There is something

Lebanon is divided into a generation scarred by war, and a generation that doesn’t even have the memory. Parents and grandparents remember being forced from their homes, loved ones dying, streets and buildings unsafe. They remember sleeping in cars and giving birth in schools. This is what it is like to live in a war. Not knowing know if you are safe, not only tomorrow, but right now. A friend who is of this generation once told me during the war he would feel the walls to know if a bomb was approaching. The walls would vibrate before you could hear the sound, and these extra few seconds were important. This is not Lebanon now. Eleven-year-old students swim at the local pool, go to the mall with their friends, play soccer and take break-dancing class. Their parents’ memories have become blurred and the retelling of the war in Lebanon becomes as abstract to their children as it is to me. The first time there was a bombing in Lebanon I received the call from home as soon as news hit the states. It has become a joke in our family that I was getting a manicure when I answered my parent’s call, clearly not dodging shrapnel as they imagined. I read the message from the U.S. Embassy carefully. “Security message for U.S. citizens ... U.S. citizens living and working in Lebanon should understand that they accept risks in remaining and should carefully consider those risks.” I have now been receiving a similar message for three years. The part that worries me is not the news, it’s not the security email, it’s the call home. Yes, I am safe, and no, I am still not planning on moving home.While there is no war in Lebanon right now, and I am not worried about my safety each day while driving to work or going to the grocery store, there is something. It is a different feeling than anything I have known living in Europe or in the States. It is something that can make your stomach jump, that can make you want to grab the people you love and hang on. It’s something that makes you laugh louder when you are safe and cry harder when you are scared. And the students feel this something too. I assigned my grade-six students to write a persuasive letter this week. The prompt was to persuade the director of the school to honor an influential person at a special school assembly. I read their drafts, getting a lot of Oprahs and Nelson Mandelas, with the occasional Justin Bieber. Toward the bottom of the pile one letter caught my attention. I read it carefully, and after reading I stopped grading papers for the night and called my parents. The student who wrote this letter is a troublemaker. Each English class I take notes, pens, scissors, markers, rubber trolls and jingling locker keys away from him and remind him to pay attention. He gives me a young smile, and paired with his little frame he looks like he should be going into grade three, not six. His folded English copybook had barely one completed assignment, and his letter was messy with cross-outs and misspellings. It read:Dear Director,I would like to suggest that the recent deaths of the people who have died in the explosions in Lebanon need to be recognized by us honoring them in a special assembly. They were innocent people who died because of what other people believed in. Some were just like us, young, and go to school to learn. They deserve to live and not to die this way. Most of my friends in school agree with this. The innocent people need some respect from everyone. These kids had a full life ahead of them, get married, have a job, have kids of their own and make a family. All this was stolen from them because of these explosions. Therefore I would like for you to consider our suggestion and help us keep these victims remembered always. Respectfully,NajiThis is the something. Even if there is not a war right now, there are events that cause children to think like adults and adults to call their parents. Living in Lebanon right now makes the life of a child challenging and profound, and makes grading papers on a Thursday night thought-provoking and real. We are a generation of memory makers, not memories of war, but not of peace either. We tell stories of the space in-between. Emily Gafney graduated from Salisbury Central School in 2001 and Housatonic Valley Regional High School in 2005. She earned a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of Vermont and her Master of Arts degree from Trinity College Dublin. This is her fifth year teaching abroad: two in Dublin and three in Lebanon.