified. "December seventh?" I got many quizzical looks. "You know, "December seventh, a date which will live in infamy"?" I prompted. There were several tense and very silent seconds before one person said. "Oh. Pearl Harbor."

Oh. Pearl Harbor.

I admit I have never liked history and I am terrible at dates but my reaction to a December seventh memorial was not: "Oh. Pearl Harbor." And even that pitiful acknowledgment was after much prompting.

I would ordinary go on at this point to tell you how this is both sad and also strangely hilarious but I think you're probably smart enough to have that covered.