August 6 marked another anniversary of perhaps the happiest day of my life, the dropping of the atom bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.
“How could you say such a thing?” someone once asked when I made that startling statement.
I can say it because, despite the release of the horrible weapon against humanity, it meant that I would survive the war, go home to Surry County, perhaps to college, and would get married and raise a family.
Yes. when you’re young and madly in love with life, you can’t help that selfish reasoning. It’s innate.
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A friend says I should apologize for the way I felt back then, although it was probably normal.
Whether the bomb was necessary or not is and always will be debatable.
Japan, once primed to fight to the last, surrendered.
Baby-sitting a flytrap
I vow that not many people you know have baby-sat a Venus flytrap for a friend.
The plant, which feeds on insects, was featured recently in a fascinating story in The News & Observer.
When my wife and I married, our first home was at the Raleigh Apartments. One floor up lived Paul V. Phillips Jr. , a sports scribe at The Raleigh Times.
When Paul, then a bachelor, went on vacation or to meet his annual two-week military obligation to the Army Reserves, he would ask us to baby-sit his Venus flytrap.
It was easy duty. All we did was water it and occasionally treat it to a fly, if we could find one. Baby-sitting a flytrap is much easier than baby-sitting a yapping dog or a temperamental cat. Also, Paul’s plant came potty trained.
I’m glad the state legislature recently passed legislation increasing the penalty for poaching those disappearing plants.
John Elliott of Raleigh writes, “I do believe if you were to get a tattoo it should be of a grey squirrel. It would serve as a daily reminder of how much this critter has been involved in your life.”
I’d rather not.
N&O columnist Rob Christensen recently mentioned a politically kinder time when the Scott dynasty ruled in Raleigh.
Lt. Gov. and, later, Gov. Bob Scott was one of my favorite pols. Perhaps his sense of humor had something to do with my preference.
He once told me about the time he came off the campaign trail to the Haw River farm to find wife Jessie Rae struggling to put up a chicken wire fence.
“She’s always liked chickens, so I wasn’t surprised,” he said.
“Yes,” Jessie Rae said, “I’m going out tomorrow and buy 10 hens and two roosters.”
“But Honey,” her husband protested, “You won’t need two roosters for 10 hens. One rooster will do.”
“Not if one rooster is gone all the time!” his wife retorted.