The Faded Silver Ball

I wrote this in what now seems prehistoric times - 2004.

It’s just a ball of rolled up gum wrappers. It’s not very big. Nowhere near the huge balls of aluminum foil we rolled during World War II. But, every time I pick it up I recall the first stages of my life. Since Pearl Harbor is my very first memory, the war was really the beginning of time for me.

World War II was a totally different war than all we have fought since. First of all, everyone knew, really knew, in their innermost selves that we were at war – and knew it virtually every waking moment. There was no way to avoid it; the newspapers, magazines, radio, movies were full of it (think of CNN on steroids). We all used ration books and, most importantly, we all had brothers, uncles or cousins in the armed forces.

For a kid removed from any possible physical danger the war was an exciting time. The movies, which included newsreels that reported the US view of the war, were filled with gallant Americans fighting the evil enemy. Movie stars were dragooned into the war; some saw combat, many sold war bonds. Daily entertainment was largely over the radio. “The FBI in Peace and War” and similar programs warned us constantly of the chicanery of the enemy. Posters, such as the famous “Loose lips sink ships”, appeared in many places. But thoughts of death and mutilation were far from my mind until the brothers of kids down the street came home damaged or dead. Still the excitement remained. They were not family. I was not close to them.

Even the newspapers were exciting: the huge headlines, the maps of places with exotic names, photos and stories of the heroes in combat. My reading skills and knowledge of geography improved considerably during the war.

What could be more exciting to a little kid than an air raid drill? The sirens blaring, the closing of the curtains, the dowsing of the lights. But, maybe because you were a kid, you knew it was only a drill. It couldn’t be real; the enemy was very far away. Wasn’t he? Whether he was or not, when the horns blew, my father, an air raid warden, put on his helmet, picked up his flashlight and went to check that there were no lights shining from any homes or businesses in the neighborhood.
My little faded silver ball most immediately recalls the long summer days my cousins and I spent rolling the aluminum foil into a giant ball. Where this ball went I know not, but it was a patriotic thing to do. As it was patriotic for my sisters to knit sweaters and assemble bandages.

Despite our being 3000 miles from the front, the war was our life then. It was our constant companion. It so captured America’s imagination, thoughts, fears and dreams that even kids did their bit to help. It united America as little has since. As I roll the ball slowly in my hand, I dream of a day when our country will be similarly united in a peaceful cause as equally just and right as the bellicose cause history calls World War II.