my mother's son

I am currently reading a book called My Mother's Son by David Hirshberg - a novel depicting a post WWII childhood in Boston. It's a fascinating time-capsule as well as a poignant coming-of-age. I was struck anew with how explosive the 1950's were. I guess it would be more accurate to say the explosion came in the 1960's but the stirrings were surely in the '50's. And it is so fascinating to read about this era in big cities when there were still distinctive ethnic neighborhoods with their cultural idiosyncrasies. The lovely stew of European heritages -Irish, Jewish, Italian, German, etc. - flared with food, language, traditions, morals. Often sharp edges were on display and at odds, but ultimately they were tolerant of each other as everyone sought a safe place to stand upon. The racial slurs flew fast and furiously, but didn't consume. They still played ball, gambled, gossiped, danced, worked, celebrated, died together.

Where has it all gone wrong?

Now each difference seems so often to be viewed with suspicion, distrust, and downright fear. With all our inventions and advancement, have we lost something very basic along the way. 

Oh, the humanity!